Back From The Dead

“So you wanna turn him into a zombie?”

They were in Scott’s room, the bedroom window open to let in the cool late spring breeze. Gordon was sitting on the floor, his back against the wall as Scott reclined on his queen-sized bed and Steve sat at Scott’s desk. David was at a wrestling match. The three of them had just come back from a beating session in the shack. It had been Scott’s turn this time. He’d knocked the bum unconscious after four punches, but this time they waited until the sad sack of shit woke up before starting in on him again. Gordon and Steve had pulled the bum to his feet and Scott knocked him out again with a single punch to the face.

Scott had also cut his knuckles in the process. Now he sat on the bed, a bandage over his right forefinger and across the knuckles where the bum’s teeth had shredded the skin. Said teeth had gone flying like piano keys. They’d left him lying on the floor, still chained up.

“Well, yeah!” Gordon said. “I’m gonna get a copy of this book Monday from Count Gaines. It’s all about how to make zombies. He says you use a chemical made from some kind of frogs and pufferfish and — ”

“Where the fuck are you going to get a pufferfish from?” Scott exclaimed.

“I don’t know. The internet?”

Steve came to Gordon’s defense. “Yeah, you can get anything on the internet.”

“Okay, so say you get this pufferfish and the other stuff you need,” Scott said from the bed. “Then what?”

“Well, I need the book to help me out,” Gordon said. “They do this stuff all the time in Haiti and there’s spells you’ve got to do with it.”

“Spells?” Scott looked skeptical.

“Yeah. Count says this stuff is like black magic. You know…devil stuff.”

“You believe that shit?” Scott asked.

Gordon was on a roll. “You believe in God, right? I mean, you’re President of the Spring Valley Christian Outreach Club.”

Scott nodded. “Okay, I see what you mean. But — ”

“This is built on the same principle. If you pray to God, He answers. He’s not going to answer us if we pray to keep this guy alive.”

Steve laughed. “Yeah, we’re going to hell for sure on that.”

Scott shot Steve a dark look. “We’re not going to hell for getting rid of that bum! How many times have I told you that all we’ve gotta do is confess our sins and our souls are cleansed? And that the kingdom of Heaven isn’t open to people with AIDS and drunkards?”

This much was true. A few nights ago, the three of them had been in Scott’s room when Steve suddenly got scared that they were not only going to get in trouble, but they would go to hell for what they’d done to the homeless guy. Scott knew his Bible pretty well. He’d been going to his parent’s Church — First Baptist of Christ on Main Street — since he was five years old. He’d led youth Bible studies and was very involved in the Christian Outreach program at Spring Valley High School, an off campus group that met once a week in the church’s basement. Scott was a charismatic leader. His knowledge of the Bible and his outgoing personality had the Christian student body and the church elders eating out of his hand. He’d told the guys that as long as they were sincerely sorry for their sins and confessed them to Jesus Christ, He would absolve them. Man might judge, but God forgave. Plus, God was strict when it came to who would enter the kingdom.

“Yeah, and I thought the Bible said those who worshipped demons wouldn’t get into Heaven, either,” Gordon said.

“We aren’t worshipping demons,” Scott said. “We’re just — ”

“Using them,” Steve said, picking up on Scott’s train of thought.

“Yeah,” Scott said, nodding. “We’re using them.”

Gordon shrugged. No skin off his back. That’s the way he interpreted it, too. After all, didn’t the President of the United States use rogue governments that they considered terrorists or enemies of the country to do their bidding? And the President was usually a man of God himself; well, except for Obama. Or so his parents had told him.

“So what do you think?” Gordon asked. “I want to try it.”

Scott appeared to mull it over. He glanced at Steve. “What do you think?”

“It’ll be cool,” Gordon continued. “Think about what will happen if it works! The guy isn’t going to die and we can continue using him as a punching bag all summer.”

“What if somebody finds him?” Scott asked. “With him being a zombie all summer, somebody’s liable to find out.”

“Nobody’s found out yet, right?”

“He’s got a point,” Scott said. “Your parents are never in that guesthouse anyway. They’re not gonna suspect a thing.”

“So he’ll be dead but not really dead,” Scott said. He was mulling this over, talking to himself in a way that suggested he was trying to convince himself of the idea.

“Yeah,” Gordon said, in seller’s mode now. No sense telling Scott that if the bum was dead he’d probably continue to rot. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, maybe they could shoot him in the head or something when he got that bad. Wasn’t that how you killed zombies? With a gunshot to the head? “In this book, it talks about this chemical you make from the pufferfish and these certain frogs and it makes it appear that you’re dead.”

Scott nodded. “I like it.” He turned to Gordon. “Let’s do it. You getting the book Monday?”

“Yeah,” Gordon said.

“How long do you think it’ll take before we can turn him into a zombie?”

Gordon shrugged. “I don’t know. I can ask Count to highlight those parts.”

Scott grinned. “I never thought Count Gaines would be good for anything but it looks like he’s going to be.”

The boys laughed at that. Who knew Count Gaines would be good for anything, indeed!

Chapter Five

Tim wasn’t surprised to see Gordon at lunch the following Monday. His former nemesis paid him a visit at his usual hangout spot — a stone bench nestled in a nice little alcove well away from the quad where most of the student body hung out at during lunch. Due to extra-curricular activities, the kids he sometimes hung out with were scattered to the four winds: Chelsea was assisting her art teacher, Matt was in the computer lab, Al and George were over in Mr. Sharp’s Graphic Arts class preparing for fifth period; he’d had lunch with them only ten minutes ago in the cafeteria. It was during times like these that Tim buried himself in a book.

“Hey Tim,” Gordon said. Tim nodded at him. Not, hey Count, or hey freak. Being addressed by his first name meant some kind of progress was being made. “You finish that book?” Gordon’s expression was eager.

“Yep.” Tim pulled the battered paperback out of his backpack and handed it over to Gordon, who took it excitedly. “Leave the lights on at night when you read it,” he said with a grin.

“Oh yeah?” Gordon looked up from the back cover, which he’d begun to peruse.

“Yeah. Creepiest shit I’ve read in a long time.”

“So where’s the zombie stuff?”

“They make an appearance about a quarter of the way into the book, but the serious shit doesn’t happen until the last third.”

Gordon was ruffling through the pages, as if searching through a textbook. “No, I mean, where’s the formula? You know…the spells on how they make the zombies?”

“You’re still gonna read the whole thing, right?”

“Well, yeah!”

Tim took the book back and flipped through it, finding the pages in question. Gordon sat down next to him on the bench. Around them kids mingled, eating lunch together in groups or by themselves. A group of girls were