Alice emerged from the bathroom and smiled angelically at everyone, her hairdo perfectly blown dry. It’d been a while since she’d been at the workshop. She was in her pudgy forties, with a moony face and saucer eyes, which Joshua did not find pretty but, rather, comforting to look at, like a cloud in a perfectly blue sky. Last time he’d seen her, he’d imagined himself curling up in her arms.
“Good evening, gentlemen!” she said.
“I just saw the craziest thing,” Dillon tried again, and, mercifully, Alice said: “And what did you see, Dillon?”
“I saw this dog with like wheels instead of his hind legs.”
“That’s amazing,” Alice said and smiled at Dillon, who fidgeted with the pleasure of her attention.
“It was like half dog, half skateboard,” he said.
* * *
Joshua read from his computer screen, enunciating every word carefully, as if auditioning:
“Ruth opens the cage door and walks in. The boy lies still, facedown. She kneels next to him and rolls him over. His eyes are closed, he looks peaceful, as opposed to the tormented zombie face he wore before. Suddenly, his eyes open.”
Alice gasped.
She was in the middle of a spiritual self-liberation journey, working on a script about an Idaho woman who lived in the same shack for forty-seven years, communing with angels every day. “True story,” she’d said. “She once even went to heaven and sat at God’s throne.” Alice could see this scene in her head: the throne of gold; the divine light around it; angels prancing everywhere; and there was Candy, fresh from the shack to rub elbows with the Lord. “That’s going to be expensive,” Graham had said. “A godless set is considerably cheaper.”
“Ruth takes the boy in her arms and strokes his long hair lovingly,” Joshua continued. “Feebly, he smiles. Wounds on his face are now slowly bleeding. He raises his hand with some effort and touches the woman’s hair. She smiles at him. Boy groans. She sits him up. Boy: ‘I’m hungry.’”
Joshua looked up. No one said anything. Graham gestured toward the others to suggest an offering of comments. Bega conspicuously sucked on an unlit cigarette.
“That’s pretty good,” Bega said. “Better than before.”
“I really like that she like risks her life by like going into the cage,” Dillon said.
“I think that’s beautiful,” Alice said.
“But the boy was dead, no?” Graham said.
“Undead, strictly speaking,” Joshua said.
“I know, but his brain was dead, right?” Graham said and pressed his forefinger against his mandibular cleavage. He never used any other finger to help his chin climax. “Don’t know much about history, or zombie physiology, but humans can’t live without the brain. If he was dead, or undead, then his brain was dead. Am I getting this wrong?”
“Zombie brains are infected by a virus that makes them undead,” Joshua said.
“It’s like it’s shut off, like in deep-sleep mode,” Dillon said.
“My point is that the boy’s brain might well be beyond repair,” Graham said. “He can’t just wake up and ask for a fucking sandwich.”
“Suspension of disbelief,” Bega said. “There are no zombies unless you believe they are there.”
“It’s the power of love,” Alice said.
“The power of love?” Graham looked at Joshua, then at Bega, then back at Joshua, like a lawyer before a jury. Saint Pacino gloomily observed the scene. Then Graham exploded in snickers, and Bega joined in and even Dillon chuckled. Alice did not laugh, but she did doodle. I’d fold up in her like a foal, Joshua thought. Graham wiped away his tears of laughter.
“The power of love!” he said. “I’ll be damned.”
Heroically, Alice ignored the insult and asked Joshua: “What happens next?”
“The boy recovers, but they have to escape because the soldiers find the lab. They all go looking for his father.”
“Are they going to find him?” Bega asked.
Joshua didn’t even bother to look in his direction.
“They might. They’ll have to make it out first,” Joshua said.
“Well, let us know what happens,” Graham said. “Nearly everything in the world hinges on it.”
“I think they should find him,” Alice said.
* * *
Graham slipped out without asking about the lunch with Billy/George; he must have received a full report and was pissed for wasting his influence. Joshua took his time packing his computer and his notes. Dillon lingered too, pretending he was browsing through Graham’s paperbacks, until he abruptly turned to Joshua and said:
“Can I like ask you a question?”
Joshua looked up and Dillon was blushing to his ears, biting his lips compulsively.
“Would you like to have like a drink? Maybe?” he asked, grinding his teeth in a grin of awkwardness. His trucker hat was at an angle; there was a visible smudge on his thick-rimmed glasses; he was sweating.
“I don’t think so,” Joshua said. “I don’t think we can go on a date or even be friends, Dillon. Because I think you’re an idiot.”
His phone buzzed and he finally took it out of his pocket to read the goddamn message. Dillon sat back down on the futon, looked up at Joshua, and said:
“You know what, Joshua? You’re an asshole.”
EXT. WOODS — DAY
Major K, Ruth, Boy, and Cadet leap over rocks and logs, branches whipping their faces. The refugees stumble forth in their wake, all pursued by zombies who, extremely skinny and slow as they are, come from all directions. We can recognize Goiter among them, as well as Cancer Patient. Boy trips, slams his head against a rock and goes out. Cadet stops to help him, as Major K and Ruth hesitate, then turn around to rush back. The zombies begin to close in on them, which allows the refugees to keep running and escape. Cadet looks at Major K, who understands instantly what needs to be done. As Cadet takes his rifle off his shoulder, Major K picks up Boy and runs on, followed by Ruth. Cadet faces the advancing zombies, picking them off one at a time with precise shots that blow off their heads. Many zombies drop, but more keep coming. In no time they are too close for him to shoot. He swings at them, smashing a few heads with his rifle, until the undead snatch it out of his hands.
From a distance, Major K and Ruth watch in shock and trepidation.
RUTH
I didn’t even know his name.
MAJOR K
Angel. Angel Rodriguez.
Major K puts Boy down and takes the rocket launcher off his back. The ravenous zombies pile on Cadet Rodriguez, who HOLLERS in terror. Major K loads his launcher with the only grenade he has and rushes back. The zombies are unperturbed, too busy tearing into the fidgeting flesh, Goiter the most voracious of all. Cadet Rodriguez keeps SCREAMING as Major K comes close enough to be able to aim at the heap. In the mayhem, for a brief moment, Major K’s and Cadet’s eyes meet. Major K launches the grenade. Cadet Angel Rodriguez and the zombies are all swallowed by apocalyptic flames.
Bernie was on his back beetle-like, his left leg immobilized, his arm attached to a despondent drip, the rest of him tucked under a blanket like a shameful secret. Something somewhere beeped occasionally, petulantly. The hospital window looked out at roofs strewn with air-conditioning behemoths, at all the unreal estate and other windows, at solid, reflective, downtown nothingness. Bernie’s eyes were half-closed; still, he smiled when Noah attempted to break into the red medical-waste box on the wall. A TV set in the upper corner showed Saddam’s statue coming down like a lost erection. This year we are slaves. Next year, may we all be free. And the year after that we’ll probably be slaves again.