Back From The Dead

recognized from the Spring Valley High football team. Dave grinned stupidly at him and raised his drink in a mock salute. He mouthed the word “Count” and Tim felt a sense of power surge through him. He grinned. He wasn’t intimidated by these losers anymore. They might be the source of all his problems, but he wasn’t afraid of them.

Gordon glanced their way and when he saw them, he looked away. Tim wondered if it was because he felt guilty about lying to the police about that book. As Tim accepted a glass of punch from Danielle and sipped it, he wondered how his copy of Back From the Dead wound up in the cemetery parking lot in the first place. The only thing he could think of was Gordon had to have left it there, whether by accident or on purpose it didn’t matter. Gordon was the only one who could have left it there, and that meant he was present when that grave was desecrated. The police could find no physical evidence of Tim, Al, or George being anywhere within the vicinity of that cemetery the evening the grave was vandalized, and they hadn’t even tried questioning Gordon again. Doug Fenner had tried suggesting to the police that Gordon and his friends be investigated, but the police dismissed it. It looked like the entire matter was going to be dropped, but that didn’t stop Tim from thinking that Gordon, and quite possibly one of his other loser friends, were the real culprits of the grave vandalism.

And if that was the case, why had they done it? Tim didn’t think they’d have the balls to actually steal the bones of a long interred dead person, much less desecrate a grave, just to frame him. That was going a bit too far.

Tim’s mind was just about to go into overdrive in trying to come up with a scenario for why Gordon and his friends would try to frame him, when George interrupted his thoughts. “Chelsea and Matt just got here.”

Tim turned to the door that led to the back yard. Matt and Chelsea were standing there, looking a bit apprehensive about entering a party composed entirely of kids they hated. Matt was short, with longish blonde hair, and Chelsea was small and slender with black hair that hung to her shoulders. Chelsea saw him and smiled. Tim grinned back.

“What’s up, Count Gaines?”

Tim whirled around and came face to face with Scott Bradfield.

Scott was grinning. Dave, Steve, Gordon, and that football jock framed him on either side. Dave and Steve had those same dumb grins on their faces, as if they were anticipating something. Gordon looked like he didn’t want to be there and wouldn’t meet Tim’s gaze. The football jock looked like he wanted to fight somebody.

“What’s up?” Tim said.

George and Al turned around, too. Al nodded. “Hey, what’s up?”

Scott ignored George and Al, his gaze directed entirely on Tim. “Never thought I’d see you here tonight, Count. Getting pretty brave.”

“I guess I am.”

“Congratulations on getting your new friends suspended from school.”

“Thank you!” Tim grinned.

“This the motherfucker that tried to throw you under the bus, Gordon?” The football jock glowered at Tim, his blue eyes fiery pits.

“He’s cool, John,” Gordon said, still not looking at Tim.

“Actually, you’re right, John,” Scott said. “Gaines has a nasty habit of practicing witchcraft and doing weird shit and then trying to blame his crimes on other people. I wouldn’t worry about him, though. He’s been put in his place enough times.”

“You best not be fucking with my boys, asshole,” football jock said. His gaze did not waver from Tim. For his part, Tim did not look away.

“Count Gaines knows not to fuck with us,” Scott said.

“That’s true,” Tim said, not dropping his own gaze. He smiled. “I have better things to do.”

Football jock blinked. He looked like he did not know how to interpret this.

Scott glanced at Matt and Chelsea. His smile grew wider. “We were just going to make our own party at my place. Want to hang out with us, Chelsea?”

“Nope,” Chelsea said. She was suddenly at Tim’s side. “Like Tim said, I have better things to do.”

Scott put on a mock surprise of hurt. “Aw, now is that any way to treat a guy who shows interest in you?”

“You show interest in all the girls, Scott,” Chelsea said. “And besides, what would Rebecca think?”

“She’s not here,” Scott said.

“How come she isn’t here?” George asked politely. “You two still going out?”

Scott shrugged. “You know how it is. Girls like to have the occasional night off from arm candy duty.”

Dave tried to hurl another insult Tim’s way. “But you wouldn’t know that, Tim.”

“You’d be surprised,” Chelsea answered for him.

Muted giggles rose from Scott’s band of nitwits. The old instinct to blush never came to Tim. Instead he felt strong, positive. “Have a pleasant evening, gentlemen.” Then he turned and, as if on cue, George, Al, Matt, and Chelsea followed suit. They headed toward the sliding glass doors that led to the back yard.

“Hey, wait! Where you going?” Scott broke off from his pack to follow them.

George paused long enough to address Scott. “We’re taking off. See you later.”

Football jock looked like he still wanted to fight somebody. He joined Scott in attempting to follow them outside. Tim could feel the penetrating gaze of football jock’s eyes on his back and was somewhat relieved when Danielle stepped in to intervene. “Hey Scott, John, come here, I’ve got something for you guys.”

As they stepped into the back yard, Tim thought he heard the other guys mutter behind their backs. “Fucking weirdos,” and “They fuckin’ walked away from us! Did you see that shit?” This did not make him nervous. Instead, it made him mad.

George nodded at Tim as they gathered in the back yard. A small knot of kids were gathered beneath the glare of the sodium lights that blazed down on the immense lower back deck. Tim recognized some of them on sight but didn’t know them. “Let’s get out of here,” George said.

The others murmured agreement, and Tim tossed his hardly-touched glass of punch in the garbage can that had been set on the deck.

Scott poked his head out, his attention directed to Chelsea. “Ditch those losers and come to my house. 143 Hemingway Drive. We’ll be chilling out in the living room.”

“In your dreams,” Chelsea said, turning her back to him as she left with the guys.

“Bitch,” Scott muttered, and the rest of what he said to his friends was drowned out as they hurried around the house and up the incline that led to the front yard. Tim felt an urgency to get in the car and get as far away from this party as possible. He was absolutely certain now that Scott was giving his marching orders to his crew: come on, guys, that little bitch turned me down, she’s following Count Gaines like a bitch in heat, we need to put her in her place just like we did with Tim back in sixth grade. He could definitely sense it, and he had a feeling the others could too. George and Al sprinted ahead of them to the car and Matt called out, “Chelsea and I parked right out front, we’ll follow you guys!” George acknowledged them and then they were in Al’s car, pulling away from the curb, making a U turn and heading out of the neighborhood. And as they passed the house, Tim saw Scott and his crew in the front yard, watching as they drove by. A moment later they moved as one solid unit toward a row of parked vehicles. Tim glanced in the rearview mirror, saw the twin headlights of Matt’s little Mazda behind them and he leaned forward from his position in the backseat. “Scott and his buddies are following us.”

“Time to lose them,” Al said, accelerating quickly. Matt followed closely, and Tim held his breath as the chase commenced.

Chapter Fifteen

It had taken them all night, but they’d finally procured themselves some zombie food.

Scott panted heavily. The others stood around the zombie food in a rough semi-circle of the guesthouse living room, out of breath from the struggle. Even Gordon had gotten in on the act. Earlier in the evening, Scott was