Wicked Hungry

“What do you mean?”

“I saw this flicker in your eyes. You changed for a moment, and then Max bolted.”

“Maybe it was just the streetlights flickering...”

She tries to stare me down, but I stare right back.

“You really think Max will be all right?” she asks, breaking the staring contest.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” I say.

She nods, biting her lip, as I wave goodbye. Then I’m out the door, holding my backpack in front of me, running hunched over from our side porch to Enrique’s front door. It’s maybe sixty feet max, but I’m slipping and sliding all the way, and lightning flashes above, lighting up the sky. Before I can even ring the bell, Enrique ushers me in.

“¿Quién es?” asks Enrique’s mother.

“Es Stanley, Mamá,” he shouts to her, in the other room.

“What’s up?” I ask him.

He puts a finger to his lips, shakes his head, and brings me upstairs into his room. Jonathan is already there, sitting on the floor, and the Ouija board is out, illuminated by the flickering flames of two candles.

“What’s going on?” I ask again, after Enrique has shut the door and turned the bolt.

“They’re out there,” Enrique says, pointing to his window.

“Who?” I ask, feeling stupid.

“Shamblers,” Jonathan says. “Got to be. You can tell just by the way they move.”

“Hold on, zombies? What are you talking about?”

“You heard what Morgaine said,” Jonathan says. “Most of those kids at school, taking the supplements ... they’re not like us. They aren’t turning into animals. They’re just...”

“Turning into zombies?” I ask.

He nods.

I move towards the window, but Jonathan grabs my arm. “Uh-uh, you don’t want to look out there. It will just get them interested. They got all animated when they saw me and Enrique looking.”

“How many are there?” I ask. “What do they look like?”

“They keep on drifting in,” says Jonathan. “Last I checked there were eight or so. They’re dressed like vegan anarchists, but they don’t move like them. They’re all jerky. Spastic.”

“Is Zach there?”

Jonathan shrugs. “We’re not sure. But someone has to be controlling them.”

“You think they’re watching us?” I ask.

“I know they’re watching us,” Jonathan says.

“Can I take a little peek?” I ask.

They exchange a look. “If you think it’s worth the risk, Stanley,” Jonathan says. “Just be careful.”

I take a quick look and see half a dozen kids dressed in black. They’re motionless, and then they start to jerk and quiver. Can they sense me looking at them?

They’ve chalked something on the street. It takes me just a moment to read it.