Page 54 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

Zoey clapped along. But though she was a sceptic at heart, she was starting to feel like something was going on. Something involving brains. Something involving … dare she say it?

Zombies.

All signs pointed to zombies. The biting. The shuffling. The green-tinged skin.

But surely not. It couldn’t be. Portland was weird, but not that weird. And besides, OHSU would have put out a statement. They were good about staying on top of public- health messaging, like whether it was a good idea to swim in the Willamette on a given day.

‘Ow!’ shrieked one of the geriatric mall walkers, who was dressed in head-to-toe parachute material and sported an impressive sweatband on her glistening forehead. ‘That “Thriller” dancer just bit me!’

She shook a purple hand weight at a woman with pink hair and … wait, was that a hairdresser’s apron? Was that … Nova?

Before Zoey could get a better look, the mall security guards came running, pouncing on the biter and shoving them out through the emergency exits. The mall walker was loudly shouting about a lawsuit, which was hastily shut down by a well-dressed woman who came hurrying up with a hamper and a handful of vouchers.

‘Why get litigious when you can get experiential?’ she cried, gold hoop earrings swinging.

‘I’ll take the hamper, but that doesn’t indemnify you!’ shouted the mall walker.

‘You tell ’em, love!’ called Reba from between cupped hands. ‘Always take the money!’

Tabitha climbed up on top of a mechanical hippo ride and waved her megaphone around with a frantic air. A few of her butterfly clips went flying. ‘All right, “Thriller” gang, time to disperse! Brilliant job – even if you didn’t put it on the schedule, though I did ask about a million times. How convincing was that biting scene? Someone get that girl a talent agent. And her dentist, too. Gracie Nivola, maybe you can have your sister work her magic.’

Gracie’s polite smile did not reach her eyes.

‘Ugh, a paid crisis actor. I knew it. I hate paid crisis actors,’ muttered Nate, who was leaning up against a pole in typical haterly fashion.

June shot him a sidelong look, as though she was starting to realise that there was a limit to how much personal growth you could reasonably expect of a man whose entire personality depended on the lack of said growth.

Zoey’s heart was starting to return to its regular rhythm. Okay, this whole thing was just part of the day’s entertainment. No one had actually been bitten. It was just acting. Like when Kit had bought her Timbers tickets for her birthday and she’d pretended that she loved nothing more than sitting around in a plastic rain poncho while a bunch of dudes slithered around in the mud. Especially given that there’d been a Ramona exhibit on at the Portland Art Museum she could’ve gone to instead.

Maybe the cop who’d come into The Smoothie Maven wasn’t even a real cop. Maybe she’d just been trying to get into her role. She hadn’t IDed herself or anything, after all, and those pink glasses did seem uncharacteristic for someone in uniform. Maybe she was just scouting for inspiration, like Harry the Wet Bandit in the opening scene of Home Alone.

‘All right, let’s give our performers a round of applause, because it’s time for the Kiwis on Ice!’

Tabitha led the vendors and shoppers through a hearty round of applause.

Her megaphone squealed, unleashing an ear-splitting explosion of feedback. The shambling hordes collectively groaned. They stumbled off through the emergency exits, presumably for a debrief on their performance and then a vegan breakfast at The Blossoming Lotus.

‘Shit, how do I … goddamn, fucking megaphone … oh fuck, is this thing on?’ came Tabitha’s voice, between bouts of mechanical squealing.

Thankfully, she was saved by the sudden roar from half a dozen industrial fans around the ice-skating rink. Red and yellow cellophane flames flickered around the rink, and a disco ball shaped like a skull and crossbones descended over the ice.

A couple dressed in matching skeleton onesies leapt into the rink, posing theatrically and flickering forked tongues at the crowd.

‘I’m so sorry about this whole thing,’ whispered Zoey. ‘I promise I’ll never call in another favour.’

Nick wrapped an arm around her shoulder. ‘Are you kidding me? I can’t believe I get to witness this ungodly moment in history, and with my favourite girl at my side. Isn’t that right, Alice?’

‘Oh, shut up,’ said Zoey, grinning. Because how could you not?

15

Nick

It had been quite the morning, between the ‘Thriller’ flash mob, the ice skaters, and the free-tattoo raffle that was being announced with every quarter-of-the-hour cuckoo from the mime that Nick and Zoey had terrorised at First Thursdays. Although it was a mimed cuckoo, so a solid half of the raffle announcements were skipped over.

‘Fucking mimes,’ whispered Zoey. ‘Add those to the list of things I hate.’

Apparently Zoey had a running list of such things: she’d waggled a Moleskine at him to demonstrate her commitment to the cause. But she’d also been quick to explain that she wasn’t a hater the way Nate was. She was a curmudgeon, not a hater. Hers was an observational hatred, not an existential one.