Tim did remember. While his grandparents were always wonderful to him, they had seemed somewhat cold and distant to Mom. Things had warmed up recently, though, and they seemed fine now. Tim nodded. “Yeah, I remember.”
“Most people would rather take the easy way out,” Mom said. “They’d rather take the well worn path than the road less traveled. The well-worn path is easier. It’s compromise, and life is easier for you when you take it. You get a good job quickly, everybody approves of who you are and what you do. I could have done that, made my parents happy by majoring in a field that held no interest for me, and that’s what most people do. Instead, I chose the road less traveled and had a rocky relationship with my folks for a while because of it, but you know what? It was worth it.
That seemed so wrong to Tim. His parents had never once tried to steer him toward a goal he held no interest in. When Tim had expressed an interest in majoring in English and History in high school, they’d been entirely supportive. Other kids he knew who expressed similar goals had been talked into more “practical” courses like Accounting. Tim had a classmate who had gone from an A and B student, to a D and C average when he was forced to major in Accounting instead of Music like he’d wanted to.
Too bad you couldn’t change your major in high school the way you could in college. Now that kid was screwed if he wanted to go on to college and had the balls to choose a major he knew he could excel in.
Tim got off the bed and approached the bureau where the boombox and Mom’s CD’s were stacked. He thumbed through them. It was three-fifteen, the last day of school. Already, Tim could hear the excited voices of kids in the neighborhood as they came home for the first afternoon of what he hoped would be a long summer. Mom and Dad were at work. Tim had finished his last final exam yesterday, had turned in the papers this morning, and had only to log on to the Spring Valley School District website to get his grades. He knew he’d passed the tests with flying colors. He’d studied hard for them. He was confident his grades would remain well above average and that he would be able to raise his GPA even higher next semester.
He’d spoken to George and Al every day since his banishment from school. George’s father was pressing on with his legal claims against the school district. Two nights ago, all three families had met at Doug Fenner’s office to sign paperwork authorizing a lawsuit against the district. The police still hadn’t filed criminal charges, but that was only because they were still investigating the crime. Or so they claimed. As Doug explained to them, the lawsuit against the school district was two-fold; it was designed to punish the district for discriminating against the boys, and it was also designed to shift the burden of proof away from them regarding the alleged witchcraft allegations. Either supply proof that they were involved in criminal activity, or cease and desist. In other words, put up or shut up.
Still, Tim felt bad that George and Al had gotten roped into this mess. Despite their guilt by association tags, his two new friends remained in touch. They’d called Tim every day since their suspension. They’d even tried encouraging Tim to go out with them to the movies, even to Freeze and Frizz. Tim was still a little nervous about going out in public since being kicked out of school. After all, news of their alleged crime had been written up extensively in the local newspapers. And while their immediate neighbors had been supportive and claimed to not believe the allegations, Tim had a feeling other people who lived in their development were not taking so kindly to the recent events. More than once Tim caught subtle vibes from people he passed on the street on his way to the community mailbox. Vibes that told him that on no uncertain terms they didn’t want to have anything to do with him.
Fine by him.
Tim’s thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of the phone. He crossed the room to his bed and picked up his extension. “Hello?”
“Tim!” It was Al.
“Hey man, what’s up?”
“Not much. Just chilling out at the house. You up to anything tonight?”
Tim shrugged. “I don’t know.” What Tim really wanted to do was go to the movies. He wanted to see the new Chronicles of Narnia movie. “I’m probably just going to hang out here at the house. You hear from George today?”
“Yeah. We were wondering if you wanted to go to the movies.”
“What do you want to see?”
“Either the new Narnia movie or that new movie with Ving Rhames.”
“Either one sounds good to me.”
“Cool. How about if I come by your place at five-thirty?”
“Sure!” Mom and Dad usually got home between 5:30 and 6:00. He could call Mom at her office and tell her his plans. He was fairly certain she’d be cool with it.
“Great. I’ll give George a call. See you at 5:30!”
“Okay. See ya!”
Tim set the phone down and glanced out the bedroom window. His bedroom window overlooked their back yard and the common area of the housing development they lived in. A group of kids were playing on a set of swings in somebody’s back yard. Another group of kids were getting a scratch game of kickball going. Excited voices echoed through the open window. Tim smiled. It was the last day of school before summer vacation. Despite all the crap he and his family had been through, it was still a good day. He had his friends. He had his family. And that’s all that really mattered.
Tim thumbed the remote control on his boombox and got the radio. Harrisburg’s premiere alternative rock station 105.7 The X was playing Velvet Revolver.
Double cool.
You wouldn’t know by stepping into Scott’s back yard that there were two dead bodies in the guesthouse.
You’d definitely know once you stepped inside the structure.
The minute Gordon stepped inside with Steve the smell hit him. Heavy, rank, it was overpowering in its intensity. Flies flew around the room, their buzzing loud. Gordon took a double-step back and held his breath. “Holy shit, man!”
Scott was standing by the zombies with Dave. Both boys were dressed in shorts and nothing else. Their torsos gleamed with sweat. Gordon blinked in the haziness of the room, hardly able to breath because of the stink. Steve held his shirt over his mouth. “Somebody’s gonna smell ‘em pretty soon.”
“Shut your pie hole, Steve,” Scott said. He turned away from the zombies and Gordon wondered if he and Dave were beating up on them. His eyes lit on Dave’s torso and noted irregular splatters of crimson across his pink flesh. “You beating on them?”
“Yeah.” Dave grinned stupidly. For the first time, Gordon noticed something about Dave he didn’t like. He was not only big, he was big and stupid.
“Which one you been beating on?” Gordon asked.
“That one,” Dave said, pointing at their first victim, who was sitting on the floor with his legs splayed out before him.
Gordon took a step toward the zombies, forcing himself to look at them. He didn’t notice Scott watching him as he stepped closer, fighting to contain the sickness that wanted to race out of him.
The first zombie was turning a muddy blue-black. Its hair was falling out, its skin was sloughing off in places, and its remaining eyeball sat crookedly in its socket. The eye they’d injured during the beating that killed him was lying on the ground, with long tendrils sticking out of the empty socket. The zombie’s face was the worst; it was a mismatch of lumps, gaping wounds, and supperating flesh. Its lips were so badly mashed from repeated beatings that they were almost non-existent. It was like looking at a skeleton covered with paper-mache. The zombie looked up at Gordon and made that weird ass noise again. “ Aaaaaauuughhh!”