Page 99 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

Larissa cringed, dusting her skin down as though she’d just rolled around in asbestos.

‘Now let’s go get some Frog and Toad tattoos,’ cried Zoey, ushering everyone inside.

And locking the door behind her. (Just in case.)

27

Nick

‘I think Larissa likes you,’ said Nick, as they cruised over the green I-5 bridge to Vancouver, thanking Google as he imagined its robotic voice welcoming them to Washington State. He’d long ago left behind Google Maps, but some habits were hard to break. ‘Don’t forget to breathe,’ he added, knowing Zoey had a thing about the narrow bridge.

‘Ugh, sorry,’ she said, ruefully. ‘I know that sucking in isn’t going to buy us any extra room. But I am happy that Larissa likes me. I read up on her most recent cases, you know.’

Nick chuckled. Of course she had. He’d never known an autodidact quite like Zoey.

‘That sandwich-throwing one was quite something,’ she went on, extremely animatedly, as she often was when she was discussing her latest research rabbit hole. ‘The whole discussion about whether a sub could properly be defined as a sandwich – brilliant. It reminded me of the Jaffa Cakes case in England, where they were deliberating over whether Jaffa Cakes were biscuits or cakes for VAT purposes. But with an assault-and-battery element for some extra oomph.’

‘Glad to see you’re feeling better. You are, right?’ He reached over to give Zoey’s hand a squeeze. She squeezed right back, and suddenly all felt right with the world again – remaining zombie population aside.

‘I’m doing pretty well, considering the whole zombification thing and the ensuing stabbing-a-hundred-zombies-with-syringes thing and the subsequent meeting-your-sisters-properly thing. The grilled cheese helped.’

‘Grilled cheeses help everything, to quote an old hippie friend of ours.’ Nick slowed to let in a Mini with a missing side mirror and a bumper sticker that said Please let me merge – my dad is dead. ‘I’m willing to accept that Reba is a genius.’

‘I’ve known that since the moment I met her,’ said Zoey. ‘And talk about an address book. The woman knows everyone. If I ever need to solve a mystery in a small British hamlet, I know exactly who I’m calling. And it’s not Father Brown.’

‘But he’d be second, surely.’

‘A close third, after Perry the Platypus.’

‘So,’ said Nick, as they cruised past downtown Vancouver and the massive house with the castle-like crenellations that they were both equally fascinated by and had Zillowed at length, ‘Sorry about the whole zombie-mushrooms thing.’

‘Yeah, I really wish you’d led with that when you were plying me with your beautiful-but-evil specimens at the farmers’ market.’ Zoey stroked Alice’s soft ears. ‘Although honestly, I’ve had way worse while dating. Zombies barely even register.’

Nick was struggling not to burst into song. Had the constant thumps from the road not reminded him that he was on a particularly bumpy bit of the I-5, he might have been forgiven for thinking that he was in paradise.

‘We’ll have to monitor for zombies, of course,’ said Zoey. She pulled up her phone. ‘I used one of Terriffany’s startup growth charts to plot the rate of expansion as well as the likely travel routes for our zombies. It’s the influencers I’m most worried about.’

‘I worry about them, too,’ said Nick, as he pulled off at the exit and turned down the potholed road that led to his farm. ‘They can’t really be happy, can they? Dancing in their all-white houses and taking car selfies? The endless pursuit of content is Sisyphean. No one’s designed to shoulder that existential weight.’

‘I was talking more about the biting, but we’re definitely on the same page about the influencers.’ Zoey was texting rapidly. ‘However. We do have a secret weapon.’

‘Tattoos are very popular right now?’

‘That’s a solid start,’ said Zoey. ‘But I’m thinking of Gracie. She knows everyone, and anyone she doesn’t know, her sister Honour absolutely does. So we can just load her up with tattoo ink and send her after every influencer who’s posted about the shop.’

‘Sounds ominous.’

Zoey squeezed his arm in pretend frustration. And then again, presumably because she liked his arms. ‘Not like an assassin. Like someone who’s invited to every VIP party and has an eye for what looks good on camera.’

‘I’m seeing the vision.’ Nick pulled the truck up the last winding stretch before his driveway. The broken glass from Darina’s fateful visit still glimmered in the ditch by the driveway. Poor Darina, locked in a shed for the sad crime of being under the zombie influence. He’d have to send her an apology card. Maybe he could use that stationer in SoCal everyone seemed to love: Tink or something.

He parked the truck and squared his shoulders.

‘All right, babe, it’s mushie smushing time.’

‘We’ll workshop that,’ said Zoey, who was already out the passenger door, Alice following at her heels. Nick smiled as she hurried over to the storage shed, pulling it open and pulling out her favourite shovel, the sharp-edged one that some worker had left by the side of the road and never come back for. (Even though Nick had tried very hard to reunite it with its owner. Truly. All right, so not that hard – it was a good shovel.)

He loved that Zoey was comfortable enough on the property that she could raid the shed without any further questions. Not to mention that she had a favourite shovel. A girl with a favourite shovel was a keeper.