Page 81 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

Not usually … this.

‘I get it,’ said Cleo, with an easy shrug. ‘There’s a reason I don’t meet family. Stakes are way too high.’

Nick was on high alert waiting for Zoey to return as his sisters picked at the snacks platter, chatting about their Portland itinerary and adding their own foodie photos to the family text thread. He could barely concentrate as Larissa grilled him on his business structure and whether he’d covered himself from litigation – she was appalled when he explained the Darina situation.

‘What happened to her after that?’ asked Cleo. ‘Did she get help?’

‘I assume so,’ said Nick, after a moment – he’d been watching for movement in the hallway. ‘Although as far as I know she hasn’t gone back to work.’

‘I don’t blame her. I’d be in hiding, too, if after a bop on the head I propositioned a mushroom farmer so shamelessly that I had to be locked in a shed. Are you sure she wasn’t possessed?’

‘Pretty sure,’ said Nick.

Although he wasn’t, not really. In fact, he was feeling quite uneasy. Especially since Zoey was behaving not unlike Darina had. And Darina had behaved like, well … a zombie.

The grandfather clock bonged the hour: Zoey had been gone a solid fifteen minutes.

‘I’m … going to check on Zoey,’ he said.

He left Cleo and Larissa poring over the decor in the sunroom, Larissa using a reverse-image search to estimate the combined value of everything, and Cleo plotting an imaginary heist.

Where was Zoey? He’d knocked on the bathroom door, cautiously pushing it open after there’d been no answer. He’d peeked into what looked like a study, ducking to check beneath a giant walnut desk just in case she was trying to sleep off her illness.

A clatter from the kitchen drew his attention. He carefully made his way over, mindful of not scaring Zoey if she wasn’t feeling well. There she was, sitting on the floor in a corner behind an open fridge door. He could see the hem of her shift dress and the untied shoelace from here. She’d probably gone looking for ginger beer and crackers, he told himself. Something to settle the stomach. That was all.

Reba’s Razor was just a silly notion, nothing more.

‘Zoey?’ he murmured, keeping his voice low and calm.

His boots squeaked on the chequerboard-patterned floor, and Zoey stiffened.

So too did Nick when he got close enough to see what she was eating. Because it wasn’t ginger beer and crackers. It was … raw meat. Handfuls of ground meat, mushed into globs that she was jamming into her mouth.

Nick blinked, trying to make sense of the situation. Well, not make sense. Excuse.

Perhaps she was anaemic. Or maybe this was some sort of strange stress response. Or someone had seriously spiked one of her smoothies.

‘Zoey?’ he murmured again, carefully approaching her with his hands out. ‘Are you … feeling okay?’

Zoey’s eyes narrowed as she registered his appearance, and she shrank back towards the subway tiles on the wall. Overhead, a fan hummed lazily, casting triangular shadows.

‘It’s all right, babe. Let’s get you home so that you can rest up. My sisters are feeling tired anyway – it’s a long drive from Seattle. Maybe we can all catch up tomorrow.’

He knelt down next to her, his heart squeezing at how vulnerable she looked. How scared. All he wanted was for her to be safe. Well. Happy. Loved. He wished he could take everything she was dealing with and rest it on his own shoulders. Carry the weight of it for her.

‘Can I help you up?’ he asked gently, reaching out a hand.

For a moment, Zoey just stared. But then something flickered behind her eyes, and she relented. Nick took her hand in his and gently helped her up.

‘Give me just a sec, babe,’ he said, as he binned the leftovers of her gruesome snack and closed the fridge. ‘Okay. Crime-scene evidence is gone.’

He led Zoey out of the kitchen and back to the sunroom, where Cleo and Larissa were huddled, whispering between themselves.

‘There you are!’ said Cleo warmly, as Zoey blinked blearily.

‘She’s really not feeling well. I’m going to get her home,’ said Nick, apologetically.

‘I think that’s a good move,’ whispered Cleo. ‘I’m sure she’s lovely when she hasn’t … overimbibed.’