Laughter of the Undead Read online

  Laughter of the Undead

  The Half - Gone Trilogy

  Z.Z. Warlander

  Contents

  Warning

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Follow Me

  Coming Soon

  Acknowledgments

  Written by: Z.Z. Warlander

  Copyright 2019 © Z.Z. Warlander

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters, places, names, and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any likeness to any events, locations, or persons, alive or otherwise, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and remains the copyrighted property of the author. Please do not redistribute this book for either commercial or noncommercial use. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Publisher: Knox Publishing, LLC

  Publishing Link: www.knoxpub.com

  Editor: Courtney Lynn Rose, Knox Publishing

  Copyeditor: Rebecca Vazquez, Full Bloom Editorial

  Proofreader: Jackie Ziegler, Knox Publishing

  Formatter: E.C. Land, Knox Publishing

  Cover Design: Charli Childs, Cosmic Letterz Cover Design

  Created with Vellum

  Warning

  This book contains adult themes and situations that are intended for readers 14 and older. These themes and situations could include but are not limited to, extreme violence and vulgar language.

  To Ting Ting – for being literally my favorite person (cat) ever.

  One

  Levi

  March 4th - 7:47 a.m.

  My week of suspension ended on a Monday.

  With the cold, the snow, and the persistently dark gray coating, the sky felt exactly as gloomy as a Monday should feel.

  The bruise I’d gotten, a long green and purple band across the knuckles of my left hand from a punch gone awry, was the only thing left over from the fight. It may have been easy to hide with gauze, or fingerless black gloves if I wanted to be particularly edgy, but the whole school already knew where I’d been and what I’d done.

  I flexed my sore hand in my lap as Mrs. Fisher’s old sputtering minivan turned into the school lot.

  “Now, you listen to me, Levi. If I have to come get you for fighting again, they are going to find out that I am not your mother,” Mrs. Fisher said, her tone stern and worried and continuous from the driver’s seat. “Well, ha! Look at you. Of course, I’m not your mother, pale little thing you are. But if they catch that I signed those papers last week and not your father, we’re both in trouble. So, keep that head of yours between your shoulders and don’t go fighting the first person to look at you funny.”

  I smiled a little. “Yes, Mrs. Fisher.”

  “And I will never know why Alec puts up with your nonsense. You text him throughout the day and make sure he feels all right because that boy never tells me anything.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Fisher.”

  My best friend’s mom pulled into a parking spot and turned to me. “Boy, how many times do I have to tell you to wear more of a jacket? That thing is not built for this weather.”

  “I’ll be fine, Mrs. Fisher,” I said, repressing a laugh.

  “You will not! You are going to catch a cold!”

  It was her usual haranguing, and I smiled at her as I grabbed my backpack from between my feet. “Thank you for the ride, Mrs. Fisher.”

  “Call me when you get out of school, baby,” she called as I moved to close the door. “You better keep your ass out of trouble today. No fights!”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Everything gave the impression of a perfectly normal Monday. As I turned from Mrs. Fisher’s car and hunched my shoulders against the snow, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Busses pulled up, kids got out, and everyone got in the building as soon as they could. The only thing missing was Alec.

  Mrs. Fisher drove me and her son to school every morning and picked us up every afternoon, and even though Alec lay sick in bed, she’d still driven me. The drive may have been awkward without that usual filter between us, but Mrs. Fisher was as much my mom as anyone. Being alone around her hadn’t been truly awkward in years.

  I buried my hands deep in my pockets, tucking my shoulders under my ears as I stalked toward the school’s back entrance.

  I had my hand on the door handle when I heard it— the voices. I didn’t recognize them or what they were saying, but I knew the tone.

  Jeering.

  Jeering and laughter came from around the corner, followed by a thud, then more laughter and an annoyed grunt.

  Logic dictated I push on the door handle and head into school like I hadn’t heard anything.

  But logic could be a bitch and I stepped away from the door, kicking myself for every step I took toward the corner. In the snow were four people. Not a particularly interesting observation if it weren’t for the fact I knew how to spot someone taking the brunt of an asshole’s bad side.

  There were three of them, two boys and a girl, dressed in that, I’m-a-douchebag kind of way with polo shirts and khakis, and several bottles of gel slicking back their blonde hair— the girl sporting enough hair spray to gas a room and too much contour like she’d tried to make her face into a coloring book.

  Then there was the fourth girl. I recognized her as one of the deaf kids in the same ASL class as Alec. Her name was Candy, a freshman reaching five foot nothing with hair the color of peaches. She might as well have still been a sixth-grader with the Bambi-like size of her eyes.

  I suddenly wished I hadn’t recognized her or the panic in her eyes, or her things on the ground around her and the three others laughing and taking her books from her arms.

  As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t walk away. I knew her and she looked so frightened, her scared, tiny face would have haunted my dreams for weeks. Along with logic, guilt was also a bitch.

  I let out a hard sigh through my nose and dropped my bag with a dull thunk. Sorry, Mrs. Fisher.

  “Come on, Candy!” the girl sneered, “I know you can read my lips, so do it again. Say it.”

  The guys laughed, and douche-boy number one said in a slow awkward voice, “My name’s Candy and I always sound like I’m stoned.”

  “I guess not being able to hear yourself gives you a pretty ugly voice,” jeered the third.

  Shaking my head, I walked up and came to a stop right beside the tiny girl with my hands buried in my pockets still. “That’s a lot coming from someone who sounds like a Valley Girl with no nasal passages.”

  All turned to me, including the trembling Candy. Now that I stood closer, I could also tell that along with her well-founded fear, Candy’s trembling stemmed from equally well-founded rage. That almost made me smile. I locked eyes with her and put up a finger. She pursed her lips in anticipation.

  “What the hell’s your problem, freak,” snapped douche-boy number two.

  I raised my eyebrows. “Wow, creative. Are you four?”

&nbs
p; “What’s the Lord of Darkness doing for some deaf little shit?”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. I wanted to punch the ablest bitch so bad my hands itched, but I kept them buried in my pockets. “Who says I’m doing anything for anyone?”

  Someone yanked on my arm and I glanced to down at Candy, shaking her head. Maybe she could tell how close I stood to punching his lights out.

  The boy sneered at her, his crony and the girl coming to stand close behind him. “Not so scared with the big creepo defending you, huh?”

  I crossed my arms. “Who says I’m defending anyone? I don’t need a reason to insult you.”

  He couldn’t have been much older than her, a sophomore or even a freshman himself. But he and his friends were bigger, more put together, meaner, and not alone.

  The boy opened his mouth as if to say something else, but it was cold outside and I’d had about enough of our showdown. So before he could say anything, I kneed him in the crotch.

  The little bitch-boy crumpled in surprise, his equally greasy twin rushing to his side.

  I admit it may not have been the smartest thing for me to do considering I just got back from a week of suspension for doing almost this exact same thing and doing the same dumb thing twice in a row is, well, dumb. But like I said, I couldn’t walk away.

  “What’s the Gothlord doing here, anyway?” the girl demanded in her nasal voice. “I thought you got kicked out again.”

  “Well, you also thought that shirt was your color, so I guess you’re always wrong. Candy, come on,” I motioned. Whether or not she actually read my lips, she got the memo and grabbed some of her books from the ground while I yanked the rest from Valley Girl, giving her a try it glare as she held onto them.

  “Next time,” I said as we turned away, “try purple. It goes better with blatant ableism and prejudice.”

  Candy followed me around the corner and back to my bag. I held the door for her and a few feet down the hall, she paused and turned to me, readjusting her books so she could stuff them into the half-open bag.

  You good? I signed.

  Candy put her hand to her lips and moved it down, palm up, in a sign anyone could have read as Thank you.

  “You’re welcome. I’m assuming you can lip read?” She nodded, and I continued, “Do you remember me?”

  Like Alec, her signing was a lot of choppy sentences, since moving your hands took so much longer than actual words, but I understood her message. Of course. You’re Alec’s friend, Levi?

  I nodded and glanced at the doorway where the douches were and motioned ahead of us. “Where’s your aid?”

  Candy shrugged— the universal sign for No clue.

  “I’ll help you find her,” I said, handing Candy the rest of her books and following her down the hall.

  Classes started soon, and if they didn’t, people had places to be, so the hallway was full, and for most people that might make navigating them irritatingly complicated. Not for me.

  Being home all last week, I hadn’t thought about the little circle of free space around me— people curling in on themselves to avoid brushing my arm or stepping to the side and glancing down to avoid meeting my eyes. As always, people confused whatever violent rumors floated around about me with Medusa, acting like acknowledging me would turn them to stone. Though, to be fair, I’m sure most if not all of the student body had heard about why I’d been suspended and what I’d done to Sam Goodard’s face. There were probably a dozen versions of why, and hopefully none of them were right.

  We didn’t have to go far before I noticed a short, middle-aged woman with graying blonde hair and panic on her face.

  At first, the woman’s gaze drifted across me like I wasn’t there, intentionally glazing over the delinquent goth boy, but then, she saw Candy and panicked.

  “Candy!” she cried, voice verging on a screech. She rushed over, taking the girl by the shoulders. Are you all right?” she asked, scanning Candy from head to toe, signing almost too fast for me to catch. Where did you go?

  She glanced at me nervously and I started a slow, snail-like retreat backward.

  “Don’t wander off, Candy, you could get hurt.”

  I’m fine, Candy signed in a motion like tapping her thumb twice to her chest, five fingers outstretched, conveying annoyance in her hand gestures better than most people could have conveyed with words.

  Another glance at me.

  “Are you sure?”

  Yes. I’m fine. Levi helped me . . . she motioned, gesturing in my general direction, but trailed off. I realized she probably didn’t want to admit what had been happening behind the school, whether it was for her own dignity or to keep the woman from worrying. Find you.

  It wasn’t a convincing end. She could have found the woman all by herself. I was here for moral support and to keep the douchey three from outside from following her.

  I understood the way Candy must have felt. Alec always said after he lost his hearing everyone around him started treating him as if he were fragile. In constant need of protection, supervision, and copious amounts of bubble wrap. Candy had the same suffocated expression.

  “Well,” the woman said aloud, gripping Candy’s elbow, “thank you, young man.”

  “No problem.” I froze in my retreat and tried for a smile, but my lip rings put the old woman off a little— her returning smile was more in the ballpark of a grimace.

  They turned and walked away, but I saw the middle-aged woman ask Candy, “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

  She clearly didn’t know I knew what she was saying.

  I made a mocking face at the woman’s back and pulled my bag more securely over my shoulder.

  It was nothing new.

  Everyone treated me as if I were someone to be feared or cautious of. Mrs. Fisher and Alec were the only people who treated me like a normal person. Everyone else, even my other “friends”, treated me as if I was the bad kid.

  But Alec was sick today and had sent me to school on my own. I’d woken up on the floor of his room, inches away from the very loud speakers.

  “The Phantom of the Opera is there . . . inside your mind.”

  I’d groaned and rolled over to face the speakers blaring inches away from my nose.

  “Alec,” I’d whined, covering my face with my arm, “turn it OFF!”

  I knew he couldn’t hear me, but I whined anyway.

  I rolled over again, blinking dazedly. Alec still laid on his side, cocooned in his quilts, the only sign he was even vaguely conscious was the remote dangling from his hand.

  I raised my eyebrows as he squinted at me and shot me a lazy grin, dropping the remote onto the carpet.

  “You asshole,” I grumbled, not without humor, snatching the remote from the floor and flipping the opera off with an audible click.

  Alec let out a similar groan and fell onto his back, his voice an annoyed grunt. “You have to go to school.”

  “What about you?” I muttered, sitting up and signing along with my words so he could read it properly. “And what’s with the opera?”

  He gave me a dry glare. You sleep like a rock, man.

  Groaning, I collapsed back onto the carpet, just wanting to go the hell back to sleep. Instead, I pushed myself to my feet and stretched my arms over my head in an overexaggerated motion, earning a scoff from where Alec hadn’t moved.

  I tossed the blankets I’d been using on top of him and greeted his lazy fist bump with my own. See ya, man, I signed, shutting the door behind me.

  Now, I was on my own.

  My only other friends were the kind of people “like me”. They wore black, had piercings, and were, as far as anyone was concerned, “bad kids”.

  They were where they always were, by the corner in front of the cafeteria. Today there were already about nine, sitting with their phones or chatting. Only Derek stood, leaning against the wall and being weird, glaring and hissing at random passersby.

  Derek was too much. And I am what the other kids called
“King of the Goths” only because I was the actual scary one who hit people and got suspended all the time or expelled. I had never in my life hissed at someone in the hallway, though. That was a Derek thing.

  “Where have you been?” Derek asked when I threw my backpack in the corner and sank to the floor.

  “Delayed,” I responded simply, but it came out as more of a snap and everyone except Derek read my face, concluding I was in a generally snappy mood and closed off, going back to their phones or each other.

  I would like to believe I felt at home in this corner of the school, in the midst of the dyed black hair and piercings and smudged black around the eyes. But I didn’t, not really. I could sit with people like myself here, but it didn’t make me comfortable. The stale smell of smoke hung in the corner and the general hate some of them had for everything and everyone put me off.

  I didn’t hate everything. I wasn’t as obsessed with all the bad shit as they were. I had Alec to thank for that.

  Nor was I as extreme as some of them. I may have been what people saw as “Lord of the Goths” or whatever my name of the day was, but compared to some of my friends, I was downright chill.

  Derek, for example, took the goth thing all the way. Like me, he’d dyed his hair black, but unlike me, he gelled it into four or five-inch spikes jutting out of his skull, using more gel than the douches. His eyes were always darkly smudged and his mouth lined in black lipstick, a single stud in the center of his lower lip and his tongue. There were rings lining each ear and gauges bigger than a quarter.