Neeta Lyffe, Zombie Exterminator

by Karina Fabian

  Neeta sighed. Should she go after him? Nah—as long as he didn’t bring anything “live” in, they should be fine. Zeek and his crew had been training exterminators for a decade. He knew his business. Still, Ted had called her in here—

  Remembering Ted for the first time, she glanced around, but didn’t see him. No matter, maybe he’d grabbed his camera to go film her test-takers. Dave was waving his arms in that manic way that said he was onto something. Maybe she had better—

  Her phone rang.

  “Neeta.”

  “You are indeed-a just what I need-a,” Brian’s warm, familiar voice answered. “Sorry, bet you hear that a lot.”

  She laughed, causing heads to turn her way. Dave glared in his, “Why are you still here?” way. She hurried out the exit and into the hall. “Not since high school.” And from some of older men who hire me. She squashed that thought. “What’s up?”

  “Just wanted to be sure we were still on for tonight.”

  “Why wouldn’t we be?”

  “Okay, good. Listen unless you have other ideas, I thought we’d play this easy. First dates, you know.”

  She tried to remember the last time she’d had a date at all, much less a first one. “Got something in mind?”

  “Well, I saw on your ZDE bio that you majored in Art Appreciation, so how about dinner and a trip to the J. Paul Getty Museum?”

  She felt a warm flush move over her. When was the last time she’d been to a museum? Too long. As for going on a date? “I... That sounds lovely.”

  He laughed. “Sorry, but that’s not a phrase I ever expected to hear you say. Kind of...gentle.”

  “’Feminine,’ you mean?” she teased. “I do have a feminine side, you know.”

  “Yeah?” he teased back. “I’m looking forward to exploring all your many sides, Neeta Lyffe. Five o’clock, then.”

  She was still smiling when she entered the classroom.

  * * * *

  Katie clipped on her microphone as the make-up lady blended the last bit of blush with expert strokes of a brush. Relaxed and smiling, Katie knew she hadn’t looked this good since her audition video. In fact, she looked better. Her zombie hacker had weighed twice that of the katana she’d black-belted in; six weeks of training with it had given definition to her arms. First thing she’d purchased with her prize money was one of her own; she may not hack zombies with it, but she could use it in her new career.

  Which, she shivered with excitement, started tonight. The Roy Speegleman theme song played, marking the return from the commercial break, and Roy shared a zombie joke and started into his introduction.

  “We all know zombies aren’t a laughing matter. That’s why I don’t make them guests on the show.” A pause for the rim shot. “But tonight we do have a very special guest I’m sure you’ll come to associate with zombie defense. If you’ve been following Zombie Death Extreme—and who isn’t?—you’ll know her. Now you’ll get to know her better. She’s a tough lady with a heart of gold, and she’s a knock-out besides...Katie Haskell!”

  The make-up lady backed away, and Katie strode out and across the stage, careful to remember the model’s walk that made her kicky skirt swish fetchingly. She stopped mid-stage, pulled her sword from the sheath behind her back and did some showy swings and twirls, eating up the applause. Then she did the quick hop-up to the stage just like she’d seen the New York Governor do last year. When Roy pulled her in for a hug, she didn’t resist; he wouldn’t get handsy in front of the cameras like he had offstage.

  She removed the sheath and sat with her sword next to her.

  “So…” Roy said. “You are off the show. Let’s look at those tender last moments...”

  They played a clip from her last episode. How did Dave get a close-up of the burning envelope? she wondered then decided he must have re-shot it afterward. She said her tearful goodbye—wow, in the firelight, even her crying looked good. Then LaCenta said, “One liability gone!”

  Katie felt a warming in her heart when the audience booed that nasty witch. She refused to believe they just followed the cue cards two assistants held up at the base of the stage.

  “Wow, that had to hurt,” Roy said.

  One of the writers warned her he was going to address this.

  “It did, Roy, it really did, but not nearly as much as watching poor Bergie go down under a horde of ravenous zombies. I meant what I told the others; I can’t watch another person die like that. It’s just too much.” She stopped and took a breath. No tears here. Right before the show, she’d puffed a nasal spray that was guaranteed to dry the tear ducts and contract the pores in her face. She’d had to plop in eye drops every couple of minutes, and her face felt prickly, but it was worth it.

  “However, I also meant what I said. I want to help people, and zombie defense is the most important issue of the 40s. That’s why I’m applying my experiences to education.”

  “Your new website,” Roy concluded. “Can we get that on the screen for our viewers?”

  She looked to the camera, knowing they were splitting the screen for her and her site. “I didn’t put my prize money into tissues,” she said, echoing LaCenta’s post-episode blog. “I’ve designed an educational website to teach about zombie defense. You’ll find basic information, downloadable brochures, links to local trauma centers... We’re working now on an interactive game to teach the children the basics of zombie defense.”

  Downstage, an assistant held up a hand. Two minutes left. She moved into her practiced lead-in.

  “We’re also training what we call ‘defensucators’ who will travel across the country promoting zombie defense awareness, and we plan to lobby Congress to revisit current legislation in order to let zombie exterminators like Neeta Lyffe do their job effectively.”

  As people cheered, she turned to Roy for the next question—the one that was going to make her career.

  “We? So you’re not in this alone?”

  “No one’s alone when it comes to zombie defense, Roy. That’s why I teamed up with B to Z Household Products.” She leaned forward, hands folded as if in prayer, a trick she learned from Dave.

  “One thing Neeta taught us is that people need to realize they can find anti-zombie weaponry right in their own supply cabinet. B to Z wants to make every American empowered in the fight against zombies…” She sat back and smiled brightly. “As well as against the more common threats of bacteria and flu virus. From cleaning your bath to repelling that zombie, B to Z is a name you can trust.”

  * * * *

  LaCenta smirked into the camera. “Look, I know some people choke on tests, but come on. This isn’t geometry. If the instructions on the label say, ‘Use no more than three times a year,’ then you don’t mark you can use it four times if you alternate it with something else. It’s just common sense. I mean, Nasir passed it first try, and it’s not even in his native language.

  “Before you all start getting down on me, I ain’t dissing Nasir. He’s a smart guy. My point is, can you imagine taking a test in Arabic or whatever? He passed our test. He pohned those other guys, that’s all I’m saying. Did they even study? Pfft! Roscoe was probably posing for a self-published calendar of himself or something. Anyway...”

  She stepped back from the camera to show off her sequined tank, tight black skirt and high heels. “We’re getting the night off while the losers have to study. I am going out with my girls, and I’m gonna forget all about undead and find me a live man—and you know what I mean. Chit me a photo—maybe I’ll tell you where we are.”

  * * * *

  Neeta was still digging through her drawers for eyeliner when the doorbell rang.

  “Coming,” she hollered as she pawed through the mess of bottled foundation, powdered blush, and other artifacts hinting at a social life she’d never really had. She found the mascara, pulled it open. It was dry.

  The doorbell rang again.

  With a huff of resignation, she tossed the tube into the trash and hurried t
o the door.

  Brian’s eyes widened as he looked her up and down. “Wow! You look terrific.”

  She found herself blushing and shy—something she hadn’t felt since high school, maybe. She toyed with the embroidered edge of her tunic. “Um, thanks,” she stammered. “It’s borrowed.”

  After their class, Roscoe had dragged her over to the wardrobe department, where he’d cajoled Colleen, the wardrobe supervisor, a good friend of his, to let her borrow something for her special date. She’d had to push off his suggestions—which ran, in her opinion, from racy to tramp. The wardrobe mistress, seeing her plight, pulled out a peacock blue silk pantsuit with colorful embroidered flowers. A couple of temporary alterations, and it fit her perfectly. Fortunately, her mother had collected sexy shoes, and she’d held on to the ones that fit. The black strappy heels with gold filigree worked perfectly. Her short hair didn’t need much, but she’d gelled it so it was fashionably messy rather than just a mess.

  “Well, don’t give it back,” he said and held out his arm, elbow crooked. “Ready?”

  “As I’ll ever be,” she said, enjoying the flutter in her throat that came from pleasure rather than fear for once. She took his arm and let him escort her to his car.

  They spent their first hour at the museum showing off to each other until it became obvious what they were doing, and they calmed down into a friendly appreciation of each others’ knowledge. They ate dinner in the café, where they agreed not to talk about work and ended up discussing their favorite childhood cartoons. Afterward, they strolled through the gardens hand-in-hand, staying long enough to enjoy the sunset.

  She didn’t let him into her house, but when he kissed her at the door, she didn’t want the night to end.

  He pulled away from her gently. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  She blinked and realized her lashes were heavy with tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, scrubbing at them with the heel of her hand. “I have no idea where that came from.”

  He eased her hand away from her face and brushed his thumb over her cheek. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know.”

  She smiled at him and pulled him close for another kiss, but she was thinking, Yes. Yes, I do.

  It’s the only way to keep the demons at bay.

  Chapter Seven

  Notes from The Zombie Syndrome

  A Documentary

  By Gary Opkast

  Episode: Zombie Myths

  DR HANSEN: One of the really fascinating things about zombie studies, in my opinion, is the fact so many of our cultural myths are true—or at least partially true. It’s almost as if somewhere in our past, we have experienced a similar zombie syndrome. While the facts of the phenomenon are gone from the history books, they remain in our mythology.

  Film clip of voodoo ritual creating a zombie.

  NARRATOR: Are the myths of zombies the result of a more primitive civilization coping with the unknown, or merely the fruits of an active human imagination with an interest in the macabre? Whatever the answer, myths change and evolve, and even the most common is not always completely true. In this segment of The Zombie Syndrome, we will cover Zombie Myths: Busted and Confirmed.

  Film clip of slow-moving group of zombies—perhaps Night of the Living Dead? Lettering over clip: Myth One: Zombies are slow to move and slow to react.

  NARRATOR: The shambling horde. One of the standby myths of zombies—but how true is it?

  Footage from ZERD: Zombies released separately into a large area.

  DR. HANSEN: Actually, for the most part, the shambling horde myth is true. We find when we release them into a large area, they will wander, gather, and then begin to move back and forth across the room. Not unlike goldfish, really. (Laughs.) Some of us have some of the film footage as our screen saver. You know, once you get past the fact they are the living dead, it’s kind of relaxing to watch.

  Footage from tour of computer monitor with a screensaver of zombies pacing and scrabbling from one side of the screen to another, with a little cartoon brain hovering just past their reach. (Be sure to note Ted Hacker for the clip in the credits.)

  Footage of ZERD: Athletic-looking zombie running on a track. Focus on timer and speed counter at the bottom.

  NARRATOR: Of course, one should not always count on being able to outrun a zombie.

  DR. HANSEN: We have clocked zombies running up to fifteen miles an hour—that’s a four-minute mile—and since they no longer experience fatigue, they can keep the pace. In that case, the best you can hope for is that they trip or something falls off. Now these are usually zombies who were runners in their living years—but since people are seldom buried in their athletic gear, it’s kind of hard to tell.

  Footage from movie of human ducking the swinging arms of a zombie.

  NARRATOR: and the idea that they are slow to react? You can’t count on it, as Darwin Award Winner Henry Stephens demonstrated.

  ISAAC STAPLES, DARWIN AWARDS CHAIRMAN, in his office. Pan room of different news articles of people dying stupid deaths, focus on “Man, 19, loses game of zombie tag; returns on the other side.” As STAPLES speaks, segue over to video footage of 2019 AFEHV Winner.

  STAPLES: Stephens and a couple of his frat brothers got drunk and decided it would make a great entry for America’s Funniest Extreme Home Videos, the Danger Edition if they filmed themselves playing tag with zombies. After eating a garlic-and-anchovy pizza, they donned necklaces made from used sweat socks they stole from the university football team and headed to the local cemetery, danced on a few graves, and managed to wake the dead in true frat fashion.

  STAPLES: Stephens’ partner in the game, Ed Grisson, developed stomach cramps and bowed out, saving his life. Shortly thereafter, Stephens tagged a zombie on the shoulder and dashed away—but not fast enough. The zombie, former quarterback for the University of Colorado, tackled him and bit his neck through the sweat socks. Stephens lost the game of tag, but he did win the 2019 Darwin Awards for using his stupidity to remove himself from the gene pool.

  DR. HANSEN: When it comes right down to it, the best way to win a race with a zombie is simply not to enter into one with it. If you are being chased—use your brains. Run past a foul-smelling area; chances are, you’ll distract it. Get to a higher area—a fire escape or high branches. Zombies, we’ve found, can’t jump and do not climb easily. Throw distracters its way, and if you have a phone, call 9-1-1.

  NARRATOR: Stay tuned as the Mythbusters 2030 team works with ZERD to dispel the age old myth: Are brains a zombie culinary delicacy?

  * * * *

  “Good morning, LA. You are listening to the Morning Show with Brian St. James and Cassie Delastraude. Cassie, what celebrity gossip do you have for us today?”

  “Helloness. I think that’s your job today, Brian. Didn’t you go out with reality TV’s hottest hostess, Neeta Lyffe?”

  Wolf whistles. Zombie moaning, “Braaaaiiinns!”

  “Hey—no way. We don’t discuss our private lives on the air.”

  “Oh-oh. You know that means it was that good or that bad. You seem to have all your limbs intact, but let us know for sure—good or bad?”

  Laughter.

  “Neeta, if you’re listening, I had a terrific time last night. This song’s for you: ‘You Really Got a Hold on Me’ by none other than the Zombies.”

  * * * *

  Neeta stood on a small hill of trash at the Los Angeles County Landfill/Environmental Reclamation Center. She glared down at her plebes, but the pinched expression on her face had more to do with the fetid odor rising from the pile beneath her feet. When Dave said, “I can give you gross, baby,” he hadn’t been kidding. She only hoped her eyes didn’t start streaming.

  At the base of the hill, her plebes did their best not to react to the smells. Roscoe and LaCenta unconsciously mimicked each other by holding scarves up to their faces. Gordon stood with squared shoulders and a steeled expression, but Neeta caught him scanning the area for grubs when
he thought she wasn’t looking. Spud had his lips mashed together to keep from retching. Nasir watched Neeta, seemingly unaware of the filth around him. Dave had pulled him aside before the shooting. She didn’t know the details of their heated argument, but she was betting he’d just earned himself another bonus for his act.

  “All right, plebes,” she started. “Last week you had it easy. Nice controlled situations. Nice, clean working environment. Naturally, we all know there’s nothing tidy about zombies. That’s why today we’re—”

  Her phone started belting out “Sweet Springtime” by Acoustic Blender.

  “Cut!” Dave screamed through his gas mask.

  Immediately, her plebes bucked over, gasping, coughing and begging her to get rid of whoever was calling.

  She snatched up the phone just as a gusty breeze sent a new malodorous bouquet her way.

  “Yes?” she gasped.

  “Hey, it’s Brian. Uh...did I catch you at a bad time?”

  Spud had dashed behind another hill. She thought she could hear vomiting noises. “We’re...filming,” she said, exhaling just as much as necessary to get the words out.

  “Say no more. I was just wondering if you’d heard my morning show?”

  How was she supposed to answer and still “say no more?” “No, sorry. Listen, can I call you back?”

  “She’ll call you later,” screeched LaCenta, who then buried her head into her shirt. Roscoe was gagging too hard to make a smart remark.

  “Oh, sure. Sorry. I just wanted you to know I had a great time, and I hope we can do it again soon.”

  Neeta inhaled shallowly through her sleeve. “Sounds great. I’ll call you.”

  “Okay. Are you sure everything’s all right...?”

  She hung up without answering and tossed her phone to Sharon. Gas-masked make-up people were swarming around her plebes. One dashed up to her, wiped her face and eyes, patted on new powder, and spritzed NewBreeze AntiStench all around her. She shook her head to eradicate the last few minutes from her mind and then tried to remember her last pose. Behind the camera, Ted placed one hand on his hip, fist balled up, and she mimicked the gesture. He gave her a thumbs-up.