“Start with, ‘that’s why today,’” Dave instructed. “Action!”
“That’s why today, we’ve set up a challenge to test your ability to handle gross.”
“So we just have to stand here for an hour?” LaCenta snarled. Roscoe snorted, and immediately regretted it, as he had to inhale again.
“Actually, I have something a little more intense in mind.”
Zeek, knowing his cue, made Barry crest the hill behind Neeta.
Roscoe and LaCenta screamed. Spud gasped and froze. Nasir and Gordon, however, started to charge up the hill.
Neeta held up her hand. Barry stopped, as did the others. “Easy, plebes. This is Barry. He’s a training zombie.”
Directed by Zeek, Barry grasped the ends of his t-shirt and pulled it straight so all could see his caption: Sanitized for your protection.
“These robots are remotely controlled and look, act, and smell very much like the real thing. If you slice them, they will spill body parts. Cut an artery, it will spurt. They are loaded with maggots, spiders and roaches. In other words, all the disgusting grossness you can expect from your average undead.
“They are also loaded with several thousand dollars.”
Suddenly, everyone stilled, intent on her, oblivious to the smell.
She grinned and pulled out her zombie sword. The heavy but razor-sharp blade glinted in the sunlight. “They say one exterminator can take on three zombies if he or she is good. Today, you’re going to prove how good you are. We have for each of you three Zombietronix training drones like Barry here. Each has one, two or four thousand dollars trapped within itself. Your job is to get in close, slice them—”
She spun suddenly on Barry and sliced off his head and shoulder. It slid off and hit the ground with a meaty thunk. She reached inside its torso. She heard Spud retching again.
“—and pull the money out of their bodies.”
She yanked out a blood-and-guts covered baggie, and shook off the maggots in Gordon’s direction. Ted focused in on his face. She hoped the camera could capture that shade of green.
“However, you will lose five hundred dollars each time a zombie manages to grab, scratch or knock you down. Compared to what you lose if a zombie scores on you in real life, you’re getting off easy.
“Any money you extract, minus penalties, you keep. I suggest you put it to equipment, but if you want to splurge on a spa day after this, I’d say you’d earned it.
“We’ve set up five training areas. There you will find your equipment and a technician from Zombietronix who will run your zombies. I’ve also asked exterminators from Hollerman and Co. to assist me in evaluating your performances. You will use zombie swords or chainsaws. You will don your standard uniform—and yes, it will be hot. Maybe your own sweat will cut through some of this smell. You will have 30 seconds to bust your zombie piñata before the next enters the scene, a minute for the one after that. You will have five minutes in all to destroy your targets and extract your prizes. Trust me. This is the only time in your career when you will be so handsomely rewarded for your efforts. Enjoy it if you can.”
They broke up then, each plebe meeting with their evaluator and a camera crew and moving to a different section of the dump. Neeta chose to stay with Gordon. She felt confident in her ability to predict how the others would react, but Gordon wasn’t always predictable. She’d seen him eat a worm in front of Roscoe, but the way he’d almost bumped her into Nasir just to avoid a maggots’ nest...
As she expected, he eviscerated his Barrydrone easily enough, but hesitated to reach into its open guts. Only after taking several deep breaths, like a soldier about to run screaming through enemy fire, was he able to plunge his hand in. He took so long the second zombie scored on him twice before he was able to extract his hand to decapitate it. Losing his thousand dollars to his hesitation, however, taught him a valuable lesson, and he sliced his second zombie in half with a long vertical stoke and plunged his hand in to grab the loot, stuffing it, maggots and all, into his pouch just in time to swing toward the final zombie.
When he saw it, he laughed.
Neeta blinked. Laughed?
“Yeah. Frag the LT. OOH Rah,” he shouted and lunged gleefully at the animatronic. Rather than just snapping off its head, however, he first went for the right arm.
“There’s your salute,” he hooted.
What was he doing? “Quit playing and focus,” she shouted, but he was already swinging for the head, howling in joy.
She was about to scold him again when she heard LaCenta screaming from her place in the right.
“Moe! No!”
Neeta left Gordon happily dicing his last zombie while rooting through the remains for the money and ran to where LaCenta continued to scream.
She rounded a large pile labeled “organic and semi-biodegradable” waste to find LaCenta standing in front of a decapitated zombie, screaming and crying, her sword tossed carelessly aside, it and money forgotten.
“What’s wrong?” Neeta called.
LaCenta whirled, and her face transformed from grief to rage. “You!”
She ran at Neeta and tackled her. She knocked Neeta to the ground, just missing the pile of dirty diapers and tampons, and knocking her head against the hard ground instead. Stunned, Neeta could only twist her head as LaCenta landed a blow on her cheek.
LaCenta screamed obscenities as she swung. “’Enjoy?’ This is what you want us to enjoy? You sick—”
“What? What are you talking about?” Neeta managed to bring her arm up to protect her face. LaCenta yanked her hair.
Jason Hollerman grabbed at her shoulders to pull her off, but she elbowed him, and he let go. He yelled at the cameraman to stop filming and help. The cameraman, probably listening to Dave, ignored him. Zeek, who was running the animatronics for LaCenta’s challenge, hollered to hang on as he pulled off his equipment.
Meanwhile, Neeta tried ineffectively to roll away from the crazed woman pounding on her.
“How you get your thrills, is it? Think it’s funny?” LaCenta continued to rave, but now her snarls were mixed with sobs.
Hollerman and Zeek finally managed to pull her off. Neeta scooted away—right into a pile of restaurant waste. Ignoring that her hands were touching the rotting remains of someone’s unfinished “biggie size,” she pushed herself up.
“Would someone explain what this is all about?” she yelled.
Sheepishly, Zeek picked up the head of one of the zombies. With rotting dark skin and dreadlocks, it wasn’t one Neeta had seen before, yet she recognized the face.
From a family photo LaCenta had shown her during their interview.
LaCenta fell to her knees, crying.
* * * *
Spud looked at his computer screen, his eyes occasionally rising to meet the electronic eye of the video camera.
“I g-guess I don’t b-b-blame Neeta. I’m a Christian, so I b-believe that the, um, the soul—that th..hing that makes you a person—leaves at death. So zombies are...” He shrugged. “Moving meat, I guess. It’s not like they’re p-people, or even alive. So I guess that’s why I could do this challenge.
“Still, I didn’t like it. I mean, did they really have to make it look like m-mo-Mom?”
He looked away, and hugged himself. It was several minutes before he realized the camera was still running.
* * * *
Roscoe hugged himself and moaned. “Oh, gawd. I couldn’t do it. Cameron was the love of my life. When that zombie shambled up wearing that face, oh, gawd, it even moaned like Cameron. Oh, and dears, don’t blame Neeta. This was a decision made at the top, beyond her knowledge. I don’t think they’ll show it, but she was as surprised to see poor Moe’s zombie head as LaCenta. Wish I could be a fly on the wall when she confronts them about it!”
Roscoe sighed theatrically, switching back to a melancholy mood. “So I failed, okay? I lost the four thousand dollars, but let’s face it, my dears. If I were to do this job, I’d be part of a
team. No way would I ever solo like Neeta. So, if I ever run into an old lover, I’ll back up fast and let one of my partners handle it. I mean, I’d do the same for them.”
He smirked, his eyes wistful. “Still, didn’t they do the most awesome job on that face? Looked a lot like Cam in the mornings.”
* * * *
Nasir looked into his laptop screen and geared himself up for his next try. During his first attempt to blog, he was so shaken, he kept falling into Dari. The second time, he forgot to butcher his English. Finally, he’d written himself a script and practiced it in front of the mirror.
He turned on the camera and shrugged at it.
“We are told they were being machine. I know mad this the others made—”
He stopped and switched it off. Now, he sounded like Yoda. Stupid challenge. Stupid director.
Stupid million. When the muezzin on his phone app reminded him to pray, he gladly abandoned the blog.
* * * *
Gordon waved his six thousand dollars at the computer.
“That was fun! I want to do it again. Yeah!”
* * * *
Neeta shouldered the door from the garage open and staggered under her heavy grocery bags into the kitchen. She just managed not to spill them, but bumped her cheek in the process. She yelped in pain at the bruise LaCenta had given her. Not that she could blame the young woman. Stupid Dave and his stupid “emotional tension...”
A knock on the door interrupted her internal rant. With a sigh, she abandoned her groceries and headed to the door, thinking she really should have splurged on a chicken from the deli. She so did not want to cook...
Brian was standing on the porch, a pizza in one hand, flowers in the other.
Neeta’s brows narrowed in confusion. “Did I forget something?”
“No, no, I just thought— Hey, what happened?” He gaped at her face.
Her hand flew up to the dark bruise under her eye. “What, this? Thank Dave for that.”
“Your director hit you?”
“What? No. Oh, come on in. It’s a long story, and I could use some good pizza.”
Brian set the table with paper plates and put the flowers in a vase while she got her groceries put away. Then he dug around her cupboards for wine glasses for their sodas, using a third one to hold an emergency candle he found in a drawer. As they devoured the sausage-and-mushroom pizza, she explained about the challenge and how Dave had convinced Zombietronix to work with the special effects department to make faces resemble people her plebes knew.
“Man,” Brian breathed, shaking his head. “No wonder you were having a bad day when I called.”
“What? That was almost an hour before the challenge.”
“Oh.” He looked into his glass. “So...”
It took her a minute to realize he thought she was upset over his call. She huffed in annoyance. “Brian, we were filming at the landfill. We were all struggling to breathe without gagging.”
He brightened. “So you weren’t upset?”
“Only about having to inhale.”
He laughed and reached out to squeeze her hand. It was the best thing she’d felt all day. She was suddenly very glad she’d taken a shower at the studio.
“So,” he started, his voice low and sultry. “Is it true what they say about exterminators?”
She felt herself grow warm—and suspicious. “What do they say?”
Now he laughed at his own joke. “That they’re fastidious about keeping their houses clean. Want some help clearing the table?”
Relief stunned her motionless. Then she threw her napkin at him. “You!”
His eyes sparkled, “Why my dear Miss Lyffe, whatever did you think I was implying?”
“Never mind.” She couldn’t quite make herself snarl at him. She picked up the pizza box and took it to the counter where she could transfer the leftovers to an airtight container.
“I wish you could have seen your face,” he said as he placed the trash into the can and sealed the lid. “Has it been a while?”
She stuck the pizza into the second shelf of the fridge then turned to take the glasses he held out for her. “It’s been never, and it stays never until I’ve found the man I’ll be with forever. We should be clear about that now.”
He raised his brows. “Old-fashioned girl?”
“Practical girl.” She met his gaze. They were both still holding the glasses, fingers just touching. She could almost feel a current moving between them.
His skeptical gaze softened. “Well, I hope you’re practical enough not to limit our kisses to the front porch. It was drizzling outside when I came over, and your roof isn’t exactly waterproof.
That’s ‘cause Twiddle took my savings so he could replace his awning with a sunroom, she thought, but smiled. “I think I could be persuaded to the couch—if you’re good.”
“My dear Miss Lyffe, I am very good, indeed.”
Later, as they snuggled on the couch, he said, “I’ve been thinking.”
“Really?” She leaned back to look at him. “Guys do that when they’re kissing?”
“I’m a DJ. I can multi-task.” He pulled her head back down against his shoulder and stroked her hair. “Anyway, I was thinking. What if you came back to my show and told folks what really happened—that it was all Dave’s idea to surprise your plebes with zombies that looked like people they knew?”
“Why? What does it matter?”
He paused a moment in his caresses. “Well, people should know you aren’t so cruel.”
“I don’t care what people think. Anyway, how Dave did it stunk, but I don’t have a problem with what he did. I just wish he’d have consulted me so I could have prepared—”
“Wait a minute! You’re okay with what he did?” He pushed away.
She pulled back as well. “Yeah. I just planned to give them a week or two or prep, and do it as a challenge. It’s so soon after Bergie, and usually you get some desensitization training—”
“Desensitization? Against lopping the head off your little brother?”
Neeta crossed her arms. “Brian, what part of this are you not getting? That wasn’t her little brother. Even if it had been the real deal, that wasn’t her little brother. That was a zombie. Reanimated, mindless dead flesh. Cockroaches have more right to live. It’s not a being, anymore. It’s a thing. If they want to do this job, they have to understand that.”
“Well, it didn’t look like a thing to them. It looked like someone they loved.”
“Would you let a dog attack you just because it reminded you of your childhood pet? Or what if I made an assassinbot that looked like me. If you knew it was an assassinbot, would you let it near you, just because it happened to look like me?”
Brian crossed his arms, unconsciously mimicking her. “That’s not a good example.”
“You’re right, because zombies don’t really look like their former selves. They look like decaying corpses. You can’t talk to them. You can’t appeal to their hearts. You can’t bring them back. Do you know the most common last words of a zombie attack victim? ‘Honey, it’s me.’ I don’t want my plebes dying with those words on their lips.”
Brian went silent. Neeta leaned back against the other corner of the couch and waited. She wasn’t going to back down. This is who she was, and he’d either accept it or leave now.
Finally, he sighed, and she felt herself relax. He held out his arm, and she returned to where she’d been nestled against his side.
“I just don’t think you should let people think of you as so hard-hearted, especially your plebes.”
For a moment, she didn’t answer, just enjoyed his sweet concern, not to mention how nice his hand felt ruffling her short hair. “Don’t worry. Roscoe figured it out, and if Dave is King of Reality TV, Roscoe is the Crown Prince of Publicity. He’ll get the story straight.”
“And Dave?”
Neeta snuggled closer, grinning. “I’ve got plans for Dave.”
Chapter
Eight
Trolll
Subj: National Weekly: Zombie Death Extreme Host unstable, abusive, say contestants.
See the article here.
Can’t say I’m surprised. Still think she’s so hot now?
Rigormortis
Oh, look, the troll is back, and he’s spelling. Get rid of the Redundancy, by any chance? Or did you just take typing lessons?
At any rate, before you go blasting news from the tabloids (Do you really believe Woody Forrest is getting campaign advice from Ted Kennedy’s ghost? That’s in that issue, too.), maybe you should check out Roscoe Dane’s video blog. He’s certain she didn’t even know about it. He’s even got some of the actual video footage from the episode—the stuff they didn’t show. Look at Neeta’s face—she had no idea they’d pulled that stunt. My opinion—this was a practical joke gone bad.
You want abusive? What about what LaCenta did to Neeta? I knew the woman was a {word deleted by server}, but that was extreme. She should be kicked off the show.
Trolll
It’s Tro 1 1 1, ONE-ONE-ONE. And it’s none of your business what kind of computer I have.
I saw the blog. Roscoe is a kissup. My opinion stands. She destroyed sum guy’s home, got another guy killed, and know she’s taking it out on the survivors by making them slice the heads off there own family members to win money. Its sick!
BrainDeadHead
Then don’t watch.
Trolll
I dont. Im trying to make you idiots understand watt a {word deleted by server} this show is—and how stupid you are four watching it.
Something ought to be dun about Neeta before she gets someone else killed. She should be in jail for negligence or something.
LimbCollector
I did something. I sent that lawyer some picked herrings.
BrainDeadHead
ROFL. You go, LC.
MochaMomma
I thought the whole episode was awful—gross and cruel. The way she grabbed that poor girl by the shoulders and told her her brother was meat and nothing more.
MANIC_MIND
Tro ONE-ONE-ONE—if it’s none of our business what kind of computer you have, why is it your business what shows we watch? Get off the forum and go do something worthwhile with your life.
Neeta Lyffe, Zombie Exterminator Page 10
