Page 72 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

‘I hope so. I was hoping that Terriffany would be on the hook for these, but apparently more lucrative, VC-adjacent opportunities await.’

‘Ah, yes, when you’re an aspiring founder, it’s an easy decision between smoothies and schmoozing.’

Zoey nodded. ‘I’ll figure something out for next year. Honestly I’m …’

She trailed off. She’d been about to say that she’d been thinking about going back to school, and that she’d been thinking it ever since their visit to the art museum. Being surrounded by all of that incredible art had set the spark of her inner scholar alight. But the whole notion was silly. How many master’s degrees did one woman need? Especially when all they did was sit on a wall gathering dust. (And pollen. There was always pollen.)

But before Nick could press her, Reba appeared in a swirl of tie-dye, pushing along a cart that looked like it had been designed for off-roading. She’d booked a booth at this event as well – apparently she never passed up a Naked Bike Ride.

‘Evening, troublemakers!’ she crowed. ‘Are we ready for naked people and cat-mayor elections?’

‘I’ve been practising averting my eyes,’ admitted Zoey.

Reba waggled a coquettish ankle. ‘Ah, you should practise some bodily appreciation. It’s all natural. We’re all just beautiful bags of skin and bone.’

‘And muscle,’ added Nick.

Reba flapped a hand. ‘Speak for yourself.’

Nick grinned. ‘I do.’

‘Well, then, Muscles, how about you roll this cart for me when you’re done helping your lady. I overdid it on the cheese toasties and I’m a bit worried I’ll pop. Or get a hernia.’

‘Can’t have that,’ said Nick. ‘Leave it there and I’ll get to it in a minute.’

Reba strolled along after them, patting her belly as she pointed out her favourite trees, rocks and dogs. ‘I love this city. I go full Pac-Man mode every time I’m here. Just waka-waka-waka as I munch my way through every neighbourhood. Any word on the missing cat?’

Zoey shook her head. ‘We had a lead the other day, but he escaped.’

‘They’ll do that. My Ember can be quite the monster when he wants to be. Has murder on the brain, that one, I reckon. Anyway, I hope yours shows up before the votes are tallied. It’s no good to vote for a no-show mayor. Even if he is a cat with a solid platform.’

Zoey couldn’t imagine the look on Ainsley’s face if Mean George won due to a forfeit. There was no way. She’d fight the results to the bitter end. Demand a recount. Argue the benefits of an absentee representative. After all, half the Republicans in the country didn’t hold town halls, and they got to keep their seats. And they were people!

‘I hope so,’ said Zoey. ‘The last time we saw him, he was in quite a state.’

She pantomimed Romero’s hissing and scratching.

‘I see,’ said Reba. ‘There’s been a bit of that going on. And not just with the pets. I went to grab a breakfast burrito this morning, and some yoga woman tried to give me a right chomp on the wrist. The entitlement!’

‘Did she mention anything about brains?’ asked Nick. ‘Just out of curiosity. We have a bit of a theory going.’

‘Brains? Like a zombie?’ Reba considered, though she seemed absolutely unfazed by the suggestion. ‘No brain talk that I can recall, but she was a bit green around the gills. Ooh, I can’t believe I’m in town for a zombie invasion! What luck!’

‘We didn’t say zombie invasion, precisely,’ said Zoey hastily. Hopefully they were dealing with more of an aberration than an invasion. Or better yet, she’d just connected all the wrong dots and there was a perfectly rational explanation for everything going on. ‘Besides, it is Portland. There could just be some new social movement we’re not au fait with.’

Reba pulled the remainder of her breakfast burrito from an invisible pocket and went to work on it. ‘Well, if my decades of experience on this earth have shown me anything, it’s that the supernatural explanation is the most likely one. You know, Occam’s Razor.’

‘I don’t think that’s quite how Occam’s Razor goes,’ said Nick, setting down the dolly where they planned to set up.

‘Reba’s Razor, then.’

Zoey would’ve pressed further, but the sound of bicycle bells filled the air. They had to get set up, stat. Reba balled up her burrito wrapper and popped it in a trash can. ‘All right, let’s do this.’

The three of them raced around, finalising their booths before the first cyclists showed up. A couple of dozen booths coloured either side of one of the paths running through the park. Joggers, families, and the odd silent-disco participants stopped by to browse the soaps and scarves and nipple pasties on offer. (This event was apparently that particular vendor’s biggest night of the year.)

‘There you are!’ exclaimed Ainsley, out of breath from cutting across the wide field. Flyers flapped in her hand. ‘Did you vote, Zoey? Nick?’

Nick held up his hands. ‘I don’t live in the jurisdiction.’