Alice in Zombieland

“Uh, I think low maintenance is what’s desirable.”

“Low maintenance is what’s forgettable. You might want to write that down, underline it, circle it and put a star by it. It’s golden.” With barely a breath, she added, “Now let’s find out if we’re compatible, shall we?”

O-kay. We were gonna do this thing, then. We were gonna go all the way. See Alice pretend everything is beyond peachy. “Sure. We shall.”

“So … you lost everyone, huh?” she asked.

Talk about kicking things off with a bang. But at least she hadn’t offered platitudes or tiptoed around the subject. Maybe that’s why I responded to her with a croaked “Yeah.” It was more than I’d offered anyone else.

“Bummer.”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna eat that?” She pointed to the vanilla pudding someone had brought me earlier.

“Nope.”

“Awesome. I’m starved.” With a wide, white grin, she confiscated the pudding and the spoon and settled back in her chair. One taste left her moaning with satisfaction. “So check this out and tell me if you agree.”

“Uh, okay.” I had a feeling I’d be uttering “uh” many more times before this conversation ended. Even sitting there, she was like a whirlwind of energy I had no idea how to contain.

After another bite of the pudding, she said, “Here goes. See, my boyfriend and I decided to stay together for the summer, you know, even though he had to go visit some family in nowhereville. At least, that’s what he told me. Anyway, everything was fine at first, because you know, we talked every night, and then boom, he just stopped calling. So I called and texted him like the good girlfriend I am, and it wasn’t stalkerish, I swear, because I stopped after, like, the thirtieth time. A week goes by before he finally hits me back, and he was totally drunk and all, hey, baby, I miss you and what are you wearing, like no time had passed, and I was all, you so do not deserve to know.”

Silence.

She watched me, expectant, as she took another bite of pudding. I was tempted to search the room to make sure she’d directed the information overload at me. The few friends I’d made over the years had shared stories about their lives and their boyfriends, of course, but none had ever done so at minute one or with such a flare for detail.

“Well?” Kat prompted.

Oh, right. This must be the part where I render my verdict. Agree or disagree. “I … agree?”

“Exactly! And get this. He called me by the wrong name. Not during sex or anything like that, because if that had been the case, I would have killed him, and he would have been too busy being dead to try and explain, but on the phone, during our last conversation.”

Took me a minute of mind-mapping to wade through everything she’d said and find the X that marked the spot. “That sucks?” I’d meant to make a statement, but again I ended up asking a question.

“I knew you’d get me! It’s like we were separated at birth. So, anyway, he and I had just hung up—well, I’d hung up on him, a real nice slam I’m still patting myself on the back for delivering—and my phone rings again, and he’s all, hey Rina. I’m like, Rina? What are you doing calling Rina? He stumbles around for a lie, but I knew. He’s a dirty man-whore cheating he-slut and I’m done with him.”

“Good.” Well, well. What do you know? I was capable of making a statement. “Cheaters are scum.”

“Worse than scum. When school starts back up, I’m throwing down with that boy, and not in a good way. He promised to love me and only me forever and ever and even after forever ended, and he needs to pay for lying. Rina can just suck it raw and hopefully die of some terrible disease. She doesn’t deserve my precious time.”

School. Ugh. Here was another aspect of my life that would change. “Where do you go?”

“Asher High. You know, best school ever.”

“My parents went there.” Ugh again. Why’d I have to bring them up? I fisted the sheet, wishing I could snatch the words back. I could pretend to be normal, but only if the discussion stayed away from everything personal.

“How about you?” she asked, not pursuing my slipup.

Good, that was good. “Carver Academy.” Not anymore, though. My grandparents lived in … the Asher High district, I realized. Guess I’d be seeing a lot more of Kat after summer break. I opened my mouth to tell her, but just as quickly closed it. No reason to light that particular fire.

“An Astro Jet, huh?” she said. “We kicked your butt last year on the field and the court. Go Tigers! I’m sure you cried about it, so here’s your warning for this year. You’re gonna lose again, and you’re gonna cry again. Sorry. The sooner you get used to the idea, the faster you’ll heal.” She finished off the pudding and claimed my cup of water, tossing my straw aside and drinking from the rim. “So, do you have a boyfriend?”

“No.”

One dark brow arched, and lips that were coated with a clear, glittery gloss pursed. “Girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Too bad. Not about the girlfriend, though that would have been cool because you would have been my first lesbian friend and I would never have to worry about you stealing my man like that hobag Rina, but about the boyfriend. You could have set me up with one of his friends and I could have texted my ex pictures of our fake, steaming-hot love affair. So, hey, do you want me to steal a wheelchair and spring you? We can head down to the cafeteria and grab a burger. They aren’t the best, but after my pudding appetizer, I really need a meal. And, just for future reference, hunger makes me mental.”

Leave the room? Enter the world? “No, thanks.” I settled more firmly against my mound of pillows, forced a yawn. “I’m kinda tired.”

She held up her hands, palms out in innocence and understanding, reminding me of—no one—and stood. “Say no more. I feel you. I’ll take off and let you rest.” A few steps brought her to the door, where she paused to look back at me. “You know, I think I’m gonna like you, Ali Bell. I’ll need a few more visits to help me decide for sure, but yeah, I think we’ll be tight and you’ll soar to the top of my Five.” And then she was gone.

As it turned out, I stayed at the hospital only one more night. I didn’t see Kat for the rest of the summer, which was probably for the best. She was a nice girl, and I was bad company, and if she’d spent any more time with me she might have changed her mind about my acceptability. “Tight” would have become “please, please, please, never come near me again.” I doubted I would have even made her Fave Fifty.

Can you tell I was a depressed, neurotic mess?

To my consternation, my grandparents saw right through my “I’ll be okay” murmurs and spent hours, days, weeks, trying to cheer me up. They were wonderful people, they really were, but I know I frustrated them.

I should be crying, they said. I’d feel better. What I couldn’t bring myself to tell them was that my tears were on lockdown.

Every day I could feel the burn of them behind my eyes, but the droplets never formed, never fell. And to be honest, the lack didn’t bother me. I didn’t want to cry. Deep down I had accepted the fact that I deserved to suffer … to seethe on the inside.

Actually, I deserved worse.

When the day of the funeral dawned, I stunned everyone, including myself, by asking to skip it. I just … I couldn’t stand the thought of seeing where my family would spend the rest of eternity, rotting for years before disappearing altogether. And even though that would have counted as the “worse,” I still wanted to remember them as they’d been: alive and vibrant. But of course, my grandparents denied my request.

On the drive over, I sat in the backseat of their sedan. Today they were dressed in head-to-toe black, as was I. They’d bought me a fancy new dress. I really wish they hadn’t gone to the trouble or the expense. I would have rather worn a potato sack. This was a terrible day, and I would have liked my clothing to reflect that.

Anyway. I didn’t want to think about me. Nana had styled her shoulder-length brown hair into a loose bob that hid the paleness of her cheeks. She clutched a tissue in her shaky fist and continually dabbed at her watery eyes. She’d lost family, too, I reminded myself. I wasn’t the only one suffering. I should try to help her with her loss, should act the way she wanted me to act, but … I just couldn’t.

“Do you want to say a few words honoring the, uh, deceased?” Pops asked after clearing his throat. His graying hair had receded so much at the sides that he had a major widow’s peak. The rest was thinning and yes, he sported a cringe-worthy comb-over. How my mom had loved to tease him about that. “Ali?”

I didn’t need to think about my reply. “No, thank you.”

Nana twisted to face me. Her eyelids were puffed, the skin underneath splotched with red and her makeup streaked. I had to look away. Those golden eyes were too familiar, the pain inside them too … reflective.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I know your mother would have wanted—”

“I’m sure,” I rushed out. Just the thought of standing in front of everyone and sharing my favorite memories caused a cold sweat to break out on my skin. No way. Just no way.

Her tone gentled as she said, “This is your chance to say goodbye, Alice.”

Gonna be sick. “Call me Ali. Please. And I … I can’t say goodbye.” I wasn’t ever going to say goodbye. Part of me still clung to the idea that there was a chance I’d wake up and discover all of this was simply a bad dream.

A weary sigh left her, and she returned her attention to the front. “All right. I don’t think what you’re doing is healthy, but all right.”

“Thank you,” I said, relief causing me to wilt against my seat belt.

The rest of the drive passed in silence, only the occasional sniffle to be heard. What I would have given for my iPod. I’d play Skillet or Red and pretend I was dancing with—myself. But I hadn’t gone home to pack my things. I hadn’t wanted to go home. Nana had done that for me, and technophobe that she was, she’d probably had no idea what that little Nano could do.

At last we reached our destination and walked to the grave sites. There would be no church service. Everything was to be done here. Which wasn’t right. My mother had loved to go to church, and my dad had hated cemeteries, had died at the edge of one—of this one, to be morbidly specific—and they were going to bury him here? That was wrong on so many levels, and ticked me off.

He should have been cremated. But what did I know? I was just the daughter who’d helped kill him.

Now, in the daylight—or what should have been daylight—I studied the place that had destroyed my life. The sky was dark and drizzly, as if the world wept for what it had lost. While I was right on board with that, my dad wouldn’t have approved. He’d loved the sun.

The hilly stretch of land was treed up just right, with a few bushes growing around some of the headstones and flowers of every color thriving in every direction.

One day there would be bushes and flowers around my family’s headstones. Right now, there were just three big, empty holes, waiting for those closed caskets to drop.

Once again I found myself the recipient of too many I’m sorrys and you’ll be okays. Screw them all. I retreated inside myself, tuning out everything that was spoken during the ceremony, simply looking around.

People around me wept into their tissues. There was Mr. and Mrs. Flanagan, my former neighbors, and their son, Cary. He was a cute boy, a little older than me. I can’t remember how many times I’d thought that if I was a normal girl, with a normal life, I’d be sitting at my window, staring out at his house, imagining him closing the distance and asking me out on a date. Imagining we’d go to dinner, he’d walk me to my door, and kiss me. My first. Imagining he’d tell me that he didn’t care how crazy my family was, that he liked me no matter what.

I never had. He never had.

Now he cast me a sad smile, and I looked away.

When the pastor had finished, when my grandparents had said their piece, everyone stood and gathered in groups, talking, swapping stories. Too many of them congregated around me, patting my shoulders and giving me hugs. Actions I didn’t appreciate or return. I just didn’t have the strength to put on a dog-and-pony show so that I wouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings.

I wanted to be in my bed, buried under the covers, pretending I had my old life back.

“She was such a happy child, wasn’t she?” said someone at my side. A woman I couldn’t quite place but knew I’d seen before was peering at the smallest casket, tears streaming down her red cheeks. “We’re going to miss her. I remember this one time …”

On and on she talked. I stood there, suddenly unable to breathe. I opened my mouth to tell her to shut up, but the words wouldn’t form. I tried to walk away, but my feet were rooted in place, as if someone had poured concrete over my shoes.

“And then there was the time, in class, when she helped …”

A loud ringing sprouted in my ears and I couldn’t make out the individual words. Didn’t matter. I knew who she was talking about, and if she didn’t get out of my face, I was going to lose it. Already I was spiraling into an abyss, screaming silently.

“… and the other girls utterly adored her …”

Argh! Spiraling … spiraling out of control …

I deserved this, I reminded myself. This was part of my “worse.” My words, my insistence, had killed my family, had put them in those boxes. Had I done anything differently, a single detail, they would still be alive. But I hadn’t, and so here I was. There they were.

“… her talent, her spirit, were rare and glorious and I …”

The abyss threw me one way, then the other, cutting me up bit by bit, destroying me. The woman had to shut up. She just had to. Shut. Up. My heart felt pinned against my ribs, warping the beat, and if she didn’t shut up I would die. I knew I would die.

“… used to tell me she wanted to be just like you when she grew up. She admired you so much….”

Shut up, shut up, shut up! But she kept talking and kept telling me all about my … sister….

… about Emma.

… Emma … gone … my lily … gone …

I’d promised to keep her safe. I’d failed.

A scream ripped from my throat, followed right on the heels of another and another. I lost track of everything around me, clutched my ears to stop from hearing the utter horror in my voice, and fell to my knees.

No, not just to my knees. I fell down, down, down, the abyss, a never-ending pit of despair, still screaming, screaming, consumed by grief, flooded by sorrow.

Hands patted at me, but I didn’t calm. I screamed so loud and so long my voice eventually broke. I gagged and choked, tears pouring down my cheeks, pooling around me, a lake of misery. I cried so hard my entire body shook, and my eyes swelled shut. I couldn’t breathe, didn’t want to breathe anymore. Dying would have been a relief.

I don’t know what happened after that. For the second time in my life, I lost consciousness. Maybe I would never wake….

But of course, I awoke. In the days that followed, I tried to take comfort in the fact that the worst thing that could ever happen to me had already happened. Big surprise, that didn’t help. But at some point, I finally accepted that this wasn’t any kind of nightmare. This was my new reality, and I had better learn to deal or the tears would never stop flowing.

Each night I sat on the ledge seat in front of my room’s only window, looking down at my new backyard. There was half an acre of trees, hills and flowers, and a stockade fence that marked the property boundaries. Beyond the fence was a hill spotlighted by a golden sliver of moonlight, but because of the steepness of the incline, I couldn’t see anything more than thick, towering trunks.

I was tired, but I wouldn’t be sleeping. Any time I drifted off, I dreamed of the accident. I preferred to spend my time searching for my dad’s monsters, not sure whether I wanted to prove they existed or that they didn’t, remembering all the times I’d caught my dad doing the same thing.

Dad had carried a gun, though I’d never heard him shoot it. Now I had to wonder if a gun would actually help. The monsters had slipped past human skin … like ghosts … or the demons I’d been so unsure about.

This is ridiculous. The monsters weren’t real.

And yet, a few times since the accident, I was certain that I’d spied one.

As if on cue, the bushes swayed. I leaned forward until my nose pressed into the glass. Probably the wind, I thought, even as I watched tree limbs stretch toward each other. Limbs, not arms, surely. And those were leaves, not hands. Surely.

A flash of white caught my attention, and I gulped. That wasn’t a woman with stooped shoulders darting between the trees but a deer. Had to be a deer, but …

Deer didn’t wear wedding gowns, did they.

I pumped a fist into the pane, rattling the entire window, and the woman—deer—darted away, swiftly hidden by the trees. I waited several long minutes, but she—it—never came back into view.

By the time the sun rose, my eyelids felt like sandpaper against my eyes. I had to stop doing this, had to stop torturing myself. Otherwise, I’d have to throw in the towel and admit I’d inherited my dad’s crazy.

And wouldn’t that just be irony at its finest?

With that thought, I didn’t laugh with bitterness, cry, or even crawl into bed. I began planning the next night’s watch.

3

EERILY CURIOUSER AND EERILY CURIOUSER …

Summer break passed far too quickly, and the first day of my junior year finally arrived. Asher High was on the outskirts of Birmingham, only a ten-minute drive from my grandparents’ house. Go Tigers. The bus turned the ten-minute drive into forty. But you know, I was glad for every one of those extra minutes. Like I’d told Kat that day at the hospital, my mom and dad had graduated from Asher, and all I could think about was whether their pictures were hanging in any of the display cases.

I wasn’t ever going to look. If I saw them, I’d probably have a breakdown right there in the halls, something that hadn’t happened since the funeral. Yeah, I liked to think I was stronger now, more in control, but I wasn’t taking chances.

I sat in front, just behind the driver, and kept my head down during the ride. I spoke to no one, and I was the first to exit, my steps quick as my backpack thumped against me.

I paused in front of the building, my eyes wide and my stomach churning. So. Many. Kids. Some were tall, some were short. Black, white. Boy, girl. Rich, poor. Preppy, stoned. Skinny, not so skinny. Clothed, practically naked. Each one huddled in a group, beyond excited to be together again. Everyone seemed to be talking over someone else and laughing.

The building itself was sprawling and kind of creepy, because wow—Tigers took their school colors seriously. Never had I seen so much black and gold. Black brick was interspaced with gold brick. There was a wealth of trees, the trunks painted black and the leaves painted gold. There was a cement walkway, and black-and-gold tiger paws led to the front doors, where metal detectors stood guard. Someone had anchored tiger ears on the sides and whiskers in the middle to give the detectors faces.

Note to self: Never talk badly about jungle cats. I’d probably get my head dunked in the toilet.

I stopped by the front office and asked for a map, only to be sighed at and pointed to a fat stack of them on the counter. I grabbed one and muttered, “Thanks.” I had my schedule already, so it was just a matter of finding my way. I’d never been good with directions.

As I was walking away, a woman strode out of the back office, spotted me and changed her course, heading straight for me.

She held out a well-manicured hand. “You’re Alice Bell.”

“Ali,” I said as we shook. Her grip was strong. Too strong.

“I’m the principal here. Dr. Wright. And do not think you’ll get away with calling me Ms. Wright, Wright or Hey Lady. I earned my title and you will use it. Understood?”

“Yes.” I looked her over as discreetly as possible. Dark brown hair framed a pretty face. She had olive-toned skin, brown eyes that practically flashed the words I mean business, and a cupid’s bow mouth.

“If you need anything,” she said, already moving off, “don’t hesitate to let one of my assistants know.”

“Thanks. I will—”

She didn’t hear me, because she was already gone.

I made my way into a hall that was plastered with Tigers Rule posters and majorly congested, kids rushing in every direction, a (black-and-gold) beach ball being tossed around, laughter echoing. I must have been walking too slowly, because several people tried to mow me down.

In an act of self-preservation, I pressed into a wall of lockers. Soon the crowd would thin and I could navigate my way without incident. As I waited, I tried not to think about my old school and the fact that, after my last class, I wouldn’t be walking to the nearest elementary school to pick up …

Nope, not going there.

“Ali?”

My gaze shot from the floor to a beautiful brunette, who stood front and center in a group of girls. “Kat! I mean, Mad Dog.” I was so happy to discover a familiar face, I did something I hadn’t done all summer. I smiled.

She smiled back, looking genuinely happy to see me, and waved me over.

I closed the distance, and she threw her arms around me as if we were long-lost friends. “Well, well, look what the Kat dragged in. Get it? Of course you do. I only make awesome jokes. But enough of my brilliant banter. I’m so glad you’re here!” Her gaze slid over me, and she gave me another grin, this one sly. “Look at you, total chili pepper hot. I love it!”

A lie, surely. I had on ratty sneakers, ripped jeans and the oldest tee I owned. The fabric was so frayed, I looked like I—gag—wore fringe. I just hadn’t felt like getting dressed up, as if I had something to celebrate.

The therapist my grandparents had made me see would have said I was punishing myself for living when the rest of my family had died. (If she had uttered those words just one more time, I would have hacked off my ears and left them with her.) I’d already figured that out on my own, thank you. That didn’t change how I felt.

“Well?” Kat prompted. “Aren’t you going to tell me how good I look?”

My gaze roved from top to bottom. “You don’t look good. You look amazing,” I added before she could pout. She wore glittery shoes, Miss Me hip-huggers and a skintight black top. Dark hair fell in pretty waves over one shoulder.

“Gold star for Ali,” she said. “Now, then. Allow me to make introductions. Ladies, this is Ali, a very special friend of mine.”

I stiffened, thinking she meant to tell them where we’d met, but she didn’t and I could have hugged her all over again.

“Ali, this is Reeve, Poppy and Wren.”

O-kay. No Janes, Beths, or Kellys here. “Hello,” I said, sounding as lame as always. The girls were as flawless as Kat, with stunning faces you’d usually find only in magazines. They wore drool-worthy outfits, also found only in magazines.

Magazines. Yeah. That’s the only thing that made any sense. Kat had picked each girl out of Flawless Friends Forever, I’m sure. In comparison, I felt frumpy and way outclassed, like I’d been selected from Homeless Dogs Weekly.

“Nice to meet you,” said Wren, a gorgeous black girl with the most amazing caramel eyes.

“Any friend of Kat’s …” said Poppy, a freckled redhead surely destined to marry a prince or something.