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 anything; but that powerful hand now gripped me so tightly that I began to swoon from lack of air.
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…
But not like this, good Lord, not like this, not like this….
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.
Her eyes, sweet Jesus, her beautiful eyes….
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.
No, no, no….
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… dead? And they wanted me to… to….
“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.”
Tommy stormed forward but Carlos blocked the way, holding his hands on his hips like some mythic sentinel to the gates of Hell.
“Uh-uh. Your friend’s gotta go first. Otherwise neither one of ya are getting’ in.”
Tommy spun around and if his eyes had been weapons I would’ve been a rotter by now.
Every inch of his face was twisted by rage and it somehow seemed to draw his features out, to make them longer and sharper.
“Smitty, you son of a bitch, take off your damn clothes!”
I looked from Tommy to the thing tied to the bed… Sarah Thompson. The only girl in this entire town who’d ever caught my eye. Gone forever.
“Why, you no good, zombie lovin’ piece of shit!”
I couldn’t do it.
I couldn’t live out the rest of my days being the object of ridicule, being mercilessly pursued and baited, shunned by the very people I’d once called friends. I just couldn’t.
I felt as if I were moving through a thick sludge as my pants and underwear slid down around my ankles. I stepped out of them as I peeled my shirt off, grateful for that brief second when the cloth blocked the horror of my situation from view. My cheeks and chest felt warm enough to cook a bird’s egg, but I knew this embarrassment was nothing compared to what lay in store if I didn’t go through with this.
“My man! I knew you weren’t no zombie lover! I fucking knew it!”
It took an eternity to cross that room. I didn’t want to look at the creature on the bed, wanted to close my eyes and wish it all away; but, somehow, I found that I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Not in the same way as before, though. When she’d been living, Sarah was like this beautiful butterfly the flittered by; a butterfly so rare and exotic that no one else was privileged enough to witness its graceful dance through the air. But there was no beauty here… not anymore. Now there was only the viscous snap of teeth as she chewed at the air… unblinking eyes that locked onto mine with pupils so round that the irises seemed to be mere outlines.
I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry….
I placed my hands on either side of the bed and pulled myself into position.
I had to do this.
I had to be part of The Rotter Nation.
There was no other choice now.
I closed my eyes and tried to will away that shaking in my arms and legs. Just do it. Do it and get it over with.
At that moment, I heard a sound unlike any I’d ever heard before. It was a shrill scream that sounded as if a bobcat had mated with a human. So loud that my eardrums quivered in pain and my eyes watered; it was the sound of rage and anguish and shock and every other emotion that can tear a person down all rolled into a single, undulating screech.
VIII. CRIME AND PUNISHMENT
As it turned out, that ornate matchbox I’d focused so much of my attention on had been our undoing. After the Emperor had finished his speech, Mr. and Mrs. Thompson had solemnly carried the ceremonial torch to the end of the pipe with all of the reverence it deserved. The crowd had waited in hushed anticipation for the spark that would culminate the day’s festivities. But it was a spark that would never come.