“I’m good.” I forced a smile. No, I wasn’t good. I was anything but good. I was a fucked up mess. That’s it. No more V12. None. “I, um, better go find my dad. Thanks for watching out for me.”
“Anytime.” He gave my hand a friendly squeeze then tilted his head. “Have we met before? You look familiar.”
“I don’t think so.” No way would I forget a face like his.
“Hmm. Strange. Déjà vu.” He shook his head. “Anyway, I hope to see you around.” With a parting smile, he strode off through the crowd.
I took a minute to recover from the close call. I needed to notify Dr. Nikas about the bit of conversation I overheard and the security alerts—
No. I couldn’t call Dr. Nikas. I was on his shit list.
Tears stung the back of my eyes. Being on Dr. Nikas’s shit list was shittier than being on Santa’s shit list. It was like being on Mr. Rogers’ shit list. You had to fuck up like a champ to get there. No way could I talk to him. Not yet. Besides, it wasn’t as if I knew there was trouble brewing. No point in calling until I had more info on Mr. Hot Zombie Shoes Guy and his paranoia. I’d keep an eye on the situation myself and see what was up at the Zombie Fest tomorrow. By then I’d be off the V12 and it would be easier to face Dr. Nikas. Tell him how sorry I was.
Squaring my shoulders, I set off to find my dad. It didn’t take long, considering he was toting a life-sized cardboard cutout of Justine Chu.
“Hey, Angelkins!” A grin split his face. “Look what I won. Now this is nifty!”
• • •
High School Zombie Apocalypse!! rocked. I was the last person in the world to be a fan of zombie movies, but this one was funny and clever with a great plot, lots of action, and a few truly touching moments. Plus, even though the actors were pretty much unknown when they were cast, they were fantastic. Justine Chu played the plucky nerdy girl who saves the day and rescues the jocks and cheerleaders who were mean to her before. I particularly enjoyed the part when the hunky captain of the football team came up to her at the end, said he was stupid to have never realized how cool she was and asked her to be his date to the prom, at which point she laughed in his face and walked off.
The one negative was my stress during the big climactic scene when the heroes had to retreat to the football field and fend off the rampaging zombie students. During the filming of the movie, Saberton Corporation had used the extras as unwitting test subjects and turned them into temporary pseudo-zombies. Mistakes were made, hijinks ensued, and the zombie-rampage scene ended up being a little too real. I’d kinda crashed the filming of that scene, but to my relief I was nowhere to be seen in the movie, and none of the “real” rampage was either.
After it was over, my dad carefully stowed the cardboard Justine in the back seat of my car.
I cranked the engine. “I can’t believe I didn’t win anything,” I said with a pout.
“You did.”
I glared at him. “You’re holding out on me? Well, where is it?”
He dug in his pocket, pulled out two little stuffed brains, each about the size of an apricot and connected by a string. “Better than fuzzy dice,” he said as he looped the string over my rearview mirror.
“Fuzzy brains.” Smiling, I flicked one to set them swinging. “They’re perfect.”
• • •
I sat on the edge of my bed, opened my lunch box, and unloaded an uneaten brain burrito and two vials of V12 into the mini-fridge. The third vial went on my nightstand.
A buzzing itch began deep in my muscles as I changed into a sleep shirt. I scrubbed at my arms, my face. Something had changed in the past couple of days. Worse side effects. Hallucinations. Less impulse
control. An increase in my already near-insatiable brain hunger.
My fingernails dug into my palms. But I needed to be sharp to follow up on Zombie Shoes Guy tomorrow.
I drew up a dose, set the syringe aside.
I gotta quit.
My dad deserved better than this. I deserved better. It wasn’t worth risking my job or the Tribe or my life. Come hell or high water, I was going to do the right thing, get off this crap, for me and my dad. I’d figure the rest out. School. Stress.
A roll of duct tape sat on the floor by my dresser. I grabbed it, took the partly used vial, added it to the other two, and wrapped several layers around all three vials. That would help me remember to keep my hands off. I tucked the bundle in the fridge then downed a bottle of brain smoothie. The itch eased a little.
Only a little. The filled syringe still gleamed on my nightstand.
I gotta quit.
The liquid bliss of the dose wound through me, made all the bad go away. Self-loathing, worry, doubt, fear—gone. Pride swept in as I disposed of the empty syringe. I was already making progress. For the first time in forever, I hadn’t drawn up a dose to be ready and waiting on the nightstand in the morning.