Salem calls the Retrieval Crew. Their phone number is easy to remember, because they've been popping up during commercials, letting us know they're standing by to take the dead off our hands and singing their number in an absurd jingle for the last few weeks.
While he's on the phone, I go straight to my room, so I can change out of the ridiculous hookeresque outfit. In this day and age, the things one has to endure to sustain Z parents recently includes dressing up like bait in addition to lying and feeding them your classmates and neighbors. It's an endlessly mortifying job. I peel the filthy outfit away from my body like a bloody bandaid.
Poster debris still litters my floor. Matt Raff's smile, ripped down the middle of one of his incisors, beams up at me. The other half is hanging limply from my stripped wall. If Matt turned into a Z—which is what I call the sick ones and the dead ones in my head now—his fans would probably line up to be devoured by him. I spot another familiar face in the shredded posters on the floor. Ariana Grande. She'd have tons of willing human snacks, I bet. She wouldn't have to go hungry like my parents. There would be none of this sort of Secret Bringer business Salem has created. Or would there?
I throw the too-small, soiled clothes on top of the poster carnage, then grab sweats and a tee from my dresser drawer. Both have my school mascot name brandished on them. They're comfy, but I'm not feeling very peppy, so I turn them inside out before I slip them on.
In the living room, I see Salem is wearing one of the surgical masks. I slip on one of the masks from the plastic bag on our kitchen table. It was this bag that the government had recently delivered on everyone's doorknob one morning with a note saying to wear it and to tune into some television station for follow-up in-depth information. It all sounds very OO7. It's exactly the type of thing Salem spends time following-up on carefully, while I spend more time manicuring or—in the case of the past week or so—brooding.
The Retrieval Crew shows up in an unmarked black Chevy van. I'm joining Salem at the door as five people pile out of the Retrieval van. They're dressed in black from head to toe, including long sleeves and gloves. Even their nose and mouth masks are pitch black. They've got solid black guns strapped to each hip. My jaw drops when I see Zachary's brother is one of them. He's the only one holding a clipboard and he comes straight to us instead of to Fil's former body.
"Christopher?" I say, stupidly. I already know it's him. He's got the same eyes as Zachary. The same arch in the light tinted brows, the same unique greenish-blue irises.
"Janis." He nods.
"You're not working at the Cinema?"
"Seems like Retrievers are in more high demand than movies these days," he says.
Guess I don't have to worry about that date with Zachary after all. Not that I was very worried about it. I'm more worried about the blood on the side of the door frame, just beside Salem's shoulder. If the crew sees it, they'll know that a Z passed through our door.
"What happened here?" Christopher asks.
"He attacked, I narrowly escaped." I move beside Salem under the pretense that I'm afraid and need comfort. In all actuality, I only want to stand in front of the blood smear so they don't see.
"That's right. I shot him," adds Salem.
"Which direction did he come from?"
I point toward the park and he scribbles in his notebook. The only girl on the retrieval crew has her dark hair pulled back in a bun. She's taking photos of the body for their records with a tiny black camera. Full body photos at first, then she starts going closer to the injuries.
"Chris," she says. "Looks like a relatively fresh bite here."
Christopher lays a serious glare on us. He looks like a doctor who's about to give us terrible news. "Another Dead One must be in the area. Did you two see any other?"
Salem and I share a kind of look that, to an outsider, says, "not me, did you?" But Salem can see that my look goes deeper and is practically screaming, "they know, they know." To me, his look says, "They know nothing, stay calm, I'll handle it." It's subtle things that a stranger may not notice. The twitch of an eyebrow says a lot when you've known someone your whole life. Even through our silent conversation, my heart is beating so loud its bound to give me up. Then he says, "Not really. Jan just opened the door. I heard her scream and came running."
Christopher nods while he writes notes, then he presses in a tab on the little radio strapped to his shoulder. I used to see dad wear one of these little radios when he was still a trooper, before he made detective rank.
"Dispatcher we got a 10-91v search in progress."
I have no idea what a ten-ninety-one anything is, but I assume it has something to do with us lying. My breath catches. Salem throws an arm around me, but I vaguely register the weight of it. I feel light-headed.
The radio crackles. "10-4."
"Please step inside and lock your doors for your safety," Christopher says. "We will inform you when the threat has been secured."
He thinks we'll be safe inside, I register. He doesn't have a clue that we are hiding the threat.
"Will do, thanks," Salem says.
As soon as the crew turns away, I allow myself to be guided away by Salem, into the 'safety' of our home. Once we're inside, Salem tells me that the code was about a vicious animal--or in this case a Z. If only the crew knew the threat they seek is the one place they've just sent us to be safe. From the window, I watch them with their drawn guns as they disappear around the neighbor's house across the street. I rush to the door, clean the blood off, and slip back inside without being seen.
Shortly after, there's a knock. The crew is carrying off dead Z Fil. Good riddance. I'm looking up at Christopher with mock concern.
"The area is clear. The Dead One is nowhere in sight," he says. I notice his deep intake of breath, and then his brows draw. He inhales again.
"So we're safe?" I say, pulling his attention back to me.
"We recommend caution. You never know when it could wander back, is that bleach I smell?"
"I wouldn't know," I lie. "Thanks so much for your help. Please tell Zachary I--"
His face drops.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
"I'm sorry, I didn't tell you earlier. I thought you knew. Zachary is sick...he's in containment."
**
A/N: Edited to update name of celeb in poster. This was first written in 2016-2017-ish so things have changed a bit.
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The Feeders
HorrorA teenage girl, Janis, and her older brother, Salem, must do whatever it takes to protect their sick parents during the rising zombie apocalypse. However, keeping their condition a secret and maintaining their appetite just might be too much for Jan...
