Free Reanimated Readz by Rusty Fischer

worse.
    “That’s it?” he asks.
    I don’t think he really meant it as a joke but the audience laughs, and laughs and laughs and laughs.
    All except for the zombies, but that’s only because they’re still busy lining up to ask questions. One by one, they get in line, until the steps leading down from their section are full, and then they line up, side by side, very orderly like, two by two, side by side, a sea of green jackets and yellow teeth patiently waiting their turns.
    I look at them. Green jackets, yellow stripes down each sleeve, dark hair, dark eyes, gray skin, patient, slow, and eager for a chance at the microphone.
    I don’t give it to them. I don’t care if it costs me the election, I don’t care if I look like a clown. I don’t care about anything anymore than getting off that stage.
    Immediately.
    Brody is there, waiting for me, as I collapse into his arms, trembling, quaking, crying. Crying. Over…zombies! Somehow he gets me out of the auditorium, out of school, without being seen.
    But the damage is already done. I can see it in his eyes as he drives me home.
    “Listen,” he says, poking his head out of the passenger side window while his car idles at my curb. “You did your best. It’s a zombie world now, Tanner. All we can do is live in it.”
     
    ***
     
    “Mind if I have a seat?”
    It’s two days later and I’m out on the quad, under a tree, facing away from the cafeteria because, duh, nobody in their right mind will sit with me. I have an apple in my hand and am still chewing the bite I took a minute ago. It’s warm and it’s sour, and I’d spit it out if he wasn’t standing right there.
    I start to say something, then just nod. Calvin, wearing white jeans, sits. Before I can stop myself I say, “You’re going to get grass stains, you know?”
    He smirks that smirk. “Then it’ll match my jacket, right?”
    I finally swallow my bite and put the apple back in the little brown bag. It’s all that was in there. I haven’t been eating much, ever since I lost the election.
    Calvin just sits quietly, empty hands in his lap. The zombies don’t eat at school. They get their brains elsewhere, thank you very much. Medically approved brains, from what I understand. Carefully labeled, in a Tupperware container, with a spork. All strictly legal, thanks to the government.
    No more munching on random strangers’ heads, like back in the beginning.
    “Congratulations,” I finally say after an awkward pause. Not because he’s expecting me to, but because I wanted to. Sort of. Actually. In a weird way.
    “You really mean that?” he asks.
    I chuckle like he used to make me in the old days. “I’m not sure yet.”
    “You should let some people hear you say that,” he suggests in his slow, faltering way. “You might have more company at lunchtime.”
    “Them?” I ask, looking over my shoulder at the jock crowd eating happily in the cafeteria. “They can have each other.”
    He nods. His hair is cut close and tight to his scalp. It looks good that way: severe, strong.
    “So…what now?”
    “Why do you care?” I blurt, sounding meaner—and louder—than I actually intended. “I mean, are you really this good a person, Calvin? You should be hating me something major right now, about what I said about you at the debate. How I acted. Do you really care what happens to me, of all people, now?”
    He seems hurt. “Of course I do.” He sounds offended I would even ask. “I always have, Tanner.”
    “Even after what I did to you? I mean, before the election, before they let you back into school?”
    “I may not be able to read,” he cracks, “but I knew what you meant.”
    I sit there, two feet from him, knees almost touching, and think back to that day when I came to see him at the Zombie Re-Education and Transition Center downtown. It used to be a hospital, and it still smelled like one. I was his only visitor, the first and last, before they let him back into school.
    His