“You bet your sweet ass they did. ’Course they tried t’ play it off like it was too much t’ ask, ya know? But I could tell by th’ look in their eyes that they’re just as sick of bein’ ’round that little cunt as me.”
I felt as if my soul were tied to the center of the rope in a cosmic game of tug-of-war. I thought of Sarah: the soft contours of her cheeks and chin, her long wispy hair blowing in the breeze as she smiled and cast her gaze toward her feet. I thought of her and wanted nothing more than to speak up, to tell Carlos and Tommy that they had it all wrong with her. She was good and sweet and funny and if they lost their baby brother they’d probably be a little wigged out, too. She wasn’t all that bad… in fact, she was the closest thing to perfection this town had to offer.
I cleared my throat, feeling the need to say something but also like my neck was being squeezed by an infinitely strong hand. Carlos and Tommy turned to look at me with arched eyebrows and the older boy shrugged as if to say, “What gives?”
“Dirty fuckin’ zombie lover.”
The moment the words crossed my lips, I felt as if an invisible rotter had devoured everything within me that was ever worth a damn and left only a hollow shell in its place.
“Damn straight, brother. Ain’t no room in The Rotter Nation for zombie lovers. You’re gonna fit right in. Living Power all the way, baby.”
The next few moments were spent in silence. As we walked, we could hear the Emperor’s voice delivering his address; but the celebration was so distant that it sounded as if the words were reaching us through the corridors of time. Finally, we stood before the flaps of a familiar tent and I felt the contents of my stomach churn as I bit my bottom lip.
Carlos had turned to face us and his pock-marked skin almost seemed to glow in the soft light of the moon. He was smiling as if the greatest surprise in the world lay just on the other side of that mud-stained canvass.
“What… what are we doing here?”
In the distance, the crowd roared amid thunderous applause. The Emperor, then, had concluded his speech and The Burning was about to commence. And, at that moment, I wanted to be there on the platforms; I wanted to be wedged shoulder to shoulder with my mom and dad, all of our neighbors, to be just another face in the throngs of people peering over the edge of the wall.
Carlos’ grin widened and his eyes seemed to twinkle with mischief.
“You boys ready to skin the freshy?”
Tommy and I were so quiet that you could have heard the sweat drip from my armpits. I wanted to turn and run, to forsake the Rotter Nation and all they stood for; I wished for an antique firearm or a heavy wooden club, anything that would bolster my strength and confidence. But in the end, I simply shuffled inside as Carlos threw back the flap and swept his free arm in a beckoning motion.
A few lanterns flickered inside the tent and caused shadows to dance across the walls like demons celebrating the return of their master. A threadbare carpet with interlocking shapes was spread across the floor beside a pile of books and personal effects were strewn about almost haphazardly: mounds of clothing, cooking utensils, a smattering of faded photographs propped against rocks and bricks and metal shelving that seemed to defy gravity with its bent frame.
In a way, I felt as if I had somehow stepped inside one of those old photos. Like I was hovering somewhere just outside the camera’s scope, looking on at the scene before me; not a participant but a casual observer, distanced and aloof.
Sarah was tied to and old bed like someone who was about to be drawn and quartered.
Her arms and legs were splayed out wide, the ropes digging so deeply into her wrists and ankles that the surrounding skin seemed to overlap the tight cords. She struggled against the restraints, writhing and pulling as if she could somehow rip the bedposts from the frame. Lying in the floor was a white nightgown that looked as if it had been ripped and shredded by some wild animal.
Tears had begun to sting my eyes and I felt cold inside, so cold that I doubted if I could ever know the warmth of the sun again. I tried to speak, to say something, to say
Sarah’s skin was pale… so damn pale. Her bare midriff, the curves of the breasts I had so often dreamed of seeing and touching and tasting…
Not a single goosebump or dimple to mar its alabaster surface. Just a thin network of bluish veins spreading like roots just beneath the surface of her flesh.
Her head was wrapped in some kind of clear plastic so tightly that her eyes and mouth formed small dips.
Any glow which had once taken residence there had now fled, leaving only two lusterless orbs which tracked Carlos’ movements through the room. Through the plastic wrap, I could barely make out these little black specks that seemed to somehow float in the whites of her eyes.
Carlos ripped the plastic away from her face and she immediately tried to lunge forward, her teeth clacking like stones as she gnashed at the air. She seemed more animal than human. Not at all like the girl I’d fantasized of taking into my arms, of nuzzling and kissing and caressing.
“Time to skin the freshy, boys.”
It was the voice of the devil, dripping poison with each syllable.
“I don’t… I…”
A scowl passed over Carlos’ face and his eyes narrowed into mere slits.
“Look here, you little pussies, you wanna be in The Nation or not? We got fifteen minutes tops before I gotta put on my little production, turn on the waterworks, and tell everyone how poor little Sarah went quietly in her sleep and how I had to take care of her when she reanimated.”
“We don’t know what to do.” Tommy stammered. “You tell us what you want and consider it done, Carlos. Ain’t that right, Smitty?”
Carlos laughed and I felt a shiver race along my spine.
“Do I gotta spell it out for you rotter brains? Take off your fuckin’ clothes and do this zombie bitch. You shoot your load without getting’ bit and you’re in.”
I watched the thing that had once been Sarah as her jaws continued to snap at the air, as she twisted and turned and arched her back to the point I was sure we’d hear her spinal cord snap like a dry twig. Where had the goodness gone? Where was the shy smile, the fluttering of eyelashes, and the embarrassed flush in her cheeks?
My legs had begun to tremble and I felt as if a million needles were jabbing into my skull. I had to look away, to focus on something else, anything other than this snared, naked creature.
For some reason, it was a box of matches that caught my attention. It was a nice wooden box with little jewels embedded around the strip of sandpaper on it’s side. Such a pretty little box, such….
“What the fuck, Smitty?”
I turned to look at Tommy. His clothes were in a pile by his feet and for a moment I was confused: why was he naked? Why was he showing me his private parts and looking like he expected something from me? What the hell was going on?
“Don’t you fuck this up for me, man. Take off your damn clothes!”
I stood there and blinked like a frightened animal as I struggled to make sense of everything that was happening. Sarah was…
“Shit, Smitty, don’t tell me you’re a fucking zombie lover, too?”
Tommy’s words cut through the haze that my thoughts had struggled to force their way through… I pictured a future where I was ringed by taunting boys, where spittle rained down on me like a thunderstorm; I would be ganged up on, beaten within an inch of my life, and left lying in the mud with only my bloody tears to keep me company. Los Meurtos, The Free Town Freshies, The Rotter Nation… they would all rally around a common enemy, would take turns degrading me in ways I couldn’t begin to imagine. My life would become a hell on earth. Like poor Sarah’s had….
“Fuck this! I’ll stick it in. I’m no pussy.”
