Page 90 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

‘Oh yeah, with your Washington plates?’ shouted the woman. ‘Pay some damn state taxes like the rest of us!’

Nick’s fingers tightened around the steering wheel. ‘Really regretting my “no running people over” policy right now,’ he muttered.

When they pulled up at Inkstigators, Nick was relieved to see Joaquin’s bike leaning against the glossy black façade. At least they wouldn’t have to take Reba up on her offer of breaking and entering.

Speaking of. A pair of cat’s-eye glasses poked out from the door, followed by some purple-tinged hair and a tie-dyed scarf.

‘About bloody time,’ shouted Reba. ‘Did you take that weird bridge exit that sends you back downtown or something? We’ve got zombies to deal with! Oh, but I wish my Frank were here to see this. Huge Return of the Living Dead fan, he was. Dan O’Bannon signed his favourite coffee mug, you know. And obviously he liked Romero, when the mood was right.’

‘Speaking of him, still no leads,’ said Ainsley. ‘And the poor boy’s looking like he’s going to be declared Mayor of Laurelhurst.’

‘The cat, not the director,’ clarified Nick.

‘Why not both?’ said Reba. ‘Come on, move those butts.’

Inkstigators was further along than it had been in the photos Zoey had shown Nick from its soft opening. Now it sported a dramatic avian mural painted above its glass and tile façade and gold-edged lettering in its windows – Ainsley’s work, of course. Potted snake plants waggled their tongues from statuesque planters, and a taxidermied crow stared down from a gleaming perch above the entrance.

Reba held the door as she ushered them in, giving them each a pat on the back like she was playing a game of Duck, Duck, Zombie.

A progressive Pride flag smacked Ainsley in the face as she followed up the rear; she gave it a quick hug.

Alice sat politely by the front door, tail flapping happily. Having attended many of Nick’s own ink sessions, she knew that tattoo shops took sterilisation seriously. She also knew that some delicious treats were imminent – on the counter was a jar filled with biscuits from the Good Boy raw-dog-food shop next door.

‘Back in my day we just used a ballpoint pen and a razorblade,’ whispered Reba, admiring the state-of-the-art tattoo pens and the MacBook Pro that blinked in the corner, rendering some sort of 3D CAD design for Joaquin’s side hustle as a printer of plastic doo-dads. ‘But you can’t stop progress. I mean that with the greatest of compliments.’

‘Wow, the whole gang’s here,’ said Joaquin, embracing everyone in turn. ‘So, Reba tells me we’re zombie-hunting, huh? My dad will be so excited. He’s a prepper from way back. He was the very first person to purchase that Costco end-of-the-world canned goods set. But now he can’t use it because it’s a collectible item.’

The things one had to think about when contemplating the end of the world. Speaking of, was that a zombie groan outside? Or had the UPS guy just thrown out his back lugging a giant box of books over to the used bookshop a few doors down?

Time was of the essence.

Joaquin, realising this, scooted over a vintage Coca-Cola tin bristling with ink-filled squeezy bottles.

‘Right, here’s your vegetable ink,’ they said. ‘Use it wisely, because that’s all I have left until I find a new supplier. The Etsy vendor I got it from has disappeared – not a trace of them anyway. But the ink’s solid. Well, liquid, but you know what I mean.’

Nick brushed a hand over the tops of the ink bottles, hoping they had enough here to inoculate Portland against the zombie virus.

‘Do you have any business cards?’ asked Nick.

‘Do I ever.’ Joaquin slid over another giant tub, this one utterly brimming with tiny black cards with elaborate filigree working and gold stamping. ‘Got these from this girl down in a place called Mirage-by-the-Sea in SoCal.’

‘Tink?’ said Reba and Gracie simultaneously.

Joaquin nodded. ‘That’s the one. She does brilliant work. Plus it was a good excuse to make the drive. Beautiful town. Strange weather, though.’

Reba and Gracie shared a look.

‘Oh, we know, babe,’ said Reba. ‘We sheltered through a pretty impressive storm last year. But we did get to see true love blossom, so there was that.’

‘Lovely moment, friends,’ said Nick, ‘but shall we get to the dezombification part? My girl’s out there, and she’s not in good shape.’

‘Got it, boss,’ said Ainsley. ‘Well, not boss. But you know what I mean.’

The group set to work loading up the syringes with ink, recapping each one as they went.

‘Shit, my back,’ groaned Celeste, when they had a large mound of filled syringes between them. ‘I’m not built for manual labour. Unless standing over a sound mixer counts.’

‘It totally counts, babe,’ said Ainsley, who was loading and capping syringes with impressive speed. ‘And … one hundred! Double what Terriffany predicted we’ll need – we should be in a good spot, even if our aim is terrible. Which, let’s face it, it is.’