She drove home with her eyes intent on the alleys and corners, wishing for something she could re-kill.
Brian called her just as she was walking to her porch.
“Honey, you didn’t tell me you were going to be on The Tonight Show.”
“I didn’t know until Sharon dragged me into wardrobe.” She rested the phone against her shoulder as she reached into her pocket for the key.
“You could have called me from the green room. Cassie called me, screaming, ‘Turn on Tonight Show. Turn on Tonight Show.’ You looked great, by the way.”
Neeta smiled as the lock turned and the door slid open. “Thanks.”
“You didn’t really look like you were having fun, though.”
Neeta paused, her hand on the doorknob, and waited, letting silence be her answer.
“I just don’t get it. You’re a celebrity now, Neeta. People know you and admire you. You should be lapping it up. Why won’t you let yourself have some fun?”
“It’s not my idea of fun,” she said.
“What is your idea of fun, Neeta?”
Her mind flashed to yesterday’s lesson with Ted and how hard they laughed as he tried to roast a marshmallow from thirty paces.
“Neeta?”
Sitting in the Cuthbert’s living room, sipping a Corona and swapping stories about ‘Oscar,’ the zombie fisherman who always seemed to slip their grasp, while Lacey and Spud held hands on the couch.
“Neeee-ta?”
Oh, Mom, am I really so warped that these are my ideas of fun?
“Neeta!”
“I have fun with you,” she offered.
His voice softened. “All right, then. Cowboy’s coming back day after tomorrow, so I’m off the hook for the evening shift. Want to catch a movie? Double Indemnity starring Cole and Dylan Sprouse is out.”
“The Disney remake? Are we talking about a special showing or just an ordinary old theater?”
Brian laughed. “You pick the theater. No stars. Just you, me, and overpriced popcorn.”
“Now we’re talking fun.”
They made their plans, and he hung up to get back to work. She hummed to herself as she closed and locked the door. She wandered into the bedroom, reaching into her pockets to empty the contents into the tray. She pulled out the door limiter.
I do have a door, she thought, and went into her utility room after screws and a drill.
Chapter Fourteen
“Lyffe Undeath Exterminations, Neeta speaking.”
“Neeta, this is Brian St. James with K-RTH 101.”
“Yeah. I think I know who you are.”
“Well, I’m calling on official business. Yesterday on The Tonight Show, you and director Dave Lor announced you’re going back to the warehouse where Bergie was killed, but we heard precious little from you about it. All due respect to Dave, we want to know your side of this story.”
“Yeah, Neeta. Helloness! You told everyone ‘Warehouse Eight’ was going to be the toughest challenge they faced on the show. Are you taking that back, now?”
“...”
“Neeta, we’re not looking for anything sensational. Just tell us your side—the side you didn’t get to tell last night.”
“(Sigh.) Look, five weeks ago, we made a mistake. They weren’t ready, and the conditions were too much for their level of experience. They knew, but they didn’t understand how to use their supplies… To be quite frank, some, like Bergie, were still treating it like a show and not an extermination.
“They know better. They understand better. They’ll be better equipped. They’ll perform better—as exterminators, not as reality show contestants. Frankly, it wouldn’t grieve me one bit if this turned out to be the most routine, boring episode in the series.”
“Wowsers! So no one’s going to die?”
“Can you guarantee a fireman won’t die on the job? Or a policeman? I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, Cassie. Zombie extermination is dangerous. There are no guarantees, but they’ve come a long way. I’d have any of my plebes by my side on an extermination.”
“Neeta, you are so hard core.”
“Uh, listen, are there any more questions? I have another call coming in, and I’m hoping it’s a nice, quite job I can do before going to the studio—ants or rats or something. Oh, and Brian St. James with K-RTH 101?”
“Here, Neeta.”
“See you at the Metroplex. You owe me an extra large Raisinettes™ for this.”
* * * *
Neeta pulled up to the warehouse, humming along with the radio. The call had been from new owners of a home who had found a nest of ants along the garage. Not owning a television, they’d simply picked her because they liked her website. They saw the link to Zombie Death Extreme, but hadn’t followed it. They were interested in ants, not zombies. She’d been so happy, she’d done the job for free and signed them up for her regular inspection program. In all, a good morning’s work.
Now, to use the afternoon to keep her plebes safe.
She found the assessment crew from Destroy-Rebuild hanging out around the warehouse. One crewman was walking around the building, pointing an instrument that looked like a cross between a radar gun and a tricorder at the walls and doors. The rest had crowded around a folding table, consulting blueprints and a holographic design of the interior of the building.
A broad, bearded man in a flannel shirt with the sleeves chopped off broke from the group and went to meet her. He started to hold out a bandage-wrapped hand, caught himself and laughed self-depreciatingly.
“Sam Richards, I presume?” Neeta asked.
“In the flesh, and the, er, gauze. It’s supposed to come off Monday. Don’t worry. We’ll have the place knocked out and redone to your specs in time for the show. Dave already gave us some general specs—”
Had he? “Well, I hope you understand what Dave wants and what I get may be two different things. Just because I have faith in my plebes to meet this challenge doesn’t mean we’re not going to put in some safeties just in case.”
“Works for me. Just tell us what you want us to do—and what we can smash in the process.”
Neeta heard a familiar roar and turned to see a Kawasaki weave between two cars as it entered the parking lot. The UV shielding hid the rider from view, but there was no mistaking the crossed sword and shield on the tank. “Perfect. Here’s our technical advisor now.”
The motorcycle pulled up easily beside the two, giving them a glimpse of the ZERD parking sticker before presenting its profile. The UV protection faded as the engine died, revealing a slim young woman in riding leathers and plain T-shirt. She pulled off her helmet, letting her blond hair fall in easy, springy curls around her face.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said as she twisted to pack the helmet into a saddlebag. “You wouldn’t believe the traffic once I hit LA. I got stuck behind a couple of GM Entitlements for half an hour. Stupid things take up so much of the road, no way I was going to try to squeeze between them. Makes me wish for when Hummers were the road hogs.”
She paused to pull off the leathers, revealing capris with a swimming fish pattern, and tossed them in with the helmet, then turned to offer her hand to Sam. “Elouise Shieldmaiden, ZERD civil engineering, at your service.”
They walked over to the table, and Neeta again explained the basics of the challenge. Eight zombies would be set loose in various parts of the warehouse. Fifteen minutes later, the plebes would go in, in teams of two. Their objective would be to reach and capture one of the flags placed in the warehouse and escape without needing to trip any of the safeties set up in the area. They earned points for time and for number of zombies encountered and re-killed.
“What I want,” Neeta concluded, “is to minimize the hidey-holes and ambush points that a zombie might use to its advantage, and set up safeties—they can be as simple as buckets of Porcelain Sparkle or as fancy as safety-glass barriers. You can decide what’s appropriate—”
“—and showy enou
gh to suit Dave,” Sam added. “Can we have a little fun with them?”
Elouise giggled, “What, like some Zombieland-style stuff?”
Neeta shrugged. “As long as they work.”
“Oh, let’s do the falling piano. I love the falling piano.”
They spent the next couple of hours walking through the building, making plans. They even found the perfect spot for a falling piano, though Elouise suggested filling it with a thin-skinned balloon of anti-zombie repellent to be sure the job was done right. Soon, they had marked the interior with directions and cryptic signs that signaled the destruction and rebuilding of Warehouse Eight into a playing field for the world’s most dangerous game of capture-the-flag, plus zombies. Finally, they agreed on a time to meet again early the next morning to re-enact the whole planning session for the cameras.
Heeding Elouise’s warning about the traffic, Neeta left a little earlier than she’d planned and headed home to prepare for her date. Before she left, however, she had them burn her a copy of the plans they’d made. If Dave tried to make any changes for “dramatic effect,” she was going to enlist Lawyer Eugene in giving him more drama than he could handle.
* * * *
VoiceofReson
Subject: Back to Warehouse Eight?
Clip from The Tonight Show with Rus Mobi. So one guy gets killed there, and they want to go back four another episode? Maybe they’ve all ready slated there next victim. Got to bring the ratings up, after al.
I cant believe you people watch this stuff. Its like the roman Circuses all over again.
MANIC_MIND
Oh, look, moderator! The troll (or should I say, Tro-1-1-1) is back. Didn’t getting kicked off once teach you anything?
Unlike you, I actually watch the show and read the blogs. I’ve seen how careful Neeta’s been in training her plebes. They aren’t trying to get anyone killed, but like she said this morning on the radio—can you guarantee a fireman won’t get killed fighting a fire? I liked Bergie, I really did, but he was careless and more interested in showing off. Look at his performance in episode three. Look here, where Neeta took him aside and called him on it.
Neeta’s a pro. She’s trying to train these people, not get them killed. She’s not in this for ratings.
VoiceofReson
I dont now watt you’re talking about—Trolll, who? I just happened across this forum and thought I could talk some cents into you people. Obviously, I was wrong.
If Neeta isnt interested in being a celebrity, why was she on The Tonight Show—and in tight flashy pants? Whys she doing this show at all?
Rigormortis
I’m with Voice. I don’t like the idea of them going back to the warehouse. I’m scared to death. Maybe they won’t use real zombies—maybe they’ll use animatronics like before?
BrainDeadHead
This is reality TV, not simulation, guys. After next week, they’ll be going up against the real thing on a regular basis. I don’t think Neeta’s going to coddle them. Hey, StudleyWithSwords—got any scoop for us?
And Voice, funny how you don’t know who we’re talking about, but you spelled his name correctly.
MANIC_MIND
Roman circuses? You want sensationalism, what about the news? Remember the Phoenix riots? 48 hours of seeing the same fights, the same violence. Analysts talking about the violence. Interviews of the victims showing off their wounds. Remember the #1 YouTube video of that week, the grenade that went off in the guy’s hand? Made all the major news shows. Bet you were glued to the set.
And you think this show is Roman Circus? Get off this forum until you have a clue.
VoiceofReson
That was news. Theirs a difference, even if you cant fit your punny mind around it.
MANIC_MIND
News. Yes, I feel so much better informed after watching the same footage of people tearing each other apart and destroying property for two days straight while the commentators recite the same lines. “It’s just tragic...let’s see that clip again.”
Did you know Berkley did a study that found people who watched television news were five times more likely to need counseling for disorders ranging from depression to post-traumatic stress disorder?
Rigormortis
So they’re real? OMG, that’s so horrible. I don’t know how I’ll stand it!
VoiceofReson
Yet you’re going to watch, aren’t you?
Rigormortis
Of course, aren’t you?
* * * *
Kissing Brian on her doorstep was a lot of fun, too, Neeta decided.
He pulled away enough to rub noses with her. “So, are we going to go in and watch the movie?”
After 20 minutes of Double Indemnity, they’d left the theater. Neeta found herself annoyed at the environmental subtext—Dietrichson owned one of the few coal-burning plants still in existence. Brian couldn’t get past the comedic moments of mistaken identity between Dietrichson (played by Cole Sprouse) and his wife’s new lover, Walter Neff (played by Dylan). By mutual agreement, they decided to take their popcorn and Raisinettes and head to her house and watch the 1940s original on her media center, but the heat of the day was finally breaking, and the breeze across the porch had felt so good.
“You know,” Brian teased, “I don’t think you like people in your house.”
Neeta leaned her head on his shoulder and thought about the people who had crossed her threshold the past few months. Dave, Eugene, that lawyer from Bottum’s Up Diet Drinks...
Ted, Brian...
“Depends on the person,” she answered and then added before he could take offense, “but in this case, I just miss sitting on my porch swing. Why do you think I was waiting for you out here? I used to sit here all the time with a book—”
“Let me guess—equipment manuals?”
She smacked his shoulder.
He laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re the trashy romance type?”
“Military sci-fi, if you must know. Honor Herrington is my favorite series. That and the Gem Flight series—you know, dragons and mystic stones? Fun, escapist stuff. What about you? Celebrity biographies and tell-alls, right?”
He rolled his eyes. “Guess I deserved that, and I’d be offended if it weren’t true. Anyway, it’s not just celebrities. People interest me. That’s why I’m in this biz. I like noir, too, which brings us back to the movie.”
“Let’s go then.” She pushed herself off the swing.
Brian followed. “So when are they coming to take care of your door?”
She tilted her head. “What do you mean? They did. Hasn’t looked this nice since I was a kid.”
He frowned, his eyes brooding. “You could have gotten a new one. I told them to give you whatever you wanted.”
“They did. I wanted a new paint job. They guy even planed it down, see?” She opened the door, but although it slid open for an inch, it then stopped abruptly.
She laughed. “Oops! I forgot I put the limiter on and went out the back. Come on.”
She shut the door and took his hand, but he didn’t budge, still staring at the door as if it offended him.
“So I offer to replace your door, let you have the fanciest one you could ever want even, and all you asked for is some paint and a door stop?”
“It’s called a door limiter, and actually Ted gave that to me. It’s got kind of a funny story—”
“Ted? You asked Ted to fix your door?”
“What? No. See he got the door limiter at this wild party—Seventh Day Inventists, surely you know about them—and I own a door, and he doesn’t so—”
He pulled his hand away from her and gestured at the door. “I could have bought you a door limiter if you’d wanted one.”
“I didn’t. At least, it never occurred to me—”
“Yet there it is.”
Neeta looked at Brian’s face, flushed from heat that had nothing to do with the day. Her jaw dropped. “Are you jealous?”
He opene
d his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then burst out, “Yes. Yes, I guess I am.”
“Of a door limiter?” she asked slowly.
Again, he opened and shut his mouth, looking something like a giant carp, but this time nothing came out.
Part of Neeta seethed, but mostly she just thought he looked silly and pitiful.
“Wow. Maybe next time, I’ll ask Roscoe to get me a doorknob.”
A pause, and then his anger turned from real to mocking. “Forget it, babe,” he said. “If anyone provides the doorknobs in this relationship, it’ll be me.”
They burst out laughing then, and Brian held open his arms. Neeta stepped into his embrace.
“How about we go in the back way and watch that movie?” she suggested.
“Good idea.”
They never got to the movie, however. While Neeta booted up her media center, Brian turned on the television, which was set to iNews.
“Neeta, you need to see this,” he said.
She looked at the screen, and her face fell.
Afghanistan had been hit by an earthquake, the biggest in recorded history.
* * * *
Dave smiled with satisfaction as he surveyed the lounge set for Zombie Death Extreme. It looked much like the lounge where they’d filmed the reading of Neeta’s fan mail, but with the addition of a television set playing their sister network’s news channel. Lisa LaStrade was telling viewers about how the world was rallying to aid Afghanistan in its time of need, but he knew soon enough, they’d return to the carnage. In fact, he’d personally called to work out the timing. He’d had Sharon call the plebes and bring them in early. As they gathered, LaCenta, Spud, Gordon—even Roscoe—converged on Nasir, touching him, supporting him, eyes always flicking back to the television screen. It was beautiful, really. Gave him chills.
They’d get to filming the finale later. Fate had brought him human drama to add to the show. How could he pass that up?
He directed Nasir to the seat directly in front of the screen.
Neeta Lyffe, Zombie Exterminator Page 20
