I crouch down to get a closer look at the bottom row of acrylics.
‘Those are Julie’s,’ Nora says. ‘Aren’t they great?’
Julie averts her eyes in disgust. ‘Nora made me put those up.’
I study them intently, searching for Julie’s secrets in their clumsy brushstrokes. Two are just bright colours and thick, tortured texture. The third is a crude portrait of a blonde woman. I glance over at the black wall, which bears only one ornament: a thumb-tacked Polaroid of what must be the same woman. Julie plus twenty hard years.
Julie follows my gaze and she and Nora exchange a glance. ‘That’s my mom,’ Julie says. ‘She left when I was twelve.’ She clears her throat and looks out the window.
I turn to the yellow wall, which is notably unadorned. I point at it and raise my eyebrows.
‘That’s, um . . . my hope wall,’ she says. Her voice contains an embarrassed pride that makes her sound younger. Almost innocent. ‘I’m leaving it open for something in the future.’
‘Like . . . what?’
‘I don’t know yet. Depends on what happens in the future. Hopefully something happy.’
She shrugs this off and sits on the corner of her bed, tapping her fingers on her thigh and watching me. Nora settles down next to her. There are no chairs, so I sit on the floor. The carpet is a mystery under ancient strata of wrinkled clothes.
‘So . . . R,’ Nora says, leaning towards me. ‘You’re a zombie. What’s that feel like?’
‘Uh . . .’
‘How did it happen? How’d you get converted?’
‘Don’t . . . remember.’
‘I don’t see any old bites or gunshot wounds or anything. Must’ve been natural causes. No one was around to debrain you?’
I shrug.
‘How old are you?’
I shrug.
‘You look twenty-something, but you could be thirty-something. You have one of those faces. How come you’re not all rotten? I barely even smell you.’
‘I don’t . . . um . . .’
‘Do your body functions still work? They don’t, right? I mean, can you actually still, you know—?’
‘Jesus, Nora,’ Julie cuts in, elbowing her in the hip. ‘Will you back off? He didn’t come here for an interrogation.’
I shoot Julie a grateful look.
‘I do have one question, though,’ she says. ‘How the hell did you get in here? Into the Stadium?’
I shrug. ‘Walked . . . in.’
‘How’d you get past the guards?’
‘Played . . . Living.’
She stares at me. ‘They let you in? Ted let you in?’
‘Distrac . . . ted.’
She puts a hand to her forehead. ‘Wow. That’s . . .’ She pauses, and an incredulous smile breaks through. ‘You look . . . nicer. Did you comb your hair, R?’
‘He’s in drag!’ Nora laughs. ‘He’s in Living drag!’
‘I can’t believe that worked. I’m pretty sure it’s never happened before.’
‘Do you think he could pass?’ Nora wonders. ‘Out on the streets with real people?’
Julie studies me dubiously, like a photographer forced to consider a chubby model. ‘Well,’ she allows, ‘I guess . . . it’s possible.’
I squirm under their scrutiny. Finally Julie takes a deep breath and stands up. ‘Anyway, you’ll have to stay here at least for tonight, till we can figure out what to do with you. I’m going to go heat up some rice. You want some, Nora?’
‘Nah, I just had Carbtein nine hours ago.’ She looks at me cautiously. ‘Are you uh . . . hungry, R?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m . . . fine.’
‘’Cause I don’t know what we’re supposed to do about your dietary restrictions. I mean, I know you can’t help it, Julie explained all about you, but we don’t—’
‘Really,’ I stop her. ‘I’m . . . fine.’
She looks uncertain. I can imagine the footage rolling behind her eyes. A dark room filling with blood. Her friends dying on the floor. Me, crawling towards Julie with red hands outstretched. Julie may have convinced her that I’m a special case, but I shouldn’t be surprised to get a few nervous looks. Nora watches me in silence for a few minutes. Then she breaks away and starts rolling a joint.
When Julie comes back with the food, I borrow her spoon and take a small bite of rice, smiling as I chew. As usual it goes down like styrofoam, but I do manage to swallow it. Julie and Nora look at each other, then at me.
‘How’s it taste?’ Julie asks tentatively.
I grimace.
‘Okay, but still, you haven’t eaten any people in a long time. And you’re still walking. Do you think you could ever wean yourself off . . . live foods?’
I give her a wry smile. ‘I guess . . . it’s possible.’
Julie grins at this. Half at my unexpected use of sarcasm, half at the implied hope behind it. Her whole face lights up in a way I’ve never seen before, so I hope I’m right. I hope it’s true. I hope I haven’t just learned how to lie.
