Page 39 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

‘You’ll see it. And smell it, too – sometimes it has this sort of fermented, rotten-apple smell. But it depends on the type of rot. And the variety of mushroom.’

‘I’ll keep an eye out for it,’ said Zoey. ‘Well, a nostril. Although the smell could easily just be Terriffany’s home-made kombucha.’

‘The hazards of life as The Smoothie Maven,’ said Nick ruefully.

Zoey sighed theatrically. ‘I definitely didn’t think this career through.’

Happily chatting away about his favourite mushrooms, Nick walked her through the rooms in the greenhouse, showing how he propagated the spores – each variety had its own preferred substrate.

‘What about the mushrooms from the Brain Freeze blend?’ she asked. ‘The cordyceps ones?’

Nick nodded. ‘They actually don’t grow in here. Well, they could – I just haven’t figured out the perfect conditions for them yet. But they seem to be pretty happy doing their thing out by the lightning-strike zone.’

‘Wait,’ said Zoey, clapping her hands to her cheeks, ‘I get lightning mushrooms?’

‘I didn’t tell you about this?’

‘You mentioned they grew wild, but you didn’t talk about the whole lightning thing. Remind me to text Terriffany. She’ll love it. Whole new marketing worlds have just opened up.’

Nick chuckled. ‘She’s got a bright future ahead as the founder of a subscription-based drink product that claims to extend the human lifespan.’

‘I can’t wait to read her biography in five years,’ said Zoey wryly. ‘Sitting behind the counter of The Smoothie Maven, reading my work-experience kid’s hagiography.’

‘That’s where you see yourself in five years, huh?’

Zoey raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t a question she’d heard outside of her school’s career counselling office. ‘Are you interviewing me for an assistant mushroom-grower’s job?’

Nick brushed some dirt away from one of his batches of mushrooms. ‘I could be. I think you’d make a good one. You’d have to live on-site, of course. For logistical purposes.’

‘Would housing be included? And healthcare? And access to a 401K?’

‘I would have to consult with HR. And she’s outside, because she’s not meant to be in the greenhouse.’ He pushed open the door, leading Zoey back outside.

Zoey laughed as Alice came running up, tail lunging back and forth. ‘She does seem like the brains of the operation.’

‘I’m just the good looks.’

‘That you are,’ said Zoey primly. All right, so he wasn’t just the brawn. But he could sweat a little bit.

‘Ready to make this dinner thing happen?’ asked Nick. ‘I’ll show you the cordyceps in their natural environment after.’

Zoey was about to offer her effusive agreement when an explosion rocked the house.

‘Holy fucking what the fuck!’ shouted Zoey, dropping to her knees and cradling her head in her hands. Was she dead? What had happened? Had the mushrooms imploded? Had Mount St Helens erupted again?

‘You’re okay, babe.’ Nick stooped to help her up, his rough hands scraping gently against the softer skin of her own. ‘That would be Bozo,’ he explained, as he dusted her down. ‘He has many passions. The biggest one is Tannerite, which is an explosive that’s apparently legal in this great state so long as you’re on your own property.’

‘Where exactly is his property?’ Zoey squinted around the immediate surrounds, trying to figure out how far Nick’s farm extended. Other than the charming farmhouse, there was a barn overrun with ivy, the greenhouse, and some sort of shed structure that looked as though it had been through a recent battle. Beyond those, as far as she could see, stretched tall, grassy fields dotted with daisies and ringed with wild blackberries – the sort of fields that Zoey’s inner six-year-old wanted to roll about in, but that her current thirty-one-year-old self knew were filled with bugs. Beyond these were a wall of enormous Doug firs that reached impossibly tall fingers to the sky, trying to grab at the clouds.

Tiny birds raced all over, and a bunny twitched its nose at her before disappearing into the flowers. A woodpecker attacked a power pole with a rat-a-tat that wasn’t much quieter than the Tannerite.

‘Bozo’s back beyond the trees,’ said Nick. ‘Well, until he manages to blow through them. He keeps bee boxes when he’s not blowing stuff up. Want to try some of his honey? I have some in the house.’

Zoey bit her lip. This all sounded so lovely. Sounded so … domestic. But in a good way: a way that didn’t involve relinquishing her coveted Ms status or giving up her bank account.

Inside, the house was small and cosy: hardwood flooring from a local mill, exposed wood throughout, and ornate light fixtures that Nick assured her were original. The furniture was thoughtfully mismatched, all sturdy pieces scarred with age or textured with brass, tin, tile. They’d been collected over time, rather than purchased all at once during a Wayfair 40-per-cent-off sale. The aroma of freshly ground coffee filled the air.

‘I see this is where the magic happens.’ Zoey pointed to the living-room area. There, a deep couch sat amid bookshelves and a guitar, looking out the front window with its views of the daisy-smattered fields. One side sported a paw-patterned blanket that Zoey assumed was Alice’s. Alice hopped up, confirming Zoey’s suspicions.