Zombie Attack! Rise of the Horde Page 16

  “That's awful,” I said.

  “It really was,” she agreed. “Jackson was the only person who treated me well. We'd sit up all night talking, just like this sometimes. He even threatened to hurt a guy who made sexual advances toward me. He was like my guardian angel.”

  “Let me guess,” I said. “His drug of choice is heroin.” She nodded her head in agreement.

  “He was doing one of those huge concert tours across America,” she said. “This was before he was famous. Seven big name bands touring together. A different city every night. He was filling in for another guy who had overdosed and almost died. You'd think the band would have learned its lesson. Instead, the bassist introduced Jax to the needle just so he'd have another buddy to party with on the road. By the time he got home he was totally strung out.”

  “So he checked into rehab?”

  “Eventually,” she said. “He was court ordered into it after an incident down on Skid Row where he almost died trying to shake down a dealer for more dope. The guy stabbed him and left him in the gutter. Missed his kidney by about a half an inch or he would have been a goner.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I never knew.”

  “It's not a story he usually tells. He claims he lay there almost bleeding to death for a long time. He doesn't remember much except waking up in an ambulance, handcuffed to a gurney. He swears he saw my face floating above him, but I think he just says that to make me laugh. He's a performer at heart. He's always on, you know?”

  “You got clean. So why couldn't he?”

  “I had a great support system,” she said. “People talk all this trash about my mom pushing me into Hollywood, but she's been really great. They forget that she was a single mom with no help from my dad, trying to give me and my sister a good life. I begged her to try out for commercials when I was a kid. She didn't push me in any way. If it were up to her, I would have stayed in school like a normal kid.”

  “The tabloids really make it seem the other way,” I agreed.

  “After I got out of rehab, no one would hire me,” she said. “They said I was an insurance risk, like I was going to eat a bottle of Tylenol in my trailer and overdose. There were some dark times when it looked like my career was over. I mean, one day I was starring in a movie with Johnny Depp and the next, I was washed up.”

  “I thought you said no one knew you went to rehab?”

  “The media might not have known,” she said with a twisted grin, “but the studios have better people working for them. These aren't TMZ rejects. We're talking former police detectives and private investigators. They knew even before I checked in. When you're spending hundreds of millions of dollars on a movie, you don't want any risks.”

  “Is that how you ended up on reality television?”

  “Pretty much,” she admitted. “My agent had several offers from unscripted shows and low budget horror movies. Star Dancing was the only one on prime time on a major network. It was supposed to be my comeback vehicle, but we all know how that turned out.”

  I nodded. It was just when the zombie outbreak was taking off in California. Most people still thought it was only something that affected homeless people and the perpetually poor. Star Dancing was being filmed in Hollywood. Seven couples were matched up. Sports heroes from basketball and football were paired with famous writers and celebrity chefs and political pundits and movie starlets. An all-star panel of celebrity judges weighed in every week. These included a famous choreographer who had worked with Janet Jackson, as well as the stereotypical nasty celebrity with the English accent who never liked anyone.

  Ewan Crowley had earned his success working with the Royal Ballet. He was both feared and loved by American audiences for his vicious attacks on the shows performers, as well as his cunning word play. It was almost impossible to earn a compliment from him. As the season wore on, his behavior grew increasingly erratic, driving ratings through the roof in the process. One week he brought a linebacker to tears with his razor sharp tirade. The next week, he scolded a national news anchor for her choice in wardrobe. Rumor was the studio executives were constantly receiving complaints about him and threats of lawsuits. He was single-handedly responsible for their ratings spike and he knew it. So when in the final month of the contest he walked on stage during the middle of Felicity Jane's tango performance with her partner, famous opera singer Mario Antonio Puccetti, everyone thought he was just pulling another of his stunts. That was until he severely bit Mario in the neck on live television. The video went viral overnight. Millions of people saw it, people who would never watch a show like that in the first place. A month later Z-Day was announced and shortly thereafter the internet went down.

  “So you stayed in touch with Jackson after you got out?” I said, trying to change the subject. Her eyes had glossed over with the dark memory of her televised catastrophe.

  “I did,” she said. “Like I told you, he was a big brother to me. He was living in Studio City, working on his own album. That's all he did those days—just record tracks and go to meetings. I was nearby just over the hill so we'd go to meetings together. He got signed from those early recordings and went on to make his album.”

  One of the most celebrated albums of all time, I remembered. In under a year, Ever Rest's first album was bigger than Appetite for Destruction. Growing up, there wasn't a kid on my block that didn't know the lyrics to every song. We even memorized the music video and tried to recreate it at home while listening to him.

  “The song Calamity Jane is actually about me,” she said with some embarrassment.

  “Wow,” I replied. I was kinda at a loss for words. It was hard to imagine being part of something so massive. “So how did he end up back on drugs then? I mean, it sounds like he was doing so well without them.”

  “He's an addict,” she sighed. “Like I said, it's a big part of the rock and roll lifestyle. There are only so many times you can turn down drugs before that little voice in the back of your head tells you that you can get away with partying just a little bit. That's all it takes; just once and you are hooked again.”

  “That's crazy,” I said. I couldn't relate like she could. I didn't really understand what drove people to put poison in their bodies that would kill them. Maybe it was because I had this great family life with my dad and Moto. Maybe Jackson didn't have that kind of constant reassurance. It just seemed nuts to throw away all the good fortune and talent he was given on getting wasted.

  “I think he did it because he was lonely,” she said wistfully. “Out on the road all the time, no support system, no one to really love you. It takes its toll for sure. When he got back, he called me and confessed everything. He said he had a stash up here and that he was trying to wean himself off.”

  “Why didn't he just go back to rehab?” I asked. “It worked once. Wouldn't it work again?”

  “He thought he could do it on his own,” she said. “He was embarrassed. He had a real hard time admitting it to me. A lot of guilt and shame goes along with being an addict. It's hard to understand if you've never had this kind of problem. People just think, well why doesn't he stop using? It's not that simple. His body is so used to the chemicals he’s been putting into his system that if he were to just go cold turkey, there’s a good chance he would die.”

  “I didn't know that,” I said. “I've always wondered.”

  “Most people don't realize,” she said. “Plus it's painful. His body wants more and more and he is giving it less. That's why he’s so sick. He was supposed to be stepping down but then Z-Day happened and it's not like he can just go to his dealer. He's been using more than he’s supposed to be using, hiding it from me, and now he’s almost out.”

  “I didn't mean to pry,” I said, feeling bad now that she had to explain all this to me.

  “No,” she said. “You didn't pry. I offered. It feels good to be able to talk about this with someone. I am glad you are here.”

  “Me too,” I said.

  “You wanna take a
walk outside?”

  “Is that really safe?”

  “It has been,” she said. “Usually I just stay on the patio and look out at the ocean. It's really pretty with the light from the moon hitting the water as the waves roll in.”

  “Let's do it,” I said standing up.

  We walked outside and sat on the patio. The moon was almost all the way full. It was huge and white, putting off a soft light illuminating everything below. Looking out over the ocean I saw what looked like a man jogging along the water’s edge. There didn't appear to be anyone chasing him.

  “What's that?” I said pointing at him.

  “I've seen him down there before,” Felicity said. “Just jogging along like nothing ever happened.”

  “Maybe that's his way of trying to get back a piece of his old life.”

  “I think you're right.”

  Without saying a word, she reached over and took me by the hand. We sat in silence watching the man disappear from sight in the distance. Being with her felt easy, like being totally at home. I could see why Jackson would want her with him while he battled to get sober.

  “I'm tired now,” she said after a while, standing up and stretching like a cat. “Time to go to sleep.”

  I got up and we walked back inside, locking the door behind us.

  “Thanks for listening.”

  “No problem,” I shrugged. She leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” she said, walking down the hall. I stood rooted in place for a moment, distracted by her unexpected display of affection. Slowly, I forced myself to head back down to my guest room. I locked the door and sat on the bed daydreaming about possibilities until sleep finally took me under.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I remember having bad dreams all night, but couldn’t remember what they were about for the most part. Maybe it was the “Jamaican” chicken trying to fight its way back out. Maybe it was the feeling of dread that had come over me shortly after I locked myself in for the night. I tossed and turned for a while, trying to fight off a string of nasty thoughts with little success. I thought about my brother dying, about the bodies piled up at the school we visited, about Joel and Tom. No matter how hard I tried, I could not seem to calm my mind. Eventually the dark emptiness of sleep pulled me under all the way.

  I had a series of overlapping, graphic dreams early in the morning before waking up. They slipped one into the next—like watching several short movies on fast forward as I fought to wake up. The last thing I remembered before getting up was running on the beach with Felicity. We were serenely holding hands while zombies in the distance surfed on huge metal pieces of a jumbo jet they'd pulled apart and taken right out of the sky, mid-flight. That part was kinda like a cool music video.

  Benji was in the dream too, dressed just like a tiny version of Jackson. I was worried about him so I chased him up the beach and back into the house. He locked himself in the guest bathroom trying to hide. I knocked down the door in time to catch him shooting heroin in his arm.

  “Don't worry about it,” he told me. “It's just a little death to even me out.”

  I looked down to where he had put the needle in and saw that the skin around the mark was dying and turning gray. Soon it began to spread up his arm and across his body until he was the same complexion as the walking dead. His eyes turned solid black and he let out a roar as he transformed all the way into a zombie. The last I remembered was him lunging at me while I stood rooted to the ground in total shock.

  I woke with a start. I was sweating in spite of the room being cool. The sun was up. It had to be late. I couldn't believe I'd actually slept in after tossing and turning all night long.

  Almost immediately my dreams faded away, leaving me grasping to remember what they were. I shook my head to wake up and went out toward the living room. Benji was sitting on the sofa looking completely catatonic. It reminded me of Tom after Joel got shot.

  Man, I thought. That seems like years ago instead of just days. Time is moving way too fast.

  “What's up?” I asked. He didn't answer me. I heard the toilet flush and Felicity came out of the bathroom. Her eyes were red raw from crying. She still had streaks of makeup on her face. She threw herself into my arms and hugged me, sobbing so hard that her whole body shook.

  “What is going on?” I asked. “Who died?”

  Benji turned and glared at me. Felicity pulled away. She looked really hurt for a second, then it faded.

  “Jackson killed himself last night,” she said at last. Cold shock ran through me at the news. How could I have said something so stupid and insensitive? I was always saying or doing the wrong thing around her! I am such an idiot, I thought.

  “What?” I finally asked. “I'm so sorry. Oh my God. How, I mean, why did he do it?” She waved a piece of paper in her right hand at me. I realized it was a suicide note. This wasn't how things were supposed to go today, I thought. I was just hoping to get up, grub down on a portable meal of hot space age blueberry pancakes, and hit the road. This definitely complicated things. It may sound cold but the last thing I was looking for at that point was another complication. After what happened in New Lompoc, all I wanted to do was just get to Moto's base and settle in. The sooner I could put this madness behind me and forget about it, the better.

  “He left a note,” she said.

  “What does it say?” I asked, feeling lame.

  “It says that he knew he wasn't going to make it anyway and that he just wanted to go out with one last high on his own terms,” she said. “It says that he's a coward for not trying harder and not saying goodbye but that he loves that he got to spend one last night with his real fans doing what he loved, playing music. It's beautiful and totally screwed up and I hate him so much right now for doing this but I miss him too much to be angry.”

  She burst into tears again and this time I held her close to me. I glanced over at Benji, who seemed to be just as affected by this tragedy as Felicity was. He looked up at me with the sadness of a lost child.

  “It's going to be okay,” I said to both of them. “I know this is hard but the worst is over. You'll see.”

  “Are you still planning on leaving today?” Her words were muffled as she spoke into my shoulder.

  “I was,” I said, “before I heard about Jackson. I just woke up so it all feels like part of my dream right now.”

  “I want to go with you,” she said.

  “Of course,” I agreed. “That's a great idea.”

  “What are you going to do with Jax?” Benji looked up at us with his big puppy dog eyes swollen with tears he was fighting back. I had been wondering the same thing. Was he propped up in bed? Did he smell already? Was she sure he was even dead?

  “I found him in bed,” she said as if she was reading my thoughts. “He was naked. His body was blue. He felt ice cold. His eyes were open. There was no sign of life in him at all. It just didn't seem real, you know?”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “About an hour,” she said. “I was going to put him in the bathtub. I don't know why. I'm not thinking clearly right now. I just feel so crazy inside.”

  “We could bury him in the yard,” I offered sympathetically.

  “I thought about that,” she said, “but now I think we should just leave him where he is. After all, this is his house. He was happy here. He died happy, with friends and fans who loved him.”

  “I understand,” I said softly. I wasn't trying to be more insensitive than I already had been but I was glad we weren't going to spend a lot of time digging up a grave for him. I wanted to get moving as soon as we could. Plus it seemed crazy to bury him given the condition the world was currently in. There were dead bodies in various states of decay pretty much everywhere you went, some just lying there stinking and others walking around and trying to kill you. Leaving a guy dead in his own bed like he was peacefully sleeping didn't seem so heartless when you thought about it in those terms.


  “Besides,” she said, walking to the patio door and sliding it open. “I'm not sure how much time we have left here.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “See for yourself,” she answered.

  I walked over to join her and what I saw blew my mind. There on the beach was a huge tanker ship with some kind of foreign writing on the side that looked Russian. Up on top of the ship I could make out twenty or thirty former humans in various states of decay ambling around. One of them fell over the side while I was watching and splashed into the ocean. Looking down I could see a handful of zombies making their way out of the water and roaming listlessly on the sand in search of food. If the jogger went for his morning run today, he was going to be in for a big surprise!

  “When did that thing get here?” I asked in near panic. I had been intending on doing some Tai Chi in the backyard and stretching before we left, in the impossible hope of bringing my life back to some sense of normalcy and routine. That's out for sure now, I thought.

  “I don't know,” she said, a little too casually for what the situation called for. “It was just there when I got up this morning. I didn't see any zombies until an hour ago, and those were still on the top deck. Must be only a matter of time until they find their way up into the neighborhood.

  Why is she being so casual? It's not like those are fire ants coming to spoil a picnic, I thought. These are undead demons from the depths of hell, devoid of all mercy, coming to rip us to shreds in a horrible, violent death!

  “We need to get out of here,” I said. “We left the Escalade at the entrance to the community near the gates. It has some gas left. We'll figure the rest out as we go.”

  “That's not necessary,” she replied. “Jackson has a fully fueled Lexus SUV hybrid in the garage. It gets like a million miles to the gallon. He loaded it with water and two extra cans of gas after we came out of the panic room. There is even a first aid kit under the passenger seat.”