Back From The Dead

Chapter Five

Tim wasn’t surprised to see Gordon at lunch the following Monday. His former nemesis paid him a visit at his usual hangout spot — a stone bench nestled in a nice little alcove well away from the quad where most of the student body hung out at during lunch. Due to extra-curricular activities, the kids he sometimes hung out with were scattered to the four winds: Chelsea was assisting her art teacher, Matt was in the computer lab, Al and George were over in Mr. Sharp’s Graphic Arts class preparing for fifth period; he’d had lunch with them only ten minutes ago in the cafeteria. It was during times like these that Tim buried himself in a book.

“Hey Tim,” Gordon said. Tim nodded at him. Not, hey Count, or hey freak. Being addressed by his first name meant some kind of progress was being made. “You finish that book?” Gordon’s expression was eager.

“Yep.” Tim pulled the battered paperback out of his backpack and handed it over to Gordon, who took it excitedly. “Leave the lights on at night when you read it,” he said with a grin.

“Oh yeah?” Gordon looked up from the back cover, which he’d begun to peruse.

“Yeah. Creepiest shit I’ve read in a long time.”

“So where’s the zombie stuff?”

“They make an appearance about a quarter of the way into the book, but the serious shit doesn’t happen until the last third.”

Gordon was ruffling through the pages, as if searching through a textbook. “No, I mean, where’s the formula? You know…the spells on how they make the zombies?”

“You’re still gonna read the whole thing, right?”

“Well, yeah!”

Tim took the book back and flipped through it, finding the pages in question. Gordon sat down next to him on the bench. Around them kids mingled, eating lunch together in groups or by themselves. A group of girls were sitting on the grass of the quad talking and laughing. “I guess I can show you where it is since I already told you about how they make the zombies. It’s not like I’ve given you spoilers.”

“Spoilers?” Gordon looked confused.

Tim ignored the confused look on Gordon’s face. “Here we are. Page thirty-six through forty-three.” He showed Gordon the pages in question. “Most of the background on zombies is here.” He flipped through another thirty pages. “And here’s the part where the main villain performs the ritual.”

Gordon all but snatched the book from Tim’s hands. “Cool!” He started reading through the passage in question. “This is some serious shit.”

“Don’t mess up on your zombie-making on the first try,” Tim quipped. He reached for his water bottle for a swig.

Gordon looked at him. “What do you mean?”

Tim grinned. “You’ll see.”

“Nah, really, what do you mean?” Gordon was getting that look Tim knew only too well; that menacing look that hinted at upcoming verbal or physical abuse.

Tim quickly back-peddled, his old habits falling into place whenever he was bullied by Gordon and his crew. “Nothing, nothing! It’s just that in the book the main villain performs the ritual the wrong way and…well, shit happens. You’ll see what I mean when you get to it.”

Gordon was looking at him, seemingly satisfied by the answer. “Okay,” he said. He rose to his feet. “I better get going. Thanks, Count!”

“Don’t mention it,” Tim said, feeling the little punch to his gut at the word Count and suddenly feeling embarrassed for letting himself be manipulated by Gordon that way. Why did you go out of your way to loan him a book? To be his friend? To get on his good side? You know Gordon and his friends are never going to be on your good side and there’s no use being friendly with him or trying to accommodate them. They’ll just use you and spit in your face. Just like Gordon did just now by calling you Count.

Tim watched Gordon walk away, feeling a burning distaste in the pit of his belly. Sometimes he wished he could lash out at those who tormented him like the villains did in the horror and SF novels he read. He wished that, for a brief time, magic really existed so he could turn them into frogs or slugs and then step on them, grinding them to paste beneath his feet. He wished he could humiliate them publicly in a way that it would never be traced back to him.

Tim sighed. No use getting bent around the axle now. What was done was done. He couldn’t undo it. And if Gordon never returned his copy of Back From the Dead he could pick up a used copy somewhere. No big deal.

Tim reached into his backpack and pulled out another book, a Robert E. Howard title, and settled back to read. Best case scenario was Gordon really got something out of Back From the Dead, which, in Tim’s opinion, was a solid horror novel. It didn’t matter if he returned it, just that he understood its underlying message: that if you pushed somebody hard enough they would push back.

And sometimes they would bite.