Page 14 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

Zoey chuckled, giving Nick an odd, tingly sensation that he hadn’t felt in a long while. Well, excepting at the farmers’ market when he’d come back to find Zoey stroking Alice’s soft fur and murmuring kindly at her.

‘I promise I won’t say anything untoward within hearing range of Alice’s sensitive ears,’ she said.

You don’t have to promise that, he wanted to say. Please, be untoward. I can take it.

‘How are the mushrooms?’ he asked instead.

‘They are … all gone.’ Zoey sounded pleased. Also, was someone playing a trombone in the background? ‘The cordyceps ones, anyway. I still have a few of the other types left. But could I order some more? My work-experience student thinks we might have a viral moment on our hands. She’s very data driven, so she’s usually right about these things.’

‘Wow, colour me flattered,’ said Nick. ‘I mean, I know the magic of mushrooms, but I’m glad the punters agree.’

But though he spoke easily, a thin shiver of concern trickled down his neck. He had limited stores of the weird orange cordyceps – they only grew on that one hard-to-get-to part of the property, the bit where even the neighbours’ free-range chickens refused to tread. And let’s face it: chickens had about two brain cells and weren’t known for their discernment.

If Alice hadn’t been back there the other day, he would never have found the mushrooms. To be honest, that whole spot gave him the heebie-jeebies, and it took a lot to give Nick the heebie-jeebies. His dad was an avowed horror-movie fan, and the two of them had spent most weekends during Nick’s childhood working through classic Eighties B-horror films. (One of Nick’s top childhood moments was convincing Larissa that there were indeed people living under the stairs.)

‘So. Can you hook me up? For tomorrow morning?’ Nick couldn’t quite be sure, but something in her tone sounded suggestive.

Although maybe he just wanted it to sound that way.

‘Sure, I can make that work,’ said Nick easily, although this meant traipsing around in the weird part of the property looking for lurid mushrooms, and a drive into Portland during morning peak hour, which coming from the Vancouver side of the river was pretty much a battle to the death. Between your bladder and the nearest bathroom, anyway. The last time it had snowed, traffic had been so backed up that he’d peed into an empty juice jug three times.

But there was another solution.

‘Actually … how about I bring them in this evening,’ he suggested. ‘It’ll help me avoid traffic.’

And maybe we could go do something after, he didn’t say. Not just yet. He wanted to see how she’d respond first.

There was a pause on the other end, and something that sounded a bit like a muffled squeal. Did Zoey have a pet hamster, perhaps? Nick wasn’t sure what he imagined Zoey’s home life to look like – although he had imagined it – but he hadn’t got so far as pets. Even though she did seem to be a natural with Alice.

‘All right,’ said Zoey.

‘I can stop by at six.’

Zoey gave him her address and rang off. Forgetting himself, Nick grabbed Alice’s front paws and danced with her. Alice did not seem impressed.

‘Jessica was three years ago,’ he reminded her. ‘And I’m not committing to anything. It’s just … a mushroom delivery.’

A mushroom delivery for the most radiant girl he’d met in recent memory.

All right. It was time to forage for some weird mushrooms. And then dig out his best plaid shirt and least grimy jeans.

6

Zoey

Misdelivered refrigerators. There was another thing Zoey could add to the list of things she hated. She’d spent all day waiting for her new produce chiller to show up at The Smoothie Maven, but the company had sent it to her home address instead of the shop. Now said fridge was sitting on the porch, which was sagging alarmingly under its weight. Not to mention that her roommate Peta had got all huffy about her prime storage/crafting space being taken up by a Westinghouse.

‘Think of the storage unit finds I could have put there instead!’ Peta muttered as she manoeuvred around the various bits and bobs on the porch: a velvet ottoman with a hand-crafted ransom note stitched to it, a birdcage filled with LEGO, a half-finished Little Free Library.

‘A fridge can be art,’ Ainsley pointed out as she came up the front steps. She’d been checking in with the neighbours to see whether Romero had come by demanding his regular snacks – no luck yet. ‘All you need is magnets and an imagination.’

She wasn’t wrong. The fridge stood proudly, looking – if you squinted – like one of those desert metal ziggurat sculptures that appeared out of nowhere.

Unfortunately, as is often the case with fridges, the goal was function, not form.

Zoey had tried calling the delivery company, but the guy was out in Hillsboro and was driving down to Eugene after that. Or so he said. He probably just didn’t want to come back across the bridge during peak hour.

Zoey aimed a kick at the refrigerator box, fighting a wince as she pretended doing so hadn’t hurt.