Warm Bodies Page 0,39

of . . . rain.' He walks past my leaky trees and climbs down the slope to the freeway below. I follow him to the dry space under the overpass. We huddle there in the dirt, surrounded by old beer cans and syringes.

'What . . . doing . . . he . . . out . . . out here?' I ask him, fighting for the words. I've been silent less than a day and I'm already rusty.

'Take . . . guess,' M says, pointing at his wounds. 'Boneys. Drove me out.'

'Sorry.'

M grunts. 'Fuck . . . it.' He kicks a sun-faded beer can. 'But guess . . . what?' Something like a smile illuminates his mangled face. 'Some . . . came with me.'

He points down the freeway, and I see about nine other figures moving slowly towards us.

I look at M, confused. 'Came . . . with? Why?'

He shrugs. 'Things . . . crazy . . . back home. Routines . . . shook.' He jabs a finger at me. 'You.'

'Me?'

'You and . . . her. Something . . . in air. Movement.'

The nine zombies stop under the overpass and stand there, looking at us blankly.

'Hi,' I say.

They sway and groan a little. One of them nods.

'Where's . . . girl?' M asks me.

'Her name is Julie.' This comes off my tongue fluidly, like a swish of warm camomile.

'Ju . . . lie,' M repeats with some effort. 'Okay. Where's . . . she?'

'Left. Went home.'

M studies my face. He drops a hand onto my shoulder. 'You . . . okay?'

I close my eyes and take a slow breath. 'No.' I look out at the freeway, towards the city, and something blooms in my head. First a feeling, then a thought, then a choice. 'I'm going after her.'

Six syllables. I have broken my record again.

'To . . . Stadium?'

I nod.

'Why?'

'To . . . save her.'

'From . . . what?'

'Ev . . . rything.'

M just looks at me for a long time. Among the Dead, a piercing look can last several minutes. I wonder if he can possibly have any idea what I'm talking about, when I'm not even sure I do. Just a gut feeling. The soft pink zygote of a plan.

He gazes up at the sky, and a faraway look comes into his eyes. 'Had . . . dream . . . last night. Real dream. Memories.'

I stare at him.

'Remembered . . . when young. Summer. Cocoa . . . Puffs. A girl.' His eyes refocus on me. 'What . . . is it like?'

'What?'

'You've . . . felt. Do you know . . . what it is?'

'What are . . . talking about?'

'My dream,' he says, his face full of wonder like a child's at a telescope. 'Those things . . . love?'

A tingle runs up my spine. What is happening? To what distant reaches of space is our planet hurtling? M is dreaming, reclaiming memories, asking astonishing questions. I am breaking my syllable records every day. Nine unknown Dead are with us under this overpass, miles from the airport and the hissing commands of the skeletons, standing here awaiting . . . something.

A fresh canvas is unfurling in front of us. What do we paint on it? What's the first hue to splash on this blank field of grey?

'I'll . . . go with,' M says. 'Help you . . . get in. Save her.' He turns to the waiting Dead. 'Help us?' he asks, not raising his voice above its easy rumble. 'Help save . . . girl? Save . . .' He closes his eyes and concentrates. 'Ju . . . lie?'

The Dead quicken at the sound of the name, fingers twitching and eyes darting. M looks pleased. 'Help find . . . something lost?' he asks in a voice more solid than I've ever heard from his tattered throat. 'Help . . . exhume?'

The zombies look at M. They look at me. They look at each other. One of them shrugs. Another nods. 'Help,' one of them groans, and they all wheeze in agreement.

I find a grin spreading across my face. I don't know what I'm doing, how I'm doing it, or what will happen when it's done, but at the very bottom of this rising siege-ladder, I at least know I'm going to see Julie again. I know I'm not going to say goodbye. And if these staggering refugees want to help, if they think they see something bigger here than