It's Sunday night, six hours before they are supposed to go back to school, when she has the idea.
It happens while they're in the Mash space. She's up on the catwalk, legs crossed, chin in her hands, staring down at Zed below her as he tries to teach himself to catch a football with arms that are too stiff to reach out and grab it as it falls past them. Gravity is a bitch, she thinks to herself, and then she starts thinking about all the tests she could carry out if she could raid the school's sports equipment, and then she's musing that she'll never see anything but the basement of that school ever again because they'll be right back to being called monsters and any chance they've had of changing that has been tossed right down the drain, and then-
And then she has an idea that's on the level of insanity she thought was only reserved for Zed and his late-night criminal activity friend group that he thinks she doesn't know about.
Her finger hovers over the key that will turn his Z-band back on, itching to tell him – and then she remembers, once she turns it back on, he won't let her turn it off again, and they're here to test if he can do everything normally anyway. She leans forwards instead, leaning over the edge of the catwalk with one hand curled around the railing above her head.
"Zed!" she calls down to him, wincing slightly at how loudly her voice echoes around the room (she's supposed to speak quietly, to save his heightened hearing. Sometimes she forgets).
His head snaps up, the ball sailing between his open hands without so much as a twitch towards it. His eyes search the shadows of the ceiling for her, blind until she waves to get his attention.
"We should show the humans that you can do this," she says, quieter this time. His head tips to the side in confusion, his mouth hanging open. "Make a statement about zombies. Prove we're not monsters, you know?"
A garbled string of noises comes out of his mouth, vaguely similar to Zombietongue, but only legible enough for her to catch a few words that make no sense strung together. Another thing to research; if there was an even more simplistic version of Zombietongue. Had zombies spoken to each other before Z-bands were invented?
Zed turns back to the ground, sick of squinting against the ceiling lights, and looks around for his football. It's disappeared into a corner, only half-visible and several steps away from the area he's been keeping to so far.
"Elizika," he says, or a near approximation of it, and looks up again, tapping at his Z-band.
Sighing, she turns it back on and waits as he claws his way back to normality, doubled over and gasping.
She gives him time to recover, gathering up her laptop and taking the trip down the rickety stairs while he catches his breath and shakes the feeling back into his stiff limbs. He's retrieving the football when she reaches the floor, stumbling around on legs that aren't quite steady beneath him, but brighter than he had been for an hour after the first few times they'd done this.
"You're getting pretty good at this," she comments as he totters back, only listing slightly to the left to avoid falling over.
"What did you say before?" he asks in return. "I couldn't really-" He points to his ear and pulls a face, the words escaping him.
Eliza frowns. "Couldn't hear me, or couldn't understand what I was saying?"
Zed shrugs. "Both," he answers, and points to the catwalk. "Too far away."
"Oh." She digests this slowly, considers maybe coming down here with him next time, or bringing Bonzo…but she's getting distracted. "I said, we should figure out a way to show the humans you can do this."
"What?" He openly gapes at her, and then shakes his head, vehemently opposed. "Why – how – what-"
"Like a demonstration!" she tries to explain, though the further she goes, the more she feels like she's banging her head against a brick wall. "To show them that we're not what they say we are."
He shakes his head again, clutching the football like a lifeline. "That's – a bad idea," he says, the way she would usually say it to him when he comes up with any kind of plan.
Eliza doesn't like being on the receiving end of the criticism. "What else are we supposed to do?" she asks him. "Win them over again? Like that'll work twice."
"We don't have to…do…anything," he replies, spitting the syllables out one by one, and shrugs.
"Your speech is worse this time," she notes out loud.
He shrugs again. "I'm tired," he sighs, in almost perfect Zombietongue.
"We should go home then," she says, and makes for the exit. "I'll think about the thing tonight, come up with a plan-"
"Elizika," he says over the top of her, hurrying to keep up. "We can't do-"
"Yes we can," she insists. "Some more practise, the right day. It'll be perfect."
"No," he says, more forcefully this time, and the growl that follows surprises even him. Too much zombie, she thinks, but she's too preoccupied to follow that train of thought any further.
"Zed," she says insistently, stopping in her tracks to fix him with the sort of glare that makes most people wither under her gaze. "This is our one chance to change things, remember? We've tried everything else, and we're not going to get another shot. We can't just waste it."
"This isn't – isn't the right way-"
She throws her hands in the air, exasperated. "We tried your way!" she snaps. "Your ideas were just as stupid, and you fucked it all up. We have to try something different, before it's too late to do anything at all."
Zed stares at her, his expression so full of mixed emotions that it's inscrutable, and then shakes his head and walks on without waiting for her.
It's becoming a habit for them to leave this place in silence. Eliza's not sure she likes it.
ooo
In the morning, she leaves ten minutes earlier for school than usual, sneaking out before Zed can spot her walking down the road and walking on her own.
She's pretty sure if Zed saw her, he wouldn't come out to join her anyway.
She spends the walk much like she did the sleepless hours of the night before; mulling over this hairbrained plan to show the world Zed's newfound talent. This isn't the right way keeps echoing in her head, in Zed's stiff Zombietongue from last night, soft but guttural.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, she tells herself in response, refusing to accommodate the idea that it might just be better to give up. She's never been able to give up on anything.
She's trying to decide if the cheer championships would be a spectacle or a disaster (how do you keep a crowd calm long enough to tell them what you have to say?) when she reaches the school. It's early yet, the courtyard peppered with sparse groups of students, all human. To her surprise, the fence that had previously segregated them is still gone, though it might as well still be there with the way the humans recoil away from her, stopping midsentence to give her a funny look, or to mouth something derogatory to their friends.
Just like old times, then. Gritting her teeth and trying not to think about how, two weeks ago, these kids would have waved to her, or called out a greeting, Eliza squares her shoulders against their stares and makes a beeline for the building, pretending to be busy fiddling with her Z-band as she goes.
"Eliza?" a voice asks to her left, soft and regrettably familiar.
She stops, several feet from the doors, and realises Addison is sitting alone on a bench just across the way, staring at her like she's seen a ghost. A smile splits her lips as she realises she has caught Eliza's attention, and she waves her over, like they are old friends.
Are they friends? Eliza glances between the doors and the cheerleader, contemplating her options. She'd thought maybe they could be after Mash, the first time they'd really spoken, and Addison is by far the friendliest face she's seen all morning, but…she's so tied up in this mess that has overtaken Eliza's life, that she's not sure they can be friends anymore.
It was all because of Addison that Zed swiped right, after all. All her fault, for having to please her horrible, zombiephobic parents, for letting him pretend to be human. And it was her friends who pressed the button; cheerleaders ruined their lives, cheerleaders made the last six months of their lives a waste of time, a useless dream they'd spend the rest of their lives yearning for while they sat in Zombietown and did nothing.
Bonzo would tell her to stop holding a grudge, or that she's being horrible and bitter. If only Bonzo was here.
In the end, Addison makes her choice for her, bounding out of her seat to join her before Eliza can escape. "I didn't think you were coming back!" she says, loud and enthusiastic. Eliza wonders whether it is her voice of the new colour of her hair, blinding white in the sun, that draws more eyes. "Is Zed coming too? And Bonzo?"
Eliza shrugs. "I don't know," she answers honestly. "I came by myself."
"Oh." Addison visibly deflates, her eyes scanning the road behind Eliza just in case they're about to follow her in. "You haven't seen them at all? I thought you guys always-"
The school bell rings, loud and obnoxious enough to drown out the rest of Addison's question. Eliza's never been happier to hear it. "I have to go," she says almost over the top of it, far too quickly to not be suspicious, and takes a backwards step before the building. "Don't want to be late to class, you know."
Addison's expression turns downward, hurt and confused. Eliza pretends not to notice.
"If you see Zed," the human girl says, "will you tell him…tell him I said hi?"
"Um." Eliza steps back again, shuffling her bag on her shoulder uncomfortably. "Yeah, I'll tell him. If I see him."
Addison's soft smile in thanks haunts her all the way to the basement.
She pushes the feeling away vehemently, reaching back towards the anger that had been carrying her along before she ran into Addison. She won't feel back about offending a human, if they won't feel bad about any of the horrible things they've done to her. Not even for Addison.
She's almost convinced herself by the time she reaches the zombies' classroom, the dingy boiler room filled with second-hand desks and chairs that they'd been so happy to escape just a few months ago. There's a scarce few students gathered there, half the class too scared to return after the football incident and more again pulled out by parents too terrified to fight for what's right. The ones that remain are scattered across the room, broken into small groups of friendships formed long ago in Zombietown's school, where they'd had to fight tooth and nail for a desk, or a bit of paper to write on.
Eliza hesitates, assessing the landscape, and then cuts left, slumping down into a seat next to Izzy in the back row, the only other loner in the room. The other girl glances at her as she drops her bag on the concrete floor, unconcerned about the noise it makes upon impact, and then snaps her book closed, leaning back in her chair with her eyes fixed on Eliza.
"You're back," she says without any fanfare, her gaze unwavering.
"Yep," Eliza replies, just as bluntly, and pulls a battered notepad out of her bag.
"And you're missing your boys." She leans back in her chair, her eyes sliding away from Eliza as if to check the door, and then turns back again. "I don't think you've sat next to me since third grade."
Eliza pauses, and then turns in her chair, meeting Izzy's gaze with glaring eyes. "Is that a problem?" she asks. In the back of her head, she's going over the layout of the room, looking for another seat she can occupy if this doesn't work out.
Izzy is unbothered, leaning into her chair again with one arm flung over its back. "Depends," she replies. "I have some conditions."
"What conditions?" Eliza snaps.
Izzy grins. "You let me in on your revenge plan."
Eliza stares at her in confusion, eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What are you talking about?"
"You know exactly what I'm talking about," Izzy shoots back, and then rolls her eyes when Eliza doesn't immediately answer her. "Come on, we've known each other our whole lives, I know you're always planning something. There's no way you're just letting all that shit at the football game slide."
Eliza glares at her, mouth twisting unhappily. "Fine," she spits. "I'm working on…something. I don't know what I'm going to do yet. I don't know if we can even do anything."
"Something is good enough for me," Izzy says with a shrug. "Come on, tell me about it. Maybe I can help."
"Well-" Eliza starts hesitantly. She's interrupted by the door slamming shut somewhere behind them before she can even start, loud enough to make a number of the room's occupants jump. She glances behind her to see who is causing all the noise – and then turns her eyes forward again just as quickly, her skin crawling in annoyance.
Zed is careful not to glance at her as he passes her by, weaving his way through the desks to sit in the opposite corner of the room. Bonzo catches her eye, but doesn't stop, just offers her a small wave that doesn't do anything to ease the deep frown that is etching itself into his face, and follows Zed, ever faithful. She shoves her hair out of her eyes and pretends not to notice, her eyes shifting slowly back to Izzy.
"That was cold," the other girl says slowly when they are out of earshot, watching Zed with one eyebrow raised. "Anyway. Want to hear this great idea I had about the Cheer Championships?"
"What?" Eliza says, and straightens in her seat, Zed forgotten. "Yes. Tell me."
Izzy smiles, already talking before Eliza is even finished saying yes. And if they talk all day, through classes and lunch and an aborted attempt from Zed to interrupt and Addison staring at them sadly from across the hall while they stash their plans under the books in Eliza's locker; well, it's important. Eliza doesn't feel bad about it at all.
ooo
She's on her way out the door on Friday morning when she almost runs into a man dressed in the soft greys of Z Patrol standing on her doorstep, his hand raised to knock.
Alarmed, she rocks back on her heels, staring up at him with surprise and a careful measure of suspicion. "Eliza Zambie?" he questions, apparently unconcerned by the close call, and she shakes herself.
"Yes?" she replies, her mind spinning – why is he here? Was it about the football game, was he here to take her back to Containment, had Zed done something stupid, had someone heard her and Izzy talking? But no, there's a red paper in his hand, folded three times over and signed on the inside with black pen that almost bleeds through the paper, and he's holding it out for her to take, more like a mailman than a police officer.
"Notice of new rulings on Seabrook Anti-Monster laws," he says, and then he turns and stumbles off of her porch and back towards his car. She watches him go, her heart in her throat – because when is a Patrol officer coming to your door not trouble – and then opens the letter with hands that aren't quite steady, reading down the lines of neat print.
Due to unnecessary close contact between human and zombie students and the dangers therein, Seabrook High will be classed as a human-only establishment from midnight on Friday the third of May.
Her eyes rise from the letter towards the other side of the street, where Zed stands in his garden, his old, ratty garden hose hanging from one hand and the fist of his other crumpling a sheet of red paper. She could swear that's not the only spot of red in the street – the longer she stares at him, the more it seems to bleed into everything else too – the dull lights of his garden, turned off for the day, and the dusty tarmac of the street that stretches between them, and the tired bricks of their houses, set in identical rows that would stretch on and on and on if not for the wall that hems them in on every side, just out of sight.
Even the sky is red, the heat of the sun roiling in the air as she stomps her way across the tarmac and shoves the letter in his face, where he can't pretend not to see it.
"You did this, didn't you?" she snaps, ripping the paper out of his reach as he tries to grab it. "Unnecessary close contact. You just couldn't help but go and talk to you cheerleader, could you?"
"Her name is Addison, Eliza," he replies, making another, ill-fated grab for her letter. She holds it just out of his reach, her body twisting to accommodate for the several inches of height he has over her, but doesn't move her feet. "And I don't know what you're talking about. At all."
"So you didn't throw away our last chance at getting out of here for a girl? Again?"
"Does that sound like something I would do?" Humour flashes in his eyes, there only for a moment but crystal clear as it passes over his face. He thinks this is funny. Eliza grits her teeth and wonders if punching him in his stupid, smart mouth would get the point across better than words will.
"Don't ever talk to me again, Zed Necrodopolis," she snarls, and there is no humour to be found in her voice, only fury, deep and old and boiling over, like a pot that's been left on the stove for far too long. "If you want to throw everything away for one human, don't you ever come near me again."
His face falls, mouth hanging open – finally, he gets it, but too late, far too late. "Eliza, wait-" he says, reaching out as if to stop her, but she's already gone, turning sharply on her heel and storming away down the street. She's not sure where she's going, with the letter clutched in her hand and her school bag still hanging from one shoulder; she just needs to walk, until it all makes sense, until she can see something from the future other than sitting in Zombietown all her life, working as a slave for whatever human decides to throw menial jobs her way.
Izzy is waiting at the end of the street, leaning against the corner of someone's house and picking dirt out of her nails while she waits, like she knew this was going to happen. Maybe she did; Izzy lives closer to the gates than Eliza does, would have gotten the letter that is tucked in her front pocket at least twenty minutes before it reached this street. She looks up as Eliza stomps past, her gaze steady and her mouth twisting in some bitter impersonation of a smile.
"Cheer Championships?" she questions, pushing off the wall to fall into step beside her.
Eliza grits her teeth, her eyes turning in the direction of Seabrook, just visible past the wall at the end of the crossroads. "Yeah," she replies, and it feels like taking the lid off the pot, letting the anger bubble over and fill her up, right to the top. "It's what they deserve. We're not going down without a fight."