Page 13 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

A thorn had managed to get inside the thick leather – ouch. He pulled the barb away from his skin, rubbing away the drop of blood that welled from it.

‘I don’t know if she’s keen,’ he said. ‘She’s kind of … hard to read.’

Although Zoey had called him yesterday. And he hadn’t called back. Bozo’s explosions had become a whole dramatic thing that had escalated to an almost comedic degree – someone’s cows had escaped and gone running all over, and Nick had spent the rest of the afternoon driving around trying to help herd them back to their property. Alice had happily assisted with cow-herding, although her work had been promptly undone by the sudden appearance of an evil goose dressed in a scarecrow costume who’d sent the cows scattering again. (Apparently there’d been a farm fair running concurrently and the goose had won first place in the costume contest.)

By the time Nick had got back in, the sky had been purplish black. So too had his shins, which he’d whacked against all manner of rocks and fence posts during his impromptu cow-herding session. He’d considered calling Zoey back, but then he remembered what she’d said about 3 a.m. being the perfect time of day. A start that early meant that she was probably already in bed. And now she was at work, which was probably not an opportune time to bother her. He was going to wait until after her shift, and then call to see how the mushrooms were going and whether she needed an emergency delivery. Which he could definitely make happen, even though the drive into Portland and back would be a multi-hour ordeal.

‘Little bro? Are you there?’ Cleo tapped the screen with a gnawed fingernail. The sun was behind her, making her messy bleached-blonde bob glow like a halo. Cleo had hair as dark as Nick’s, but he hadn’t seen its natural colour since her first day of middle school.

‘Sorry.’ Nick slid his gloves back on and picked up the secateurs. ‘I’ll definitely call her.’

‘If it all goes well, maybe Larissa and I can meet her when we come down to visit.’ Cleo said it in a teasing voice, but Nick knew she was serious. Cleo was a hopeless romantic, and was always on the lookout for signs from the universe that indicated that this way lay love. She’d been more heartbroken than Nick after the whole Jessica situation, and ever since had been texting Nick snippets from horoscopes or fortune cookies that might help sway his love life in the right direction.

‘When are you and Larissa thinking of coming down?’

Cleo and Larissa lived in Seattle, which was only a few hours north up the I-5. But Larissa worked long hours as a lawyer, and Cleo was always busy with whatever side hustle she’d decided to take up that month. Currently it was felted frog kits, which she’d been selling on Etsy and, she hoped, soon at Pike Place Market.

‘A couple of weeks from now. Get this: I entered an Instagram contest and instead of just having my data stolen, I actually won a stay at a cute little bed and breakfast that looks simultaneously like something from a horror movie and a Hallmark movie. Hang on, let me bring up a pic … Can you see that?’

Nick glanced down to see a quaint gingerbread-style house painted in blue and white. He knew the one: it was near Broadway, by the Lloyd Center shopping mall. He’d dropped off some mushrooms to the vegan restaurant across the street just a couple of days ago.

‘I think even Larissa will accept those accommodations. Assuming they have the tiny shampoo bottles and not the refillable kind.’

‘I think that’s the one thing I agree with Larissa on,’ said Cleo. ‘We’ll come out to the farm, too, obviously. Well, I will. Larissa is a maybe depending on the weather.’

Larissa had accepted that rain was part and parcel of living in the Pacific Northwest, but that did not mean that she was about to go out in it. She’d been lobbying her firm for a transfer to their L.A. office for years.

‘And of course, Mom and Dad will be in Venice,’ said Cleo with a theatrical sigh. ‘The poor dears. We’ll have to have a text-thread foodie competition. And best Murano glass competition.’

‘I think Venice might win that one,’ said Nick.

‘Bah, I can hunt out cool imported glass a mile away. Watch me.’

Cleo read out the list of B&B amenities as Nick continued to fight the blackberry bushes. Alice happily panted away in the background, ears twitching as Cleo paused occasionally to let her know what a good girl she was.

As Cleo got to the bit about the B&B being featured on Monsterio, a low-budget show about a couple of audio engineers turned monster hunters, Nick’s phone beeped: he had an incoming call, which didn’t come up as a Palm Springs number this time. It showed up as Zoey Kaban. After missing yesterday’s call, he’d added Zoey to his contacts, just in case. Just in case she tried to call again. Just in case … he tried to call her. Which he’d been thinking about all day.

Dropping the secateurs, he stripped off his gloves. ‘Hey, I’m getting a call.’

‘Is it the call?’ teased Cleo.

Nick was grateful for the armour a full beard offered: you couldn’t blush through it. ‘I’ll keep you updated.’

‘Oo-ooh,’ teased Cleo. ‘Details. Text me details!’

She rang off.

‘Nick speaking,’ he said, trying to keep at least some of the sheer delight from his tone.

‘Hey, “Nick speaking”,’ crackled a low voice over the phone speaker. ‘It’s Zoey. From the farmers’ market the other day. The one who bought a bunch of mushrooms for the smoothie shop?’

As if he could’ve forgotten. As if there was another person who could possibly be her.

Alice barked cheerfully at the sound of Zoey’s voice.

‘Is that Alice? Hey, sweet girl!’

‘You’re on speaker,’ said Nick.