What We Left Behind Read Online Free PDF Page B

the row in front of me calls out, “What’s your point?”
    “Zombies don’t break down.”
    “Of course they do,” someone else yells.
    “Do they?” dad asks. “Think about it. It’s been eight years. The meat on those bones should have rotted away, but it hasn’t. Something is sustaining them. Something is keeping them alive.”
    “They’re dead,” another faceless, nameless critic replies, hidden in the crowd. People are so brave when heckling from the masses. I’m so angry. I want to shout at them, to expose them as the cowards they are, but I know it wouldn’t go down well. Everyone would say, “Oh, that’s just Hazel protecting her dad.” But this isn’t about my dad. This is about what’s right. It’s always easier to criticize than to be part of change. Small minds delight in bringing down those that think big.
    I want to yell at the heckler, “So what have you done? What are you doing to unravel this mess?” but I bite my tongue.
    Everyone around me is whispering something, some agreeing, others disagreeing. I can’t hear what my dad’s saying over the noise. Marge calls for quiet with the megaphone.
    “I have proof,” my dad says. “This is a UV light.”
    He’s holding up what looks like a flashlight.
    “A couple of the marauders salvaged this about two months ago. I’ve been conducting experiments using this UV lamp and I can prove zombies are alive. I can prove they’re consuming energy, converting sunlight into metabolic energy.”
    One of the men next to Ferguson calls out, “He’s goddamn Frankenstein.”
    Such an original, witty observation, I think sarcastically. That guy is sucking up to Ferguson, and Ferguson relishes the obeisance. Ferguson has a slight smile. Damn, I hope I’m not the only one seeing through this bullshit.
    Several other people in the crowd agree with Ferguson’s lackey, but my dad keeps talking, undeterred.
    “I’ve got an old analog multimeter here. It’s a simple device used for measuring voltage. It’s taken me months to fix, but I’ve got it working. Watch the needle as I turn on the light.”
    Dad clips two wires to either side of the sickly green skin—one red, the other black.
    “Some of you at the back won’t be able to see this, but those of you at the front—watch the needle.”
    He holds the multimeter up and turns on the UV light. The light shines on the outstretched zombie skin and the needle twitches. There are gasps from the audience, but I’m pretty sure no one has any idea what this means. I certainly don’t.
    “I’m getting a current from the skin. This might not mean anything to you, but it is a key point to understand when it comes to zombies.
    “Everyone knows zombies rot, and yet they never rot away to nothing. Why?
    “Someone turns, and within a week their skin grows sickly and yellow. Within two weeks, their skin looks rotten. But their skin doesn’t rot. Why?
    “Leave a side of beef out and it will be rotten within days. It will fall off the bone within a week, but this doesn’t happen to zombies. Why?
    “The answer is, they’re not rotting. They’re transforming.”
    I blurt out, “Into what?” And immediately I regret saying what everyone was thinking as all eyes are suddenly upon me.
    “Ah,” dad says. “Good question. Into what indeed?”
    He doesn’t answer. I think dad knows how much of a stretch this is for us to accept. He’s trying to soften the blow.
    “All zombies bite,” he continues. “But it’s the newly turned that are the worst. It’s the fresh zombies that are ravenous. We call them runners. The old zombies will attack if they get the chance, but they’re slower. Why?
    “And why just us? Why are there no zombie dogs or zombie birds? Animals have been known to feed on zombie carcasses, why don’t they turn?”
    “Damn it,” Ferguson yells. “If you won’t tell them your crazy theory then I will.”
    “They’re autotrophs,” dad says.
    For him, it’s a big point.
    No