Girl Z: My Life As A Teenage Zombie Read online

  “Goo-goot.”

  “Good, got?” I asked.

  His head jerked slightly. “Meeeee.”

  “Got you,” Carm deciphered. “Someone got you?”

  A weak sigh came out. “Mmm-aaaa,” he muttered.

  I moved closer to my cousin and whispered in her ear. “Carm, what’d he say? May? The month?”

  She shook her head and bent closer to her brother, which made me nervous. His mouth kept moving, like he was trying to say something.

  Carm studied him and then turned to me. “Not may, make, he said.” She listened again. “For—” She paused. “Get them.”

  “Them?” I asked. “Them who?” Then it hit me.

  I ran to the table, grabbed the papers, and waved them at her. “This must be it! Some kind of formula.”

  Carm and I screamed when Spence emitted a low growl. His limbs started shaking like he was being electrocuted. He gurgled and choked. A minute later, a frothy, opaque white substance bubbled from his mouth and dribbled down his neck and shirt.

  We watched in horror, unsure of what to do, though we somehow sensed Spence was beyond help.

  One last gasp and his body fell over. He stared at us unseeing, eyes bulging.

  Dead. I couldn’t understand it. But how? Wiping my eyes on my sleeve, I wrapped my cousin in a hug before I voiced my next suggestion. “Carm, we have to move him. We can’t leave him there.”

  Carm took a quick peek at his body again, then glanced at me, more tears tracking down her face. “I know. I can’t keep seeing him this way. I don’t get it. Was he that sick?”

  For once, I had no answers. And given all the weird stuff on the news and talk about zombies of all things, the next question hung unspoken in the air between us: if he contracted whatever those things out there had, would he stay dead?

  Feeling like I wanted to jump out of my skin, I helped Carm spread a sheet on the floor, the floral print a weird contrast to his pallid skin. We pulled him on top of it, closed his eyes, and folded his arms. Carm gasped when the pieces of a clear capsule rolled from his hand.

  “What’s that?” I eyed the empty pill she held in her hand, the alarm bells dinging in the back of my head. “Carm?” The paleness of my cousin’s face scared me.

  “Now I get it. Bec, his arm, look at his arm.”

  Her voice came out in a whisper. She clasped and unclasped her hands. The red gash glowed against his gray skin.

  “I know what he did,” Carm whispered.

  “That stuff in his bag. He wants us to make more, for them. He took it because…” I gulped. “Because he was changing.”

  We put another sheet on top of the body and with a lot of grunts, huffing, puffing and effort, dragged it into the bedroom. The door shut, I stood there and stared, totally heartsick at the recent turn of events.

  A creepy-crawly feeling enveloped me, but what Spence did reassured me that my biggest fears wouldn’t happen—no doorknob rattling, no door squeaking, no turning to find a ghoulish version of him standing there.

  Spence was dead. Truly dead.

  After checking the rest of the window and door locks, I sat across from Carm at the kitchen table where she’d lined up all the jars and bottles.

  I took one of those tall jar candles my aunt always used, this one decorated with our Lady of Guadalupe, and lit it, partly for Spence, partly to dispel the shadows since all the windows were covered.

  Her face sad, Carm tapped her fingers on the table before she took her brother’s list and set out several items: a couple small bowls, paper, spoons, a measuring cup, and some paper plates. She handed me the paper. “I’ll mix, you read the ingredients.”

  One spoon, white powder. Check.

  One spoon, blue jar. Check.

  I read off a few more lines and stopped. “Carm, should we do this? He didn’t really explain what this stuff does. Maybe it isn’t safe.”

  She eyed the jars and shrugged. “I don’t know, but Spence wanted us to make it. I don’t think he’d tell us to do it if we’d get hurt.” She paused and sniffled. “I have to do it, for him.”

  I wasn’t convinced, but my cousin was better than me at the science stuff. She’d always talked about becoming a vet. Of course, Spence had been the same and we’d seen what happened to him.

  Still, I had no choice but to trust her.

  Carm measured, poured and mixed while I read off the ingredients. I fought to stay alert, but I felt kind of lightheaded. Then she added water and the stuff began to fizz like Pop Rocks candy. The smell—bad, something like rotten eggs—was getting to me, too, though Carm worked on and didn’t show any reaction.

  I coughed and gagged, not sure how much longer I could take it.

  Window. I had to get some air.

  Up and on my feet, I took a few unsteady steps, stumbling around like I’d been taking secret nips of my aunt’s homemade raspberry Sangria.

  The last thing I remember, before everything went black, was hearing my cousin scream and call my name.

  Chapter Three

  I came to, not at home, not on the couch, but in a hospital bed, how I got here a mystery.

  I tried to remember what had happened. Digging for the memory was like stringing a pearl necklace with gloves on.

  Wait. The image became clearer. The porch. I’d bumped my arm. Okay, but that didn’t explain the rest of me.

  I gazed at my skin’s unusual grayish tone and the strange blotches without comprehension.

  A lizard. My skin made me think of a lizard. A hiccupping sound escaped me. Wow, I couldn’t even cry right.

  I glanced at my aunt and cousin standing in the doorway. Carm hopped from one foot to the other; my aunt nervously wrung her hands. My agitation surged inside like someone had turned on a furnace. The bright green LED numbers on the monitor went higher, causing the machine beside the bed to blip in protest. Beep-Beep-Beep.

  Finally the nurse, a short, stout lady (I’m a little teapot, I thought) in white pants topped by a pretty pink floral scrub shirt rushed in. She made my aunt seem much taller than her five-foot-six frame.

  “Relax. Deep breath, that’s it.” She adjusted the machine. “Mmm-hmm, again. It’s normal to feel confused when you wake. You’re doing very well. Now stay calm or we’ll have to give you a sedative. Doctor will be in to see you shortly. He’ll explain everything. All right? You understand?”

  I murmured yes and watched the doctor, a thin, balding, dark-skinned man in a white coat, enter. He studied me, his face serious, and told me about the outbreak of a new virus. Research was underway at various places, he droned on, and certain medicines had shown promise against the infection’s bacterial elements. He tried to make it sound positive that it had mutated. The virus affected younger people differently and seemed to be slower acting, he explained.

  I wasn’t buying any of it.

  The rest of his monologue—new diet, pills, body changes—blah, blah, blah, went unheard. I turned and caught a glimpse of myself in the metal container on the table next to me. Familiar chocolate brown eyes stared back from under ebony bangs. Dark brows.

  Spots.

  My hands flew to my cheeks. Oh, my face! At first, I almost thought I had some kind of mask on, or someone had brushed on a layer of fireplace ash for makeup. The blotches stood out in contrast to the pink, peeling spots.

  I banged the bed rail and screamed. This was much more than a made-up crisis like a bad hair day, or some quickly forgotten drama.

  I was ugly.

  Everyone—the nurse, my cousin, my aunt—gathered around the bed and told me it was okay, I’d get better. “You’ll be all right, cuz, really,” Carm whispered.

  The nurse talked about my having a normal life. My head spun, the vertigo adding another odd layer of feeling to my panic.

  Normal? I gazed again at my hands and arms in disgust. How could looking like freaking King Tut without his wrappings ever be normal?

  Tia Imelda stroked the top of my head and hummed low, the t
une her way of coping and praying, I knew. “It’ll be fine, honey, just fine. You’ll see.”

  I appreciated Tia’s positive thinking and her link with God and all, but I still didn’t get it.

  The nurse checked my chart and eyed me, her face stern, as the machine bleeped again. I tried to push away my next question—didn’t nurses always check your pulse?—and attempted to ignore the spiral of thoughts that threatened to make me crazy.

  Easy, take it easy.

  “I’ll be okay,” I whispered.

  Nurse Teapot’s “don’t mess with me” glare told me she wasn’t totally convinced.

  I took another breath. I needed to be as clearheaded as possible, and strong, like my aunt. My rapid breathing started to slow. “I’m fine now. Honest.”

  The bed adjusted so I could sit upright, the nurse leaned over and to my relief, held my wrist. She checked her watch and gave a small grunt.

  “I didn’t feel anything,” I muttered. “Nothing. Am I…?”

  I couldn’t say it aloud.

  Nurse Teapot held out a tall glass of liquid. The drink’s odd brownish-red color didn’t seem very appetizing.

  “You’re lucky we got you in here early and your body didn’t totally shut down when you fell ill.” She said. “It may take a while to get your full sense of touch back and for your body to adjust to the changes.”

  Her explanation made no sense, but she cut off my questions and urged me to drink. One sip and I made a face, my mouth puckering at the sweet and sour, yet tinny flavor. “Ick, what is this? It tastes like metal.”

  “Drink up,” she ordered. “Cranberry juice with some medicine for your throat. The dietician will explain your dietary needs before your discharge.”

  Nurse Teapot left with a glare and a stern warning that she’d be back with a shot and limit visitors if the machine went off again. The odd drink did help moisten my dry throat and tongue. Another sip and I set down the glass. I motioned to my aunt. I needed her reassurance. I needed her to help me remember.

  Tia put on her no-nonsense expression, the one she usually wore when she reviewed my grades. Time to get serious.

  I took deep cleansing breaths and tuned in to the familiar, lilting cadence of her voice. Many a night she’d lulled me to sleep with a bedtime story or whispered a prayer with me while my mama was at work. When I was older, she offered sound advice and even a correction or two when I got in trouble. I turned aside so she wouldn’t see my sadness.

  “It’s all right, child, it’s all right.” My aunt patted my hand. “Best you cry, let it out. I know it’s hard. That won’t be ending anytime soon I ’spect.”

  She stopped, wiped a couple tears that trickled down her cheek, and gazed at me before continuing, her voice soft. “Been some funny things going on around here. Things I ain’t ever seen and never thought I would. And our poor boy, Spence…so terrible. Honey, these are things I’m afraid I just don’t have all the answers for.”

  She must’ve sensed my questions and waved at me to wait.

  “Sorry, I know it takes me a while to get to the point. Now I know you and Carm are worried about your mamas. Foolish thing they did, going off with all the crazies roaming around the roads. But don’t you worry they’re not back yet. Messaged they’re stuck in some hotel. They’ll be fine, just fine.”

  The rest of what she said hit me like I’d been doused with a bucket of ice cubes.

  My aunt struggled to remain calm. She took a deep breath and continued, “Honey, you have to be bitten or scratched to get this. The doctor said something goes haywire inside. You get the virus and usually die, but I’m not talking about death as we know it. The virus does something to the body.”

  A memory floated to the surface. “Wait, the radio,” I recalled. “They told everyone to stay inside, keep away, don’t go near those-those people outside.” My voice lowered to a whisper. “You know…them.”

  She bobbed her head in agreement, but tried to hide her alarm as she glanced at my arm. My gaze dropped to the unsightly laceration. The ragged slash on my arm made me cringe. It seemed worse than before. Yes, I’d banged my arm, but…I gasped as the reality of it hit me.

  Me and Spence fighting. His clawing at me. Scratching me. Grabbing my other wrist again, I moved my fingers across my cool, clammy skin. Odd how my fingers rubbed my hand, yet I could barely feel it. I couldn’t detect a pulse. Wait; was I like the old vice president with the bad heart? He had a pump. He didn’t have a pulse, either.

  I pushed on my chest; no tubes or wires. Okay, no pump.

  That could only mean—I wasn’t a medical zombie, but a real, Hollywood movie, creepy, disgusting, flesh-eating zombie? But how, when the nurse said…?

  “No, NO! I screamed. “I’m not like that. I’m NOT! NO, I won’t be. NO!”

  I stopped yelling as the machine bleeped and my aunt grabbed my cool hands in her warm ones.

  “Becca, stop it,” she ordered. “You listen to me, girl. That nurse is looking up from her desk out there. You’re going to need us around to help you. You get it together, you hear? You are still Becca, the girl we love, my niece, Carm’s best friend and cousin. You’re still you. Carm honey, tell Becca how important she is, to all of us.”

  Carm moved closer to the bed. “Hey, cuz, nothing’s changed. Absolutely nothing, nada. You’re still my BFF, numero uno, my best friend, in the whole wide world.” She grabbed me, her voice teary. “Bec, Bec, I’m sorry. If Spence hadn’t come back, if your mom hadn’t gone…”

  I held her hand and calmed myself, and after myself, tried to calm her. “Carm, it’s okay. It’s not your fault, any of it. None of us could’ve known what would happen.”

  “Honey, things will be different, but don’t worry, life is full of changes,” my aunt said, her voice firm. “It’ll be fine. We love you. We’ll manage.” She frowned and just as quick it disappeared. “Well, luckily, you’re not like those-those things out there.”

  I stared at her, puzzled, and took in my new skin tone, unable to fully grasp what had happened.

  I’d always wanted to be different. Now I was.

  Part of me wanted to call my aunt’s saying I’d be fine a lie, but I couldn’t. She never lied to me. I had to believe things would get better. I took a deep breath.

  Okay, I was strong. I could cope.

  Almost on cue, the physical sensations I’d wished for earlier hit me—hard.

  I bent over as my body cramped. I held my stomach, moaning for the pains to stop. Staring ahead, I saw history repeat itself: Carm staring at me, her face pale, drawn.

  “Bec, what’s happening?” she cried. “What is it?”

  “I-I don’t know.” I groaned and prayed for it to stop. “My insides are knotting up. I feel like—”

  I gaped at her and breathed hard, sounding like a freight engine. My teeth chomped.

  “Becca! What’s wrong? Nurse, nurse!”

  I yelled and writhed in the bed. My arms and legs thrashed like snakes. I struggled to get up, to move beyond the metal barrier of the bed’s frame, my teeth chomping.

  My mouth foamed as I bit into my lip, but I never felt the pain. I groaned and cried out, I reached for—

  Beep-Beep-Beep!

  The machine’s beeps and loud blare stunned me for a moment. I screamed and tore at my clothes.

  My frustration mounting, I snarled and rattled the bed frame.

  I fought against the metal barrier in my attempt to get near someone, anyone.

  Chapter Four

  Nurse Teapot rushed in and quickly jabbed a needle into the IV line. I fell back, exhausted, into a semi-sleepless state. The weird thing, I still heard everyone around me talking, though the words sometimes faded out.

  “We didn’t do anything,” I heard Carm tell the nurse. “We were talking…” Her words cut out, then continued. “…said her stomach hurt.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s just her body giving warning signals,” the nurse reassured.

  “Warning about w
hat?” Carm asked.

  “She’s been without solid food for two days now,” the nurse explained. “It’s time for her to eat. The sedative will help calm her and we’ve been gradually adding liquid protein to her diet, but she needs more now. It’s a sign she’s getting stronger. Her system is regulating. She’ll need to eat when she comes to.”

  Carm voiced a depressed “oh.” “When’ll she wake up?”

  “In about twenty minutes. We’ll leave her food and keep an eye on her. It’s best you go home and come back tomorrow. We need to monitor her. She’ll be eating every hour until her system is fully regulated.”

  At mention of the word food, my teeth mashed together. I groaned and squealed in my half-sleep.

  Carm fired off more questions. “Every hour? Why so often? What will—?”

  Aunt Imelda took over, her voice shaky, as she struggled to keep her composure. “Honey, some things are best left to the experts. We don’t need all the details. We’ll see her tomorrow afternoon.”

  My lashes fluttered at the bright lights stabbing the top of my eyelids. I eased my eyes open and gazed about, not sure where I was. I felt sluggish, like I’d awakened from a long nap.

  The nurse’s voice wafted through the air from somewhere I couldn’t see. “Visiting hours will resume after your meal schedule is established. A tray is on the table. We’ll check your progress when you’re finished.”

  Still groggy, I sat up and tried to get my bearings. She stopped talking just as I saw the speaker grate on the wall. I threw my legs over the edge of the bed, wondering why I was suddenly being treated like a pariah.

  My mind worked out the details as I took in my surroundings. Carm and my aunt had been here when I started to feel sick. They left, yesterday? No, wait…today. I scanned the room again. Okay, not long ago.

  We’d been talking, I remembered, confident the memory was good. I was fine and then I’d felt something…

  A stab of pain hit my stomach.

  Ugh. My fingers tightened around the bed rail. I slid forward, stunned to see the now-loosened ties on the bed rail. What weren’t they telling me? Where was everyone?