Page 92 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

Nick

All right, if he were a zombie, where would he go?

Nick jogged along, Alice beside him. The others had opted for the scooters – thankfully Celeste had managed to coax Ainsley away from a recumbent bicycle – but after a few blocks of scooting along, Nick had decided that he preferred to move on foot. At least all those morning jogs around the farm were paying off. Not to mention the fun run he’d done up Mount Tabor a few weeks back.

Ugh, this Zombie Shuffle wasn’t helping. Zombie-clad individuals together with, no doubt, some actual zombies, had spilled out from Belmont and were wandering through the residential streets, moaning about a) brains (actual zombies) or b) local government (non-zombies).

‘Brains,’ groaned a green-tinged woman in a butcher’s apron splattered with blood.

‘Free flash tattoo?’ offered Nick, brandishing Joaquin’s card. He’d never anticipated that a tattoo-shop business card would come in handy during a zombie apocalypse, but why not. Life could be strange. Like the time there had been five other Nicks in his class. Or when all of the original members of Ship of Theseus had reunited to release an album, leaving all of the new members of Ship of Theseus very confused about the composition of said ship.

‘Oh my God, I love Inkstigators.’ The woman turned to reveal her bare back. She was not wearing anything beneath the apron other than a vibrant phoenix with text that read Burn it all fucking down. ‘Joaquin did my back piece, and I get so many compliments at Orange Theory.’

‘Let me just give you a quick jab …’ Nick depressed the syringe, adding a dot of ink beneath her wrist. ‘All right, you’re good for the discount.’

‘I’ll tell all of my friends,’ promised the woman, before shuffling off once more to rejoin the Zombie Shuffle hordes.

Nick breathed a sigh of relief. That hadn’t been so difficult.

Next to him, Alice whined. Nick stiffened.

That meant only one thing. In the immortal words of the narrator in Plants vs. Zombies, zombies were coming.

Nick spun, a fresh syringe at the ready. Before him was Beryl, the grumpy blue-skinned woman. (Although, to be fair, if Nick were blue, he’d be grouchy, too.) She lurched along behind him on her walker, her skin now a weird ultra-bright blue, like she’d painted herself in the specific colours needed to blend in on the set of Avatar. Nick could see it being popular as an interior paint shade among elder Millennials.

Also, wow, colour theory was full of surprises. He would’ve assumed she’d look more like something out of The Shape of Water.

‘Brains,’ Beryl glugged, in a voice no different from her usual one. But there was an absence behind her eyes that belied her undead nature – and Alice’s whining was a helpful indicator.

All right, here was the moment of truth. He drew back the plunger on his syringe, and just in time, for …

Beryl launched at him, teeth bared to reveal receding blue gums. For someone so sluggish in daily life, she moved with impressive alacrity.

Foot propped against the walker to prevent her from getting any closer, Nick jabbed the needle against the crepe-paper skin of her hand. Beryl screeched, dragging her hand back with a juddering movement.

Nick jumped back as well, waiting to see how quickly the antidote would work – if at all.

Beryl trembled for a moment, wizened hands clutching at her walker. Then, bit by bit, the vibrant colour leeched from her skin, allowing the familiar blue tint of the colloidal silver to return to the surface. Her red eyes took on their former yellowish tinge, and her mouth went from a hungry maw to the churlish twist Nick recognised from her mushroom-shopping adventures with her nephew Dermott.

Alice stopped whining.

‘It’s you,’ Beryl snapped. ‘The mushroom man.’

‘That’s right,’ quipped Nick. ‘The one who lives on Drury Lane. How are you feeling?’

Beryl sniffed. ‘Thirsty. And I could do with some jelly beans.’

‘No … odd cravings?’

Beryl considered this after a moment. ‘No, no cravings for the first time in my life. What did you jab me with? Ketamine? Is this ego death? Wait. I could really go for a grilled cheese.’

‘What about Dermott?’ asked Nick. ‘Was he … afflicted?’

‘He’ll be fine,’ snapped Beryl. ‘I’ve got plenty of colloidal silver to go around.’

Nope. None of that.

Nick dropped the used syringe into his cross-body sharps container, then pulled out a fresh syringe – still capped, of course.