Page 75 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

Nick grinned mischievously. ‘Which base?’

Nick slowly pulled out, on his way down to the waterfront market, and Zoey floated down to the smoothie shop, escorted by the rather delightful feeling of being on Cloud Nine. And by a family of black-headed chickadees who tweeted in her wake like cartoon helpers.

The scooter-house collection was now up to a solid eight, which meant that a free dinner at Lardo was within reach. Especially now that Ainsley’s fortunes had changed somewhat in the wake of her reunion with Celeste, not to mention Celeste’s life-changing Spirit Airlines music-licensing deal. Ainsley had spent a few nights over at the new loft apartment and had come back whispering reverently about package-handling and a doorman. Not to mention being within walking distance to two James Beard–awarded restaurants. Zoey suspected that some changes to her lease agreement might be in her future.

When the colourful sweep of the Belmont Street shops came into view, Zoey boggled. The entire population of Portland seemed to have camped out outside. She’d heard of smaller queues for people waiting for Taylor Swift tickets. Or for the new Salt & Straw seasonal flavours.

Was something going on? Had the arcade place purchased a new Zaxxon machine? Had one of the startups-that-were-really-small-businesses in the coworking space gone to IPO? Was someone offering free tattoos?

None of that, as it turned out. Or possibly some of that, but in addition to what else was going on: the smoothie shop had, as of this morning, reached peak virality. Literally hundreds of people stood in line, waiting for the doors to The Smoothie Maven to open.

It was only 6 a.m.! Portland was not a city of morning people. All right, so there were some strange, off-kilter types who’d moved here from other, faster-paced places that prided themselves on grind culture. The vast majority of those were probably still up from the night before. But that left a large group of people who’d climbed out of bed at well before the double digits to purchase smoothies from her shop.

Although judging from the slightly off-colour look of some of those waiting in line, perhaps they were simply up from the night before. Or the one before that. Or they were here on their homeopath’s orders.

Or, she thought, swallowing, they actually were zombies. Some of them, anyway.

No, Zoey, you’re just letting Reba get in your head. Something’s going on, but it’s not that.

Zoey waved awkwardly as the crowd’s interest slowly turned towards her. A few phones trained upon her as the occasional influencer revealed themselves among the crowd. (This never took long. Like half-marathoners and CTOs and unicyclists, influencers were quick to identify themselves.)

Zoey let herself in through the side gate, traipsing over the small patio area – which now held delicious memories of her dates with Nick – and entering through the back entrance. Everything was still locked up, which meant that Terriffany hadn’t shown up yet. That said, Terriffany had mentioned something about trying polyphasic sleep like one of her favourite cofounders. She was probably just still in bed.

Having switched on the machines and pulled out the chilled fruit from the refrigerators, setting them in their display cases, Zoey went to unlock the front doors. The crowd surged in, demanding smoothies at a rate that Zoey hadn’t anticipated. This was serious business. Zoey raced back and forth taking orders and hurling vegetables into the blender jugs. Her Vitamixes whirred with enough energy to power a small city. Maybe not Portland, but probably Eugene. Definitely Corvallis.

Of all the days for Terriffany to be running late. The urge to hide under the counter was growing stronger by the second. Especially when a pair of red polka-dot Keds darkened the door. Well, brightened it, she supposed. It was Nestor and Sascha from across the street. Sascha looked as though she were here thoroughly against her will – she’d had a few weeks of being unencumbered by her cloying coworker, but alas, that carefree era of her life was now over.

‘Zoey, oh my God, I can’t believe we got in!’ crowed Nestor, grabbing the highly unenthusiastic Sascha by the elbow and angling her towards the counter. ‘It’s absolutely packed in here. Talk about a viral moment. Are you going to expand? I see you took our recommendations about the Erewhon prices. Look at you go!’

Terriffany had made the case for those, and given the intimidating Excel spreadsheet she’d presented and the small-batch nature of the mushrooms, Zoey had decided not to argue.

‘Glad you’re feeling better,’ said Zoey, whipping him up a Brain Freeze smoothie. (He’d been ‘dying, oh my God, just dying’ for one.)

‘I preferred him when he was roaming the streets digging through dumpsters,’ muttered Sascha. ‘Just a Matcha Do About Nothing for me, thanks.’

‘I am doing better,’ said Nestor, eyes wide with delight. ‘I think I was just overworked from pulling too many late nights on my prototype, but we’ve all been there, I’m sure. Anyway, that little tattoo jab must have snapped me out of it – I’ve always been terrified of needles. What a way to break a productivity-induced fever, hmm? I even went and got a tattoo at Inkstigators later that day.’

He opened his shirt to reveal, emblazoned over his heart, his company logo.

‘Joaquin was so great about it, and so thoughtful,’ said Nestor. ‘They even confirmed three times that this was my ideal design and offered alternatives. But you know me: once a brilliant idea strikes, there’s no backing down.’

Well, Joaquin had tried, Zoey supposed. And a company logo was still better than a list of the names of all of Nestor’s victims. (Zoey still had her suspicions about the whole serial- killer thing.)

Sascha paid for the drinks, jabbing at the screen with one of her vicious nails. As Nestor flounced off shrieking about his brain freeze, Sascha took a moment to gather herself.

‘Back to the furnace,’ she muttered. Then, sighing, added, ‘I need to find a new place to work.’

You and me both, thought Zoey, grimacing as she glimpsed the ever-growing line outside. Oops, she’d knocked over Maeve’s photo.

Righting it, she felt a pang. She was so grateful for Maeve, and she was proud to help carry on her legacy, but this was all starting to feel like too much. Her heart was elsewhere.

‘Need some help, love?’

Bangles jangled as a tie-dye-clad elbow propped itself up on the bench. It was Reba, with Gracie Nivola at her side. Judging from the dark circles visible beneath her pointed, sparkly glasses, Reba was clearly still kicking on from a night on Killingsworth, while Gracie, serene in leggings and an extremely expensive-looking T-shirt, had probably come from yoga at June’s studio.

‘I can …’ Zoey had been about to say that she could handle it herself, but the queue outside was showing no sign of dwindling.

Her phone dinged: Terriffany. Sorry, Zoey – there in an hour. Mentor had feedback on my pitch deck. Priorities.