Warm Bodies Page 0,38

walk off the freeway at the next exit and climb into a triangle of landscaping between the road and the off ramp. I crash through the brush and duck into the little cluster of trees, a mini-forest of ten or twelve cedars arranged in a pleasing pattern for overstressed commuter ghosts.

I curl into a ball at the base of one of these trees, achieving some degree of shelter under its scrawny branches, and close my eyes. As lightning flickers on the horizon like flashbulbs and thunder rumbles in my bones, I drift into darkness.

I am with Julie on the 747. I realise it's a dream. A real dream, not just another rerun of Perry Kelvin's syndicated life. This is coming purely from me. The clarity has improved since the blurry sludge of my brain's first attempt back in the airport, but there's still an awkward, shaky quality to everything, like amateur video to Perry's slick feature films.

Julie and I sit cross-legged, facing each other, floating above the clouds on the plane's bright white wing. The wind ruffles our hair, but no more than a leisurely ride in a convertible.

'So you dream now?' Julie says.

I smile nervously. 'I guess I do.'

Julie doesn't smile. Her eyes are cold. 'Guess you had nothing to dream about till you got some girl problems. You're like a grade-school kid trying to keep a diary.'

Now we're on the ground, sitting on a sunny green suburban lawn. A morbidly obese couple barbecues human limbs in the background. I try to keep Julie in focus.

'I'm changing,' I tell her.

'I don't care,' she replies. 'I'm home now. I'm back in the real world, where you don't exist. Summer camp is over.'

A winged Mercedes rumbles past in the distant sky and vanishes in a muffled sonic boom.

'I'm gone,' she says, staring me hard in the eyes. 'It was fun, but it's over now. This is how things go.'

I shake my head, avoiding her gaze. 'I'm not ready.'

'What did you think was going to happen?'

'I don't know. I was just hoping for something. A miracle.'

'Miracles don't exist. There is cause and effect, dreams and reality, Living and Dead. Your hope is absurd. Your romanticism, embarrassing.'

I look at her uneasily.

'It's time for you to grow up. Julie has gone back to her position, and you will go back to your position, and that is the way it is. Always has been. Always will be.'

She grins, and her teeth are jagged yellow fangs. She kisses me, gnawing through my lips, biting out my teeth, gnashing up towards my brain and screaming like a dying child. I gag on my hot red blood.

My eyes flash open and I stand up, pushing dripping branches out of my face. It's still night. The rain is still pummelling the earth. I step out of the trees and climb up onto the overpass. I lean against the railing, looking out at the empty freeway and the dark horizon beyond it. One thought pounds in my head like a migraine of rage: You're wrong. You fucking monsters are wrong. About everything.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpse a silhouette on the other side of the overpass. The dark form moves towards me with steady, lumbering steps. I hunch my muscles together, preparing for a fight. After wandering alone for too long, the unincorporated Dead will sometimes lose the ability to distinguish their own kind from the Living. And some are so far gone, so deep into this way of life, they just don't care either way. They will eat anyone, anything, anywhere, because they can't fathom any other way to interact. I imagine one of these creatures surprising Julie as she stops the Mercedes to get her bearings, wrapping filthy hands around her face and biting down on her slender neck, and as that image ferments in my head, I prepare to tear this thing in front of me to unrecognisable shreds. The primordial rage that fills me every time I think of someone harming her is frightening. The violence of killing and eating people feels like friendly teasing compared to this consuming bloodlust.

The towering shadow staggers closer. A flash of lightning illuminates its face, and I drop my arms to my sides.

'M?'

I almost fail to recognise him at first. His face has been torn and clawed, and there are countless small chunks bitten out of his body.

'Hey,' he grunts. The rain streaks down his face and pools in his wounds. 'Let's . . . get out