Page 86 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

Nick plonked down on a chair, running his fingers through his hair as he tried to deal with the reality of the situation. ‘Yes,’ he said finally, letting his hands drop to the table. ‘It’s zombies. Zombies everywhere.’

Gracie nodded. ‘Sorry. I’m sure it’s not what you wanted to hear.’

‘But how?’ asked Nick. ‘Where did they all come from? How did this all start?’

Terriffany pulled out her iPad and started tapping away. ‘The smoothies. Specifically, the Brain Freeze smoothies.’

Reba leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘All those brain freezes? That’s the zombification at work.’

This was not what you wanted to hear as the resident mushroom farmer.

‘But how do we know it’s the smoothies and not, say, the sprinklers at the park or a rancid cheese topping or just some virus going around?’ he offered.

‘I mapped it,’ said Terriffany coolly. She pulled up a data visualisation on her iPad. ‘I connected our sales software, which offers location tracking for targeted advertising, to the Nextdoor map of bitings and other potential zombie incidents. And the data speaks for itself.’

She was right. Hundreds of green lines snaked off from the smoothie shop, overlapping with reported biting incidents. The Smoothie Maven was zombification ground zero.

‘The reports start the day we introduced the Brain Freeze smoothies,’ added Terriffany, as she scrolled around the screen. ‘Data; it’s beautiful, isn’t it?’

Nick drummed his fingers on the table. Something wasn’t right about this hypothesis – and he wasn’t just being defensive about his mushrooms. His poor, beautiful mushrooms.

‘Hang on. You’re fine, even though you’ve been drinking the smoothies,’ he pointed out. ‘And so am I. And so is Ainsley, even though she’s been having the smoothies DoorDashed in bulk to Celeste’s apartment in the Pearl.’

‘Maybe they’re just immune,’ mused Gracie. ‘Like how neither Honour nor I had chickenpox as a kid. Everything just passed us by.’

‘Bounced off your unearthly good looks, probably,’ said Reba. ‘My aches and pain are kept at bay by my old friend here.’ She waved a weed pen. ‘Ooh, maybe it’s something in the weed. Anti-zombie weed. That’s definitely a thing, right?’

‘If weed were protective, there wouldn’t be a single zombie in all of Portland,’ noted Nick. ‘It has to be something else.’

Just then, a pair of red polka-dot Keds appeared by the gate. They were promptly followed by the uncannily upbeat visage and unbrushably bristly hair of Nestor.

‘Not this dweeb,’ whispered Reba. ‘He’s definitely a serial killer, no?’

‘Good morning, all!’ crowed Nestor, hefting a felt and leather shoulder bag from which an enormous Stanley cup poked out. ‘We’re all up bright and early, aren’t we? I was on my way into the coworking space when I heard chatter. What a pleasant surprise this is! Although I have the strangest sense of déjà vu. Something about that dumpster over there …’

Nick rubbed his chin, thinking. Nestor had been zombified, but no longer. What had happened to dezombify him?

‘The tattoo,’ he said suddenly. ‘Joaquin’s tattoo.’

‘Which one?’ asked Nestor proudly, showing off the tiny dot where Joaquin had accidentally jabbed him, and then a beautifully rendered … was that a logo? ‘Two tattoos in as many weeks! I sent photos of them both to my dad and he couldn’t believe his eyes.’

‘Nestor was fine after Joaquin jabbed him with that special ink,’ said Nick, in sudden realisation. He tapped where Zoey had bitten him – right near the Toad tattoo Joaquin had so carefully inked – recalling the slightly distasteful face she’d made at the bite. Ordinarily she loved dragging her lips across his skin. And she adored Frog and Toad (especially Toad, because who didn’t identify with a habitual grump whose great desire in life was eating a whole jar of cookies?).

‘And Gracie and Reba, you got tattoos at InkWell, right? From Joaquin?’

Gracie and Reba showed off their matching tattoos.

‘I never turn down an opportunity for some ink,’ said Reba, rolling up the sleeves on her tie-dyed kaftan to demonstrate. ‘Got my first one free in lockup after the feds realised my grilled cheeses were spiked. Those were the days. Poke and stick with a ballpoint pen.’

She showed off a wonky tattoo that read Frank. Or perhaps Fink. It was hard to tell.

‘But I’ll take a weird vegan-ink one if that’s what’s on offer,’ she added. ‘Ink’s ink.’

Nick wasn’t quite sure he agreed with that, but to each their own. ‘And you’ve been drinking the mushroom smoothies, right?’

‘Not me,’ said Gracie. ‘Mushroom allergies.’

‘But me? A criminal amount,’ said Reba. ‘I say criminal, because I haven’t been paying for any of it.’