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Despite the news about the zombie church—and their hostility toward Fillmore Graves uniforms—Chase Graves had been pleased with the day's work. The phone was in their possession, with the video on it, and as far as they can tell, the video hadn't been shared. Graves was willing to call it a win, and Major was more than happy to go along with him. Anything to erase from his memory the sight of Angus McDonough waving a hammer in the air with the light of zealotry in his eyes. That was not going to go anywhere good.
"Major. Why the long face? We did it—we won!" Jordan was beaming. Probably he ought to yell at her right now, to impress upon her that it wasn't a win to stop disaster from happening, that the win would have been not having had the disaster in the first place. She didn't seem to have learned anything from this situation, and that also made Major worry about the future.
But she wasn't entirely wrong, and you burnt people out by not giving them a chance to feel like they got something right, to let off steam. What the hell, he decided. "When you're right, you're right. You guys ever been to the Scratching Post?"
"The zombie club?" Captain Seattle's eyes lit with excitement. "Are we going there?"
"I happen to know the owner." Mostly he wasn't thrilled that he knew Blaine and Don E, but it did come in handy every once in a while—like when you were sneaking underage kids into a bar. "Go get cleaned up, meet me out here in half an hour."
"Yes, sir!" Jordan looked as excited as her comrade. Both of them hurried off.
Major drove them to the club, still feeling a certain amount of misgiving about this plan. But they were zombies; Fillmore Graves zombies. Someone was going to introduce them to the place eventually. It might as well be Major.
The place was packed. Major strongly considered turning around and walking back out again before the kids could get into any trouble. But it would be hard to drag them both out, it would make a scene—hardly good for morale, or their respect for his leadership.
"Can't believe you guys talked me into bringing you here," he said as they descended the stairs into the main part of the club, conveniently shoving under the rug the fact that it had been his own idea. "All right, here are the rules: two drink maximum; no hookers!"
Captain Seattle groaned at the unfairness, and Jordan complained, "But I want a hooker!"
Major ignored them both—that was one of the few rules he wasn't worried about them breaking. "Definitely no blue brains," he continued, "and, most definitely, an order of nachos for Major. I'm hitting the head."
He left them at the bar, trying to tell himself to relax, that it had been the right idea to come here, that they were kids and they needed to have fun.
When he returned, there was an order of nachos at the bar, just waiting for him, and he dug in eagerly. Oh, melty cheesy goodness, this was what he had needed all along. The brains were concealed under the cheese and other toppings until it was too late to notice that they were blue. Spying the color at last, he eyed Jordan and Captain Seattle, who were smirking in a way that made him very concerned. "All right, what is it? What—is—it?" He felt a sudden urge to get up and flex, so he did, to the open admiration of a couple of ladies on the dance floor.
The kids were outright laughing now, and he hulked over them, envisioning himself pile-driving them into the floor. They glanced at each other, and each felt the need to get up and rush toward the door. Major followed, feeling bigger and more powerful all the time. He caught up with Captain Seattle and got him in a half-Nelson, while Jordan tried to help and couldn't because she was laughing too hard.
"What—is—it?" Major asked again.
"Wrestler brain," Jordan managed to get out between giggles.
He tightened his grip on Captain Seattle. "You—gave—me—wrestler—brain?" He could hear it in his voice now, the strain on the vocal cords, the slow deliberate cadence. "That—makes—me—soo—angry." It kind of did, too, but he was having too much fun to care that he'd been dosed. He was the one who'd left the kids alone, after all. He lifted Captain Seattle off his feet, and then let him go, both the kids still laughing.
As he let go of Captain Seattle, Major recognized the people who had just entered the club as his favorite people ever—Ravi, Peyton, and Liv. He hulked at Ravi, who frowned dubiously. "Um …"
"I—got—dosed—with—wrestler—brain."
"We heard you. All of New Seattle heard you," Ravi told him.
Turning to Liv, Major decided to throw her an olive branch. She meant well, he knew, and at heart, they didn't entirely disagree. "Hey—Liv—how's—it—goin'—with—the—new—boyfriend?"
She took a step toward him, looking earnest. "I'm sorry, Major, but it's only right that you should know. I have a new new boyfriend. And if there's such a thing as love, he's in there, and I must go to him."
Major let her pass, noting the starry eyes and the un-Liv-like poetic speech. Brain, then. Somehow that made him feel better … and in other ways, it didn't. "That's—cool!" he called after her.
Ravi looked at him pityingly. "You sound like a maniac."
"I—feel—great! Let's—dance!" He grabbed Peyton's hand and tugged her toward the dance floor. She shrieked in surprise, but she followed him, with Ravi close behind.
They stopped on the balcony when they all spied the same thing—Liv in a heavy liplock with some guy on the dance floor. The new new boyfriend, then.
Ravi and Peyton both groaned at the sight. Major felt himself hulking again, and it took a certain amount of will to keep from rushing down there and breaking the two apart. "That—is—not—an—easy—thing—to—see," he told Ravi. "But—I—am—glad—she's—happy." That was a lie, but it was a well-meant one. "That—makes—me—happy." Another lie. He forced a laugh to go with it.
"That's very mature," Ravi said, nodding, clearly not sure how to take either of his zombie friends at the moment.
Major made his way into the crowd, dodging Liv and the guy. He managed to avoid them for a little while, until he saw Liv on her own getting a refill at the bar, and couldn't stop himself from going to her. "Liv! I—know—this—is—a—weird—thing—to—scream—in—your—face, but—I—hate—the—way—we—left—things—after—our—fight." He waved a finger in the air, pointing it at her dramatically. This whole wrestler thing had him talking like an announcer, and he couldn't seem to stop. Still, he needed to get this out, and there was no time like the present. Liv was smiling indulgently at him, but she was listening. "And—I—want—you—to—know—that—no—matter—our—politics—I—care—about—you—and—I—want—us—always—to—be—friends." That one wasn't a lie. He couldn't imagine a world without Liv in it.
She smiled at him, clearly touched by the sentiment. So much so that she faked a wrestler brain voice in her reply. "Thank—you—Major!" In a more normal tone, she added, "You're the best."
"So. Tell—me—about—this—new—new—guy, huh? What's—he—like?"
"His name is Tim … he likes the Scratching Post … he's tall. Uh, tall-ish." She frowned. "Or maybe he's more medium height." After a second's thought, she went on, "I actually don't know that much about him. I should probably fix that."
It was a good sign—she was coming off whatever brain this was. "You—do—you—girl," Major told her.
She smiled at him, indulgently, again, and took her glasses to the table.
Major found Ravi and Peyton in the crowd and started showing Peyton his wrestler-brain dance moves. She found them hilarious.
And then Liv joined them—apparently the new new guy wasn't going to last the evening.
"Did—you—find—out—what—he's—like?" Major asked.
"Yeah. He was a creep."
Major was glad he could stop pretending to be supportive and just be happy to be hanging out with her.
An air horn blasted through the noise of the crowd, and the DJ shouted, "Time for the Human-Zombie Dance-Offfffff!"
The crowd cheered, Major and his friends along with them. Major and Liv took the zombie side, Ravi and Peyton the human side, and they danced the night away. Just how it should be.