Читать книгу Alice in Zombieland - Gena Showalter - Страница 7

They were dead. My family was dead. Gone. I knew it when I woke up in a hospital bed, and the nurse standing over me wouldn’t meet my gaze or tell me where they were.

When the doctor came to spill the news, I just shifted to my side and closed my eyes. This was a dream. This was a horrible dream, and I would wake up. Everything would be okay when I woke up.

I never woke up.

Turns out, the car wreck that killed my mom, my dad and my … my … I couldn’t think about her. I just couldn’t. So. Rephrase. The car wreck that killed my family had caused minimal damage to me. A concussion, a few cracked ribs, but that was it. And that just seemed so wrong, you know? I should have been slashed to ribbons, like my mother. I should have needed a total body cast. Something.

Instead, despite some minor aches and pains, I really was fine.

Fine. Yeah.

My grandparents from my mother’s side visited several times, crying for the family they’d lost. I’d seen them two weeks before, when my mom had taken me and my—My chin trembled, but I ground my teeth together to stop it. When she’d taken us to visit. We’d stayed only a few hours, though, just long enough to have lunch and a light, fun conversation.

Though Nana and Pops liked me and had always treated me well, I’d never been the favorite; I think I reminded them too much of my father, who had never been good enough for their only baby.

Still, they weren’t going to abandon me in my time of need, they said. I would move in with them, and they would see to everything.

So, I would now be living in a two-story just as unremarkable as my own had been, but one that was mostly unfamiliar to me. One my dad had not built—one that was not reinforced for my protection. But that was no big deal. I’d never even stayed the night with a friend, never slept in any bed but my own. But yeah, no big deal.

I should care, wanted to care, but I was tapped out … empty … nothing but a shell.

The doctors and nurses threw out a thousand I’m sorrys and you’ll be okays. Words like fine. Such meaningless words. They were sorry? So what. That did nothing to bring my family back. I would be okay? Please. I’d never be okay again.

What did they know about losing the only people they loved, anyway? What did they know about being alone? When their shifts ended, they would go home. They would hug their kids, share a meal and talk about their days. Me? I would never again enjoy something as simple as that.

I had no mother.

I had no father.

I had no sis … family.

Heck, I think I was even without my sanity. Those monsters …

Cops came by, and so did a social worker and a therapist. They all wanted to know what had happened. The cops, especially, were interested in knowing if a pack of wild dogs had attacked my parents.

Wild dogs. I’d seen no wild dogs, but that made a whole lot more sense than what I had seen.

I said nothing, though. We’d flipped and we’d crashed. The authorities knew that much, and that was all they needed to know. I would never mention the monsters; there was no reason to. The concussion was responsible for that little gem of a hallucination, surely.

I would never mention the fact that my mom had been in the car with me when I first opened my eyes after passing out. But the next time I’d opened them? Her body had been outside the car, the headlights spotlighting her just as they’d spotlighted my dad, her body jerking and writhing as the things dove inside her, disappearing for endless seconds before coming back up for air. Her skin had bubbled up, as if burned and turned black, before finally splitting open and welling with blood.

Though I’d tried with all my strength, I hadn’t been able to free myself and save her. My belt had been fused to my seat, locking me in place. And when the monsters had next focused on me, evil eyes piercing me, taking one step, two, toward the car, I’d panicked, desperate to protect my … other family member.

Before either of us could be taken—by the wild dogs, I told myself now—another car had come by, spotted us and sent the beasts running. Though running wasn’t the best word. Some had seemed to trip, some had seemed to glide. I don’t remember much after that. Just flashes. Bright lights shining in my eyes. Sounds, like metal grinding against metal, and men shouting at each other. Then a pair of strong hands lifting me, something sharp poking at my arm, something being fitted over my nose. After that, nothing.

“Hey. You’re Alice, right?”

I blinked out of the hated memory fog and turned my head toward the room’s only door. A pretty girl, probably my age, stepped inside. She had straight dark hair, large hazel eyes framed by spiky black lashes, and skin the perfect shade of sun-kissed. She rocked a long-sleeved pink T-shirt that read I’m With Genius with an arrow pointing up, and a micromini that barely wrapped around her waist. Actually, bathing-suit bottom might have been a better description.

Needless to say, my ugly paper-thin gown with uneven ties did not compare.

“I’m Ali,” I said. They were the first words I’d uttered in what seemed forever. My throat was raw, my voice hoarse. I just couldn’t let her call me Alice again. The last person who had was … never mind. I just couldn’t let her. “I’m Ali,” I repeated.

“Cool. I’m Kathryn, but everyone calls me Kat. And do not make any cat jokes or I’ll have to hurt you. With my claws.” She waved the long, blunt tips of her fingers at me. “Truth is, I stopped speaking meow a long time ago.”

Speaking meow? “I’m guessing calling you Pretty Kitty is out.” I don’t know where my burst of humor sprang from, but I wasn’t gonna fight it. All of my energy was needed fighting everything else. “But what about Mad Dog?”

Her lips twitched into the semblance of a grin. “Har, har. But now I’ll be disappointed if you don’t call me Mad Dog.” She shifted back on her heels, the movement graceful, fluid. “So, uh, yeah. About my visit. Let’s get the info exchange out of the way first. My mom works here, and she brought me with her today. She said you could really use a friend, or something equally tragic like that.”

“I’m fine,” I rushed out. There was that stupid word again. Fine.

“I know, right? That’s what I told her.” Kat sauntered over, pulled the only chair in the room next to my bed and plopped down. “Besides, people don’t open up to strangers. That’d just be weird. But she’s my mom, and you’re clearly in need of a shoulder to cry on, so what was I supposed to say? No? Even I’m not that cruel.”

Her pity wasn’t something I’d accept. “You can tell your mom I was rude and kicked you out.”

“Also,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken, “life’s way too short to wallow in sorrow, I know. Anyway, as I’m sure you’ve already deduced, I’m stellar company. Oh, oh. And guess what? There’s an opening in my Fave Five—not those old lame phone commercials, but my actual inner circle—and I’m actively looking to fill the top spot. We’ll just consider this your interview.”

Somehow, her little speech caused that flicker of good humor to stir back to life. I couldn’t help but say, “Your top spot is a job, then?”

“Of course.” She fluffed her hair. “I don’t want to brag, but I’m very high maintenance.”

“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.