Eve

Chapter 10

"No keys on this one, either."

I penguin my way past the Corolla. Levon strolls ahead of me, jumping in and out of cars, trying their ignitions.

"Nothing here, too," he says, stepping out of a 2006 Ford Focus with no doors. "Keys, but no gas."

"You know what? When you find a car that works, I'll know. Because it will start. Ok, jackass?"

"Are you cursing me? I can tell when you're cursing me."

It's sunny and hot and there is no shade on the 405 Highway. I'm in no mood.

Plus, I'm hungry like a puma on Atkins.

We walked past at least a hundred restaurants on the way here with no luck. All the food is gone. Even if it wasn't, I can't take the processed, cooked stuff anymore. I need live. If not live, at least raw.

We did find a puppy Golden Retriever, just before we reached the 405, but come on... I'm not a monster.

Still, at least no zombies, so far. Except for one. We found a baby zombie on a stroller just by Pico.

Levon was scared of it. It was pretty funny.

Other than that, since we woke up we've just been walking and walking, trying to find a car that works. Levon's determined to go to New York. I didn't exactly agree to go with him, but what I'm thinking is there's more chance I'll find a cow or a whatever along the highway than in the middle of LA.

I don't know about New York yet, but I am not eating puppies.

"Grrrrr," I say, trying to get Levon's attention as he sprints ahead of me to the next car. "Grrrrr."

Zombie fact number nine for all of you: Grunting is not sexy. But it's all Levon hears when I talk, anyway, so I might as well.

"What's wrong, Eve?" Levon asks, hushing back as he notices I'm kneeled to the floor, hand leaned against a car.

This damn haze. From the hunger.

I struggle to pull myself back up, my brain sending signals to my legs to quit being sissies and carry my weight without collapsing.

I need food, I write on the pad, showcasing it to Levon as he helps me up.

"We'll you didn't want any of the stuff I have," Levon replies, as I straighten myself and restart the walk. "What do you want me to do?"

He hushes ahead of me again, getting in and out of cars.

What if I ate him just a little bit? Like a finger, or a toe?

"Here!" Levon yells, sticking his head out of a dusty Porsche fifty feet away from me. "This one has keys!"

With a loud roar, the car bursts to life, and I manage a smile. I bounce towards Levon, making way around to the passenger seat.

"Here we go!" he says, with a grin. "What are you doing?"

I frown.

"I can't drive, Eve."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

It's. An. Automatic, I write on the pad. He looks at me and shakes his head.

Just. Put. Transmission. To. Drive.

He nods, putting the car on Drive mode.

Now. Go.

Levon looks from me to the pedals under his feet. He bites his lips.

"Which one is the gas?"

My thoughts are getting hazier than ever. It's been about an hour since we took off now. My legs hurt. Part of it might be this damn California heat. But part of me also remembers what Kathy said about her vegan zombie friend.

We weren't meant to live on cooked meat and small animals. My body is already giving in – now my mind is following it.

At an abandoned convenience store just after Moreno Valley, we found some chocolate bars and water bottles. Levon ate seven Twixes (Twixi?) and an out of date chicken sandwich.

Then, just outside, we found an actual chicken and I ate it.

Levon passed out.

Zombie fact number ten: I laughed. Don't tell him.

Now we're rolling down the I-10 again, cool wind against our hair and all that. Levon only crashed the car three times in the last fifteen minutes, which is a personal best for him.

"I feel good. Do you feel good, Eve?"

"Grrrr," I say, casually. The chicken did help, if only to keep my mind straight and my legs supporting my body for a little while longer.

We roll past abandoned houses with FOR SALE signs and old farms looking good like they're stuck in a time before the outbreak, all the while listening to the only CD we found in the car:

Bon Jovi's These Days.

Not complaining, mind you. I like Bon Jovi, and These Days is by far their best work. But Levon takes it to a whole other lev –"

"BAM BAM, BAM BEEEIN, BU BEEE NANAAN NA – hey!"

I grab the CD sprouting from the player and throw it out the window. To Levon, I write, Singing along guitar solos is dorky.

"Fine," he says. "But now we have to talk."

I grunt, dragging my eyes out the window at the view.

"You wanna know something cool? Did you know I used to play Mortal Kombat professionally? I even won a tournament once. Pasadena, two thousand and nine. First place."

I write down on the pad, I don't think you know what 'cool' means.

"It was very cool. I won a medal and everything." He pauses. "Do you think they'll have a cure for you in New York? It would be so cool if they could –"

"I'm not going to New York with you," I say, straightening myself on the seat. "In fact, if you could drop me off –"

"Eve, I can't understand you when you grunt."

I reach for the pad. I start scribbling 'I'm not go –'

"Levon, look out!"

Levon spots the tree trunk laid across the road, but too late. The car crashes, tumbling sideways and over the log, then falling down to the side. The driver's door screeches against the pavement to a full stop.

This is what I assume happened at least, because I am now hanging from the seat belt over Levon, who's looking at me like I'm his mother and he's got a school report full of bad grades.

"Sorry, Eve," he says. "I didn't see the –"

"Grrr," I say, trying to get him to shut up. From out my window, I hear voices.

Actual voices, not zombie ones.

"What's going on?" Levon asks.

I turn around. Outside, the right front wheel is still spinning up in the air against nothing. Smoke comes out of the engine.

Then a face frames itself against the clouds, in a full beard and sided by a baseball bat on each shoulder.

"What did the net catch, this time? Holy cow, is that a zombie wearing a seat belt!?"

Two other faces show up by the man's side, and I struggle to free myself.

"Can you just, like, take the boy and let me go back to being a zombie?" I ask the men, trying to sound friendly.

The one on the left pulls a .38 pistol and points it. "We gotta show this to the boss," he says, opening the passenger door.

Zombie fact number twelve: I think we're screwed.