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“How many boxes of brochures do we have left in the supply closet?”
“Eight.”
Cody smirked. “How many brochures in a box?”
“A thousand,” Demmy said with a sigh and scooped up a big spoonful of yogurt. “I overbought, okay?”
“Hey, I just asked a question.”
“Stop playing innocent. You knew perfectly well how many were in a box.”
“Who, me?”
“Whatever Jordie did to you today, I think you earned it.”
Cody delivered his best stricken expression. “That hurts.”
“I said what I said.”
Demmy scraped up the last of the yogurt and licked the spoon clean, and something deep inside Cody shivered at the sight.
“I’m starting to feel like there’s a conspiracy.”
Demmy delivered an overly innocent look. “Are you?” Before Cody could reply, he stood up. “We need to leave for that appointment,” he said, carrying his empty yogurt container to the break room.
“Conspiracy,” Cody said to himself before popping the last bite of danish into his mouth.
* * *
The job was a squirrel removal. More precisely, the removal of multiple squirrels. The critters had taken up residence in a dark, dusty, cobwebby attic corner where the peak of the roof came down to meet the eaves of a pre-war bungalow. Access was possible through a waist high door in the unfinished upper floor. And there was no central air conditioning.
Cody was already sweating as he stood beside the truck and zipped up his coveralls. It was the middle of August, and a damp, hot mess of a weather system had settled over the area like an unwelcome relative. The weather forecasters were all blaming it on different things—the Allegheny Mountains to the southeast, a high pressure system dropping down from the north, climate change, or a combination of the three—but all were of the same mind that it was going to be hot, humid, and wet for a while.
And Cody was about to crawl around in someone’s attic for a couple of hours.
How much more glamorous could his life get?
“God, this humidity is so gross,” Demmy grumbled as he zipped his own coveralls. “And we’re not even in the attic yet.”
“How do people live without central air?” Cody asked.
“Maybe it’s a pride thing. Like they can make do with fans and have no need for air conditioning because they’re tough.”
Cody furrowed his brow. “Isn’t our client a widow in her seventies?”
“My theory may need work. Or she could be one of those strong and fiercely independent penny pinchers.”
“Whatever her story is, this feels like something Jordie would dream up for a workout. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was his great-grandmother or something.”
That got a snorted laugh before Demmy handed Cody a battery-powered headlamp. Armed with loop snares, nets, and a carrier, they headed up the walk to the front door and stepped inside.
It took them two and a half hours to get all six squirrels secured inside the carrier. Two and a half hours of muttered curses, dust caked to their sweaty faces, and a pause to swap out the batteries on Cody’s headlamp when it gave out right as he was about to snag the third squirrel.
After a final check around the attic for any more squirrels in hiding, Cody located the entry point in the eaves and secured it as Demmy hauled the carrier of chittering, scratching squirrels down the steps out to the truck. When he’d finished closing up the hole, Cody rolled onto his back and looked at the slanted roofline above. His muscles were starting to feel the morning’s workout, and he wondered if they had any ibuprofen in the truck. The attic was stuffy, brutally so, but quiet. It brought back memories of that fevered feeling before the Fourth of July, when he’d been bitten by the zombie and infected. He put his right hand over the scar on his left forearm, covered now by the sleeve of his coveralls. Sometimes the spot ached for no apparent reason, and he wondered if that magic potion the scientists at GRUNT labs had created on the fly had truly rid his body of every last drop of infection. Or maybe caused something completely different. He’d have to ask Zenona when he went for his follow up.
“Hey, you okay?”
Demmy’s voice brought him back, like usual. Cody lifted his head and looked down the dusty, cobweb-covered length of his body to where Demmy was on his hands and knees half inside the tiny door into the attic.
