by Nathan Allen
Elliott drove a nail into a piece of timber at a slightly crooked angle. “I’m close to getting some money out of that Nigerian guy,” he said.
“Oh, come on Elliott,” Miles said wearily. “You’re not still communicating with that scammer, are you?”
“Relax, baby. You sound just like Amy. She doesn’t think I can do it either.”
“Well then maybe you should listen to us both. It’s a really bad idea.”
“I’m telling you, I’m almost there. I told him that I can get the twelve hundred dollars for the admin fees as soon as I sell my car. The only problem is my car’s been impounded for unpaid parking fines, and I just need to borrow two hundred dollars to get it out.”
Miles wanted to remind Elliott, yet again, that he had no hope of ever seeing any money from this supposed scheme of his, and that Nigerian cyber criminals were not the sort of people he should be jerking around. But Elliott refused to listen. He had been talking about this for weeks now, and he was convinced he was about to swindle a swindler. Once an idea had buried itself into Elliott’s head, nothing could dislodge it.
Elliott had dropped by Miles’ place this Wednesday morning to help fix his broken fence – the one that collapsed a couple of weeks back when Amoeba and seven others used it as a makeshift stage for one of his performances, and which later allowed his undead neighbour to walk onto his property unimpeded.
“So how did you get stuck with this job?” Elliott said. “Shouldn’t it be Clea’s responsibility to fix it, since it was her friends that broke it?”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Miles replied, biting down on his tongue.
“Good morning, Clive.” They both looked up to see Mrs. Jensen at the other fence, feeding her leftovers to Squealer the Tattooed Pig. “Hello, Elliott.”
“Morning, Mrs. Jensen,” they replied in unison.
“Lovely morning, isn’t it?” Elliott added.
Miles was irked slightly that Mrs. Jensen could always remember Elliott’s name and never his, despite only having met Elliott on a handful of occasions.
“Shocking news about your neighbour, wasn’t it Clive?” she said.
“It was a shock,” Miles replied. “That’s why we always have to remain vigilant.”
“He was a bit of a strange one though. He never really said a lot. Now we know why.”
Miles didn’t know quite what to make of Mrs. Jensen’s last comment. Did she believe the neighbour was a zombie all along and had been hiding it from everybody? Perhaps she was still a bit confused about this whole zombie business. After all, she wasn’t quite as sharp as she once was. She often called the police to report crimes she had witnessed on fictional television shows.
“It’s a good thing you boys are fixing that fence. You have a wife to look after now, Clive. It’s your responsibility to keep her safe.”
Mrs. Jensen scraped her plate clean, and Squealer grunted his gratitude.
“What was that about your wife?” Elliott asked once Mrs. Jensen had returned inside.
“She thinks Clea and I are married,” Miles replied. “It doesn’t matter how many times I tell her we’re not, it never sinks in.”
“You can’t blame her for thinking that though, can you?” Elliott smirked. “The two of you do bicker like an old married couple.”
“Hey, if you had to put up with what I have to put up with, you’d lose it every now and then too.”
“No arguments there. I don’t think I’ve ever met a more objectionable woman than Clea.”
“You’ve obviously never met Adam’s ex-wife, then.”
Elliott almost nailed his hand to the fence. “Wait, Adam was married?”
“Yep.”
“You mean to an actual woman?”
“That’s correct. They met in their theatre group. They were both in a performance of Cabaret.”
“And she still couldn’t figure it out?”
“Apparently not. She turns up every now and again to cause trouble, demanding alimony or threatening to sue for fraud and whatnot.”
Elliott struggled to arrange his thoughts and words into coherent sentences. “What ... how is that even possible?”
“I don’t know,” Miles shrugged. “It happens sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“But Adam’s gayer that a Glee! convention. She’d have to be Helen Keller or Liza Minnelli not to see that.”
Miles took a step back to evaluate the fence. It was a bit uneven, and obviously an amateurish patch-up job, but it would do for now.
“I guess sometimes people don’t see the blindingly obvious, even when it’s right under their nose,” he said.
Elliott laughed and shook his head in disbelief. He had no idea how anyone could miss something so blatant.
In less than an hour’s time, he would discover just how prescient Miles’ words were.
Miles knocked on the door to Steve’s office. “Come in,” he heard Steve say.
He found Steve behind his cluttered desk, typing away with a vexed expression on his face. “Hey Miles,” he said, without taking his eyes from the screen. Steve was either buried up to his ears in work, or he wanted to give Miles the impression that he was.
“I’m just checking to see if this week’s pay has gone through yet,” Miles said in a way that almost sounded like an apology. Steve could have this effect on people, like he was doing them a favour by paying them for the work they did.
“We’ve just had some sort of technical glitch,” Steve said. “Sorry about the hold up. It should be in your account by tomorrow.”
Miles nodded, even if he didn’t find Steve’s explanation all that convincing. These “technical glitches” had become more and more common as of late, coinciding with Dead Rite’s perpetual cash flow problems. They didn’t really have any excuse for not paying them this week though, since that huge job from a few days ago should have replenished their coffers quite significantly.
Any guilt Miles may have felt over not telling them about the zombie neighbour of his quickly evaporated. He wondered if the job offer from Z-Pro was still on the table. There was plenty wrong with Z-Pro, but at least their staff always got paid on time.
He didn’t know why he had to be so rude towards Jack Houston the other night. It was partly due to being drunk, and partly out of loyalty to Steve and Adam. But mostly it was because he didn’t want to be a UMC worker the rest of his life. This job was only meant to be a temporary thing while he sorted some stuff out before starting his degree. Accepting the Z-Pro job would have legitimised him; it would have given him a career, and that was the last thing he wanted.
“While you’re here,” Steve continued. “There’s an extra shift available tomorrow if you’re interested.”
“Sure, I can do it,” Miles replied. It was supposed to be his day off, but he could always do with the extra cash, and it wasn’t as if he ever had any other plans.
“We’re really understaffed at the moment. Campbell quit this morning.”
The shock must have registered on Miles’ face. “Campbell quit?”
Steve nodded. “He called up to inform us five minutes before the start of his shift. No notice or anything.”
Steve appeared to be a bit miffed by Campbell’s sudden departure, but deep down he was probably grateful for the abrupt manner in which he resigned. Since Campbell hadn’t given adequate notice, Dead Rite were under no obligation to give him his holiday pay or any other entitlements he had owing. This came as a massive relief for Steve, since that was money the company simply did not have.
Steve and Adam often felt guilty that, due to their busy lifestyles, they never did any charity work. With the current state of Dead Rite’s finances, at least they could legitimately claim that they ran a non-profit organisation.
Campbell didn’t give any reason for his sudden departure, but it wasn’t long before word got around that he’d accepted a position at Z-Pro. He was just the latest in a long line of Dead Rite staffers to switch teams when presented with a
better offer. For the past couple of years Jack Houston had been using Dead Rite for spare parts, systematically stripping the business like a stolen BMW in a chop shop. This allowed Z-Pro to poach all of Dead Rite’s best workers without having to pay for their training or UMC licences.
Miles’ ego suffered a slight blow when he heard the news. He assumed that when Jack Houston approached him in the bar a few nights back he was being headhunted due to his reputation as a committed and hard-working employee. Now he realised that Houston was indiscriminately offering jobs to anyone, and Miles was just the next in line. This had to be true, since Campbell was far from a model employee – or even a semi-intelligent human being. He was a mouth-breathing dunce who would walk around the office shadowboxing. He thought Neanderthals were people from the Netherlands and albinos came from Albania. He once claimed to have been molested, just to get out of jury duty.
After giving it some thought, Miles decided that Campbell would be a perfect fit for Z-Pro.
Adam slammed his foot on the brakes and executed a quick u-turn, which the minibus was only barely able to complete on this narrow road.
“Right,” he said, putting the bus back into first gear. “Let’s try this again.”
He drove on at a slow speed, squinting to make out the numbers on the letterboxes as he searched for the address.
Miles and Elliott were in the seats behind, en route to another job. A concerned resident had called in to report some suspicious behaviour at her neighbour’s house, and they were immediately dispatched to investigate.
“Who was that feral-looking dude I saw hanging around your place?” Elliott asked, absentmindedly tapping his knuckles against the window.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,” Miles replied. “You’ve just described half of Clea’s friends.”
“The skinny guy. The one with the ginger dreads.”
“Oh, that’s Fabian. Why?”
“He looks familiar. Is his last name Turner?”
“I think it is.”
“Yeah, that’s him then.”
“You know him?”
“Not really, but he went out with Sophia once. You know, Amy’s cousin. This was a few years ago.”
“Wait a minute–” Miles paused to make sure he had heard correctly. “Fabian dated Sophia?”
“Uh-huh. He looked totally different then. That’s probably why I didn’t recognise him at first.”
“Sophia, the model?”
“Yeah.”
Miles was having trouble wrapping his brain around this newest piece of information. Nothing about what Elliott had just said made any sense. Fabian resembled a scrawny Rastafarian version of Ed Sheeran. A hardcore vegan, he was so pale and anaemic-looking that his skin was almost translucent.
Amy’s cousin Sophia, on the other hand, was freakishly exquisite. She looked like a tall blonde cyborg developed by scientists attempting to create the most aesthetically-perfect human being imaginable.
“How the hell did that happen?” Miles said.
“Well like I said, it was a few years ago. He looked totally different back then to what he does now.”
“But, still. What could she have possibly seen in him?”
Elliott smirked. “I don’t know, Miles. Take a wild guess.”
“What?”
“What’s the one thing that would make someone like Sophia take the slightest interest in someone like Fabian?”
“Believe me, I’m racking my brain here and I’m drawing nothing but blanks.”
Elliott sighed, disappointed that Miles couldn’t solve what he thought was a fairly simple riddle. “He’s loaded, that’s why.”
“Fabian’s rich?”
“His family is.”
“But ... don’t his parents run an Aqua Bar or something?”
“No. His parents own Aqua Bar.”
“You mean they own the whole company?”
“That’s right.”
“But there are dozens of Aqua Bar outlets all over the country.”
“Hundreds, actually.”
Aqua Bar was a health food franchise that had experienced a surge in popularity in recent years. Their food was a little on the pricey side, but their customers didn’t mind paying extra for something that was both good for them and good for the earth – Aqua Bar were a proudly eco-friendly and carbon neutral company. Customers could congratulate themselves for saving the world while eating their lunch. However, recent studies have suggested their “health food” claims may have been somewhat exaggerated, and that their all-natural salads, sushis and juices contained more sugar than the average donut.
“So the Turners are, like, millionaires?” Miles said.
“They’re at least millionaires,” Elliott replied.
Miles shook his head in disbelief. Clea had made him feel guilty about his confrontation with Fabian a few days earlier, where she implied that he was basically homeless. Now he learned that Fabian was just another rich kid slumming it, self-flagellating to atone for his privileged upbringing. A freeloading parasite who was poor by choice, living a lifestyle he’ll give up as soon as he grows bored of it. While he was aware that most of the Zeroes came from fairly well-to-do families, Fabian’s was in a whole other tax bracket.
The minibus slowed down before coming to a complete stop outside a weather-beaten old grey brick house in one of the city’s the less salubrious suburbs. Adam switched the engine off and let out a heavy sigh.
“Okay, we made it,” he said, unclipping his seat belt. “Finally.”
Elliott’s froze when he saw where they had parked. His mouth fell open. “Oh no,” he said quietly.
“What is it?” Miles said. He could tell right away that something was wrong. Elliott’s face was a picture of despair.
“This is Trent’s house,” Elliott said quietly.
Trent was an old friend of Elliott’s. They had known each other since high school, and had remained close ever since.
It was Trent’s house that Elliott, Amy and a few others had barricaded themselves inside during those hectic first couple of weeks of the zombie outbreak. Trent’s gaming room in the basement became their fallout shelter, and it was the best place they could possibly be. Trent was a natural leader, and it was his clear thinking and decisive action that kept everyone safe during those early days of uncertainty. He took control of the situation and made sure no one panicked or did anything stupid. It just seemed wrong that he should end up this way.
Adam reached across and placed a comforting hand on Elliott’s shoulder. “Are you alright to do this, guy?” he said. “We can call someone else in if you don’t feel up to it.”
Elliott took a moment to gather his thoughts. “No, I’ll be fine,” he said. “I should be the one to bring him in.”
He took a few deep breaths, then hopped off the bus. Adam and Miles followed.
“And you never know,” Elliott continued. “It might just be a false alarm.”
Nobody said anything. Dead Rite were called out to the occasional false alarm, but they usually came in at night when someone had mistaken a drunk or a prowler for a zombie. They didn’t get too many of those during the day. And walking up the driveway to Trent’s house, Miles saw all the telltale signs that something was amiss: several days’ worth of junk mail spilling from the letterbox; four newspapers on the front lawn still wrapped in plastic; the lights switched on inside the house despite it being the middle of the day. This didn’t look promising.
Elliott rang the doorbell. This was correct protocol – they weren’t allowed to just burst into someone’s house unannounced. After about twenty seconds had elapsed, Adam decided that no one was answering and looked for an open window to climb through. They kept a small battering ram in the minibus, but that was only used as a last resort.
“Don’t bother,” Elliott told him. He reached for the top of the fuse box, feeling around until his hand landed on the spare key.
Once they were inside the hous
e, Adam opened the curtains to let some sunlight in. The place was a mess, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. The TV was on, and empty take-out containers littered the floor.
Miles found himself silently passing judgment on Trent and his housekeeping habits, until he remembered that his own house wasn’t much tidier when he left home earlier that day.
“Trent?” Elliott called out. “Hello? Anyone home?”
They proceeded through the house with caution, carefully checking every room. Nothing. The house was definitely empty.
But the back door was wide open.
Elliott was the first to lay eyes on Zombie Trent. He found him shuffling around the backyard over near the back fence, grunting and growling at nothing in particular. In one final indignity to befall the poor guy, he had the misfortune of turning whilst completely naked. Now his decomposing body was on display for all to see.
Adam shook his head when he saw this. “Now that’s unfortunate,” he said.
The three of them moved in to restrain Zombie Trent. Adam came at him with the snare pole, and Elliott stood by ready with the muzzle.
“We’ve got this,” Elliott said to Miles. “You go find something to cover him up with.”
Miles headed back towards the house, and then stopped.
There was a noise. Something moving near the side of the house, rustling in the overgrown bushes.
He backtracked a few steps. It was a shape, something human-sized, hiding in the foliage. He didn’t need to see any more to know what it was.
“Adam!” he shouted “I think we have another one here!”
Miles quickly retrieved his snare pole, then crept forward with slow deliberate steps. He wanted to see just what it was they were dealing with. A minute ago they thought the place might be empty. Now they had two confirmed obits, and the possibility of even more.
While most zombies were fairly predictable with their movements, they encountered the occasional one who was just that little bit sneakier. They would hide in discrete locations, then launch a surprise attack on any unsuspecting breather that happened to be walking past.
The industry term for this type of zombie was “lurker”.
Miles moved in as close as he could safely get, then pushed some of the shrubbery aside with his snare pole to get a better look.
He most certainly got that. His jaw hit the ground.
It was at that moment that Adam appeared behind him.
“Adam,” Miles said, as calmly as he could manage under the circumstances. “Get Elliott out of here.”
“What?”
“Trust me on this one. Don’t let him see this.”
Adam could tell that Miles wasn’t kidding around. He turned and saw Elliott coming towards him, following them over to see what the commotion was.
“What is it?” Elliott said.
Adam took Elliott by the arm and tried to lead him away. “I think we should let Miles handle this one, guy.”
Elliott shrugged Adam off and pushed his way past. “What’s going on?”
He came up behind Miles, then stopped in his tracks when he saw the zombie.
He opened his mouth to speak, but it took several attempts before any actual words came out.
“Amy?” he finally managed to say.
It was Amy, his girlfriend of five years. Like Trent, she was a zombie. Also like Trent, she was completely naked.
It didn’t take long for Elliott to connect the dots.
Chapter 13
