Page 36 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

‘Touché,’ said Nick.

They’d hit the curving streets north of Laurelhurst Park and were cruising about, jumping in and out to add signs to mossy areas and beneath massive trees.

‘Garfield?’ Ainsley folded her arms as she covered up the cartoon cat with a Ro-mayor-O sign. ‘He doesn’t even go here.’

‘Further up forty-first is where I park when I go to the airport,’ noted Nick conspiratorially, as they crossed Cesar Chavez. ‘I walk up to the MAX overpass and take the tram from there. No one’s fined me yet.’

‘Damn straight,’ said Zoey. ‘Stick it to Big Parking.’

‘Although I did almost miss a flight to Denver because it was late Sunday night and the MAX was like forty-five minutes late. But, fun fact: there’s a Voodoo Doughnuts at Denver Airport right now.’

‘Wow, the true taste of home,’ said Zoey. ‘Do you wear your PDX carpet socks when you travel, too?’

‘Naturally.’ Nick’s grin was teasing.

‘Holy shit, you two,’ said Ainsley. ‘Get a room. I can’t do sock talk. That’s just too much.’

As Nick pulled down the street, a pinecone bounced off the car.

‘Hey! Slow down! Children live here!’ shouted a sinewy woman wearing so many gold bangles she could barely lift her fist to shake it at them. ‘I’m going to report you to the non-emergency number!’

‘I’m going like ten miles an hour,’ muttered Nick. ‘My speedometer doesn’t even register I’m moving.’

The woman stalked over to the truck, gesturing wildly at the signs in the tray. ‘Are you here with the cat signs? Because we don’t do that on this street. It impedes visibility. Children could die.’

‘All right, ma’am,’ said Nick. ‘I can see you feel very strongly about this. We’ll just—’

‘Wait, there’s Celeste!’

Ainsley pointed, then leaned over Zoey to blast the truck’s horn.

‘Celeste! What the fuck are you doing here?’ she shouted.

Celeste looked up from the Mean George sign she’d been hammering into the damp grass. The sinewy woman looked as though she were about to suffer an aneurysm from the impropriety of it all.

‘Hey, babe!’ Celeste’s red hair swirled around her as she righted herself. ‘I just got pulled into Mean George’s campaign. Congrats on the InkWell thing, by the way. We should celebrate!’

Zoey winced at the grinding sound that suddenly drowned out the engine – did Nick need to take his car to the shop?

Nope, Zoey realised: Ainsley was simply grinding her teeth harder than Zoey did at night. (She’d ground through two nightguards this past year.)

‘Can you let me out here, Zo? I’ll … catch you at home.’

Ainsley furiously climbed out of the truck, grabbed a Romero Ro-mayor-O sign from the tray, and brandished it.

Nick shot a look at Zoey. ‘So, are we watching this, or are we making a getaway before we’re asked to join in the fight?’

‘Definitely a getaway,’ said Zoey. ‘Celeste has some serious fingernails, and I’m not getting involved in that.’

‘Maybe they’ll set aside their differences and ride off into the sunset together. On one of the scooters from that house on your street.’

‘Anything to stop me from winning the Lardo bet.’ Grinning, Zoey shook her fist at the sky.

They cruised off, pulling over here and there to pop up Romero’s signs. Nick helped Zoey hammer them into the soft grass on the strip between sidewalk and road, which was something she could easily spend hours doing. Mostly because it gave her an excuse to watch Nick’s muscles work beneath his plaid shirt, which was more of a treat to the eyes than a classic movie marathon in 4K at the Laurelhurst Theater.

‘You’re not a bad sign-digging assistant,’ said Zoey, wiping sweat from her brow as she regarded the bristling row of Ro-mayor-O signs. ‘Thanks for doing this. Supporting a cat’s mayoral campaign probably isn’t how you wanted to spend your afternoon. Especially since said cat is probably going to be an absentee candidate.’

Nick chuckled. ‘Are you serious? This is precisely the silly type of way I want to spend my time. You bring the whimsy, and I’ll bring the truck.’