Pariah

sclera of the eye she’d opened in the crowd. She looked straight at them and plucked both buds out of her ears. Even through the low din of zombie protestations they could hear the tinny ratta-tat-tat of loud percussive music piping from the tiny speakers of her headphones.

“What’s up?” she asked in the tone of someone just running into an old acquaintance. Her nonchalance turned every person by the windows into one big goose bump, hairs rising on necks and arms, Adam’s apples bobbing in quandary. Maybe Abe’s derangement had affected them all, because no one in this world or the next had ever displayed such placidity, least of all in a circumstance like this.

Not even Jesus.

“We need your help,” Ellen managed, forcing out each word like a fist-sized chunk.

“Uh-huh. Okay.” Big pause. The girl stuck a finger in her ear and jiggled it. “Whattaya want?”

“For starters, we’re starving.”

“Uh-huh.”

And with that she turned around and headed back into Food City, the zombies after a few beats closing the zipper. Everyone stood by the windows, immobilized and mute. On York the scene coalesced into its usual monotonous norm, no breaks in the rotting mob, no sign anything different had ever occurred. Ellen blinked herself out of her stupor and whispered a faint, “Did we just see what we just saw?”

part two

***

20

As they hoisted the fifth load of canned and dry goods into the windows of 2B, the girl looked up at them, indifferent as when she’d arrived. Everyone was sweatier than usual, but there was a feeling of giddiness and camaraderie that hadn’t been evident in the group since ever. One bag toppled over in the excitement and several mouths involuntarily began to drool at the sight of such delicacies as Hormel Chili, Dinty Moore Beef Stew, Del Monte Lite Fruit Cocktail, and more. Even good old SPAM. Several eyes were also leaking, but with anticipated pleasure for a change.

“Okay, then,” the girl announced, her voice wholly monotone. With that she picked up her own shopping bags, turned around and began to head south in no particular hurry. On her back was a bulging button- and badge- festooned Hello Kitty backpack, its beady black eyes as blank as hers.

“Wait! Wait!” Ellen screeched, hating the desperation in her voice.

The girl stopped and looked back. “What?”

What?

“Can’t you stay?” Ellen shouted, regaining composure.

“Why?”

Why? Was this chick for real? Was she so shattered by the world she couldn’t even be horrified by it any more? It was possible. It was certainly possible. Around her, for the first time in months, the zombies’ barely functioning brains were engaged, and they didn’t like it. The bounty in the building above tantalized them, out of reach. For a moment Ellen wondered if the zombies were as hungry as she was. The girl was clearly abhorrent to them. Inarticulate confusion and chagrin reigned, displayed in a chorus of guttural grunts and thick, phlegmy hissing. In direct contrast, the girl stood there, calm as a mink at a PETA rally.

“Why?” Ellen repeated, dumbfounded. “Because we need you to stay. Won’t you please stay and help us?”

The others all nodded encouragement at Ellen, mutely acknowledging their acceptance of her as their advocate. As they fought the urge to tear into the groceries they watched the back and forth between the two females, their heads looking up, then down in unison, like spectators at a lopsided tennis match.

“You want me to stay,” the girl said, sounding it out for her own benefit.

“Yes. Yes we do. Very much. Please stay. We’d be very grateful if you did.”

Ellen was trembling, trying to keep it together. The girl stood there and looked at her feet, which were encased in black combat boots. She wore longish black cargo shorts, low on her hips, exposing a generous helping of her very healthy-looking belly. She had no boobs to speak of, but possessed wide, womanly hips. Her hair, also black, was short, choppy, and boyish. She wound and unwound the cord of her earbuds around her hand, pondering, occasionally fanning away a pesky fly. Epochal seconds passed.

“Yeah, okay,” she finally responded, voice flat as the world before Columbus.

Ellen and Alan set up her expandable dining table on the roof and Dabney fired up the slightly rusty hibachi he’d found two roofs over, preparing to share their first communal meal since they’d been forced into these straits. Paper and plastic plates and utensils were distributed, freshly liberated from Food City along with all the comestibles. Everyone greedily eyed the various cans and boxes as they were freed from the plastic shopping bags, their colorful labels beacons of the feast yet to come.

“Fuckin’ awesome,” Eddie declared, holding aloft a bag of Doritos.

At first the meal had been hard to enjoy, everyone’s reawakened sense of smell welcome as the scent of grilling meats and veggies seduced them, then not so welcome as they choked on the stench of their rotting neighbors down in the street. But good smells triumphed over rotten and soon dishes brimming with steaming hot meat products and vegetables were devoured with relish. Real relish. Jars of it. Condiments had reverted to seasoning status, to enhance but not be the main course.

The mood was high and the behavior almost courtly, each course consumed amidst choruses of “please” and “thank you.” Even Eddie was caught up in the graciousness. His mama would’ve been proud. The SPAM family of products-Hot & Spicy, Lite, Oven Roasted Turkey, Hickory Smoked, and Classic, of course-had never tasted so good.

“This is like filet mignon,” Abe said, savoring a chunk of the briny potted meat.

“Better,” Karl said, shoveling a heap of baked beans onto his plate. “Oh my God, I can’t believe how great this is.”

Innumerable permutations of the same sentiment were repeated throughout the repast, punctuated by grateful belches and the occasional fart. When everyone was too stuffed to budge, Abe, being the resident old man of Jewish persuasion, uttered the customary cornball joke that follows big meals: “Waiter, check please.” But rather than the groans of embarrassment he’d gotten in the past from his family, laughter erupted, even from Ruth. Abe blinked in astonishment and said, “No one ever laughs at that line. We should starve to death more often.”

“Ucch, Abraham. Quit while you’re ahead.” Even Ruth got a laugh.

It had been a long while since anyone’s stomach ached from overeating, but that was the case, and the pain was delectable. A symphony of blurps and blorps, gastric juices breaking down adult-size portions, serenaded the residents of 1620 as they rubbed full bellies and had seconds and thirds. When no one could cram down any more, Alan and Karl brought the soiled disposable dishes and so forth to the edge of the roof and rained the debris down on the zombies below, feeling smug in their well- fed state. Ellen’s smile faded and her brow furrowed as it hit her the girl was not among them. She hadn’t even partaken of the feast.

“What kind of ingrates and assholes are we?” she gasped, slapping her forehead.

“Huh?” Alan said, turning to face her.

“The girl. The girl! Our good Samaritan! We didn’t even invite her to join us. Are we insane?”

“Crazed by hunger, yeah,” Eddie said.