The Down Home Zombie Blues

by Linnea Sinclair

  She stared at him, eyes slightly narrowed. Thinking. She shifted her weight to her other foot. Still thinking.

  He touched his shoulder. A reminder.

  She looked away briefly, then back again. “Just the outside?”

  “Just the unit. Broken. Malfunctioning.” He thought of the wreckage in his backyard. It was conceivable the unit could have been crushed. He knew his sound system probably had been.

  She nodded slowly, then flipped the thin microphone up to her mouth. There was a long series of strange-sounding words, then silence. More words. She took a few steps toward the door. He followed, apprehensive, hopeful.

  “Now we go, Sergeant Petrakos,” she said, after swinging the mike down. “My lieutenant will meet us on Deck Fifteen.”

  He took that to mean he was getting the T-MOD, albeit a bit altered. “Thank you.” Now all he had to do was figure out how to get it into what was left of his car without the uniforms on scene noticing that.

  6

  It looked like another bright, beautiful day in paradise—once Theo’s eyes focused and his stomach stopped doing nosedives. If he could only stop scratching at his arms, the back of his neck, his…For the first time in several hours, he saw a small smile curve across Jorie’s mouth.

  “What’s so funny?” He didn’t intend that to be the first thing he said when they materialized in a secluded section of the park two blocks from his house. He intended to give her a briefing of what to expect from the cops and emergency personnel at the scene. Keep your mouth shut, keep a low profile, and follow my lead was the gist of it. He would get to that in a minute. If he could only stop scratching. And she’d stop trying not to grin.

  “Your stomach spins and a thousand flittercreepers dance on your skin, no?”

  “Just a little itching,” he lied. He had no idea what flittercreepers were, but his body felt as if it had gone through the spin cycle on his washing machine. More than once. But he was not going to give her the satisfaction of knowing this nil couldn’t handle it. Not after his embarrassing performance on her ship the first time. He urged her forward toward the short stretch of brick-paved street and glanced carefully down at his watch. His head did another looping spin, then settled. Ten after nine.

  “Normal. The body reacquaints itself after a brief separation.”

  Neither he nor his roiling stomach wanted to think any further on that explanation. “Does it ever stop happening?”

  “No. But eventually you ignore it. Don’t worry. We use shuttles to Paroo.”

  He wasn’t worried. He had no intention of going through that transporter gizmo again. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to be on any shuttle to Paroo. “Okay, this is what’s more than likely going to happen when we walk up. We need to have our stories straight. You say as little as possible, let me do the talking. Understand?”

  She nodded. He described the different vehicles, their purpose, and their personnel as simplistically as possible, though he noted her English—or her understanding of his English—was improving. Once he showed his ID, he told her, the cops would know him and most likely accept his story that he was out checking for anyone needing help after the storm. He’d recognized Jorie as a neighbor and he was escorting her back home—careful of the tree limbs and downed power lines.

  “They’re not going to ask for names, specifics. I’m one of their own. I act concerned, you act concerned, we go inside and they leave. Easy. Simple. Understand?”

  “When they ask which is my structure—”

  “They won’t. You’re with me. But if they do, there’s a mid-rise condo at the other end of my street just behind Cocoanut Grove Center. Grove Palms. Can you remember that?”

  “Grove Palms,” she repeated. “And a conto is…?”

  “Condo. C-o-n-d-o. Tall structure, many levels, many small apartments. Residential. Like the ship, sort of.”

  “Ah. Conglom.”

  “Condo.”

  “Vekran, conglom. You, condo.”

  They left the park and walked down the shady side of the street, sometimes on the grass, sometimes, when the foliage grew wildly, on the street itself. There were no sidewalks. Late-morning noises surrounded them—the slamming of doors, the barking of a dog, a child’s happy shout because it was Christmas break and schools were closed. Street traffic was light; only one car passed. It was after nine; most of his neighbors would already be at work.

  Another minute and he could see the line of vehicles in front of his house.

  For the third time during their trek, she pulled up one edge of her sweater, glanced at what looked to him like a longer, slightly wider PDA clipped to her belt. The magic button that would drop him, writhing, to the ground? He knew she’d stated that she and her captain would have to agree before she used it, but he wasn’t fully sure he bought that. He doubted that if he were to suddenly grab her and go for her weapons, she’d politely hold up one hand and say, Excuse me, I have to make a call.

  No, he was pretty sure she had full authority to end his life without a conference. All the more reason he had to appear completely cooperative until he knew exactly where that magic button was and its range.

  She released the unit, pulled her sweater down.

  “Messages?” he asked.

  “This?” She tapped her side. “Scanner. Right now seeking energy changes that warn of a zombie.”

  “All quiet?”

  “All quiet.”

  He nodded. Right now, she’d said. Right now that thing functioned as a scanner. It might have other functions as well. He wasn’t going to cross it off his list yet.

  The low rumble of car engines at idle reached his ears, topped by the grinding sound of the fire truck’s diesel. The green-and-white patrol car sat at the curb in front of his house, one officer in a similarly colored uniform leaning against its trunk. Another uniform was probably around back or else behind the fire engine. Its large red bulk blocked his view of anything farther down the street. But the firemen were loading their gear, packing to leave. That was good. The less people who saw her, the better. He nudged Jorie forward, quickening his pace, falling into the role of Concerned Homeowner and Can You Believe What Happened?

  Which was pretty much his opening line: “Hey, can you believe that storm?”

  His shout made the uniform turn. He recognized the dark-haired woman as Carla Eddington, a patrol cop who knew him but not well enough to question his fabricated story or Jorie’s presence. A real stroke of luck. She was only on the job about eight months, having moved down from Massachusetts. Sometimes it seemed everyone from up north sooner or later migrated to Florida.

  Even space aliens and zombies.

  “Sergeant Petrakos?” Her voice carried clearly over the engine noises. “Damn, are we glad to see you!” She jogged toward him, inclining her head to speak into the shoulder mike clipped to her white uniform shirt as she did, hopefully advising the others on scene that no body bags were needed. He watched her gaze dart to Jorie in her oversize sweater, shorts, and hiking boots, then back to him again. He was glad he’d altered Jorie’s clothing. A woman—especially a woman cop—would have definitely noticed they were not the norm. “Where in hell have you been?”

  “Out checking for injured. Helluva storm.”

  “Yeah, some kind of freak tornado. One of them microbursts, maybe. We thought it kidnapped you, Sarge. Couldn’t find a body, but your yard, your car…Hey, that’s what we have insurance for, right?”

  “You sure it was a tornado?” He pasted a stricken look on his face.

  Another glance at Jorie, then back to him again. “Must have been. We’ve got lines down all over the place. Progress has two trucks here, but power’s still out on the street.”

  He shook his head, walking with her toward his house. “That I know. I went to check on the neighbors. Ran into Jorie.” He jerked his thumb to his left, where Jorie kept pace silently. Thank God. “She lives down the block. I know her from the, uh, gym.” Well, the duffel slung
over her shoulder did look like a gym bag.

  “C’mon,” Eddington said to Theo as the fire truck gunned its engine loudly. “I’ll take you ’round back.”

  He lightly grasped Jorie’s elbow, bringing her with him.

  The scene that met his eyes was worse than he remembered. The fallen palms, shredded hedges, and battered remains of his unmarked police sedan did indeed look as if a tornado had touched down. Maritana County was prone to such freak storms. He remembered when a small tornado tore the roof off one house in Treasure Island, touching nothing else on the street. He’d seen water spouts on the Gulf hop and skip over the barrier islands, then reappear again in the channel, heading for the elite Tierra Grande island community.

  If he hadn’t seen the zombie with his own eyes, he’d believe a tornado did this too. And he was not only a cop but a detective. Damn!

  “Damn!” he swore out loud, his hands shoved in his back pockets as he walked around the twisted wreckage of his vehicle, Jorie at his side. He needed Eddington to go back to her patrol car so he could shove the stripped T-MOD into the trunk of his car. “I must have been at the neighbor’s when the twister did this. The lieutenant’s not going to be happy. I’ll call the wrecker—”

  “The boss will just be damned glad you’re alive, amigo,” said a familiar male voice behind him.

  Theo screwed his eyes shut. Shit! Zeke Martinez. Not him, not now, not with Jorie standing a hairbreadth from his side and Eddington yammering on about how this was one hell of a way to start his vacation.

  He turned just in time to have Zeke clasp one arm over his shoulder. “Thought we’d lost you for good. I—well, hello there! Now I can see why you weren’t answering your cell phone.”

  Zeke had noticed Jorie. Of course he had. Who could miss her? Though Theo obviously missed seeing Martinez’s car. It must be behind the fire truck. “Jorie Mikkalah, Zeke Martinez.” He stepped out of Zeke’s embrace, realizing what it might look like. Did her galaxy have same-sex couples? “We, uh, work together in Homicide,” he added hastily, praying Zeke didn’t go all Latin and kiss him on the cheek.

  “Jorie. A beautiful name for a beautiful lady.” Zeke held out his hand.

  Panagia mou! Did they shake hands in her galaxy? Or was it a rude gesture, some kind of major insult that would spawn an intergalactic war? He shot Jorie a tight smile, gave a quick, short nod of his head. Take his hand, take his hand!

  “Thank you,” she said, and—thank you, God—she reached out for Zeke.

  He clasped her hand. “So, known this wayward bastard long?”

  Theo saw her frown slightly, knew she had no idea what Zeke had asked. His mind blanked on any kind of amusing rejoinder to divert attention from her. And then something worse happened. Eddington answered for her.

  “Sarge knows her from working out at the gym. He was checking on his neighbors and ran across her.”

  Zeke released her hand. A big grin crossed his face. “Is that so?”

  Theo was in trouble now. Big trouble. He grabbed Jorie’s arm, propelling her toward his back door. “I—we need to make sure all the appliances are turned off.” Maybe then they’d leave and he could plant the T-MOD in the car.

  “I’ll help,” Zeke said.

  Shit!

  “Might want to open your windows,” Eddington called after them. “That cold front moved through and today’s gonna be a hot one.”

  Things were hot already. He urged Jorie ahead of him, up the two steps, then stopped on the wide slab of his back porch. He plastered on his best good-buddy grin and faced Zeke. “Sorry to have worried you. Appreciate your coming over here. But, really, we can handle—”

  “I’m sure you can.” Zeke reached around him and opened the door. “Allow me, pretty lady.”

  Theo gave her a short nod when she glanced up at him. With a shrug, she stepped inside.

  “Now, that’s nice,” Zeke said under his breath, punctuating his words with a bad imitation of a jungle cat’s growl.

  Oh, Christ. He was in deep shit now.

  He followed Jorie in. Cooler air met him immediately. That wouldn’t last long, not with the air-conditioning and ceiling fans off. His appliances all stared blank faces at him as he pulled out plugs and flicked off switches. Jorie positioned herself on the far side of the kitchen table, duffel at her feet, hands behind her, her back straight, her shoulders stiff. He recognized the military posture: parade rest. He prayed Zeke didn’t.

  Then he realized her posture also showed—not clearly, but it showed—the outlines of her weapons. Zeke was just coming into the kitchen behind him. He’d notice. Zeke hadn’t stopped staring at Jorie since he arrived.

  Theo did the only thing he could. In two steps he was in front of her, one arm around her shoulder, the other around her waist in an intimate embrace. He leaned down, his face in her hair, his mouth against her ear, and pulled her against him. “Don’t stand like that,” he whispered. “Pistols. Relax!”

  Her hands had snaked up to rest on his chest. She twisted slightly, looking up at him. Her lips parted as if she were puzzling out his words. And then she did that damned head-tilt thing.

  She was too close. She was too warm. She smelled fresh and soft and sweet, and though his arms were very aware of her laser pistols, his chest was equally aware of her breasts brushing against him.

  Theo lost it. His head lowered. A short kiss, that’s all. Something brief, intense, just to get it out of his system. Damn her, she owed him that much, for what she’d put him through. He brushed his lips against hers, then, caution be damned, he forced his mouth down hard. He expected her to jerk away. But her mouth opened, and his opened more. Tongues touched, teased. Plunged.

  The feel of her, the taste of her, exploded through his senses. Heat surged through his body. The groan he was holding back threatened to strangle him. With a gasp, he released her mouth, then clutched her tightly against him, hand on the back of her head so she wouldn’t look up at him, tilt her head again. “Sorry,” he rasped into her ear. “Regrets.”

  Behind him, Zeke applauded loudly. “I’ll start with the windows in the living room. Might help cool things off. Though I doubt it.” He slapped Theo on the back as he walked past, snickering.

  Theo waited until he heard the first screech of a casement window being forced open. He stepped back, putting Jorie at arm’s length.

  Wide-eyed, she looked genuinely startled.

  He shot a glance toward the living room. “Regrets,” he said again, quietly. “He needs to believe…Did you understand words out there?” He motioned to the backyard.

  “Evidently not.” She spoke slowly.

  He couldn’t tell if she was angry or in shock. Maybe she’d never been kissed before. Nah. That mouth, that tongue knew exactly what it was doing. So maybe it was that she’d never before kissed a nil. She—

  Good Lord. He’d just kissed a woman from another planet. Another galaxy.

  Screech, slam! went a window.

  Zeke. He had to explain about Zeke. “He knows me. Very well. I lied to the officer. The security woman. Gym. Gymnasium.” Her frown prompted another word. “Exercise.” He pumped his right arm as if he were lifting a hand weight.

  “Yes?”

  “I said we met in an exercise place—”

  “And?”

  “Detective Martinez knows I don’t go to an exercise place. I have some equipment here. At home. At structure. In my structure.” He stumbled over the words.

  “You kissed me to apologize for lies?”

  “He could see your weapons. I had to cover your body.”

  She nodded. “Commendable sacrifice, Sergeant.”

  Commendable sacrifice? The only thing he was going to sacrifice here was his sanity. “But now,” he continued, “if he asks, he needs to believe we…that is, that you and I are…” He pointed to her, to himself, then to her again.

  “Lovers?” she said. “You understand this word?”

  He did. So did his body. He swallowe
d hard. “Lovers. Yes.” Oh, sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. What was he getting himself into?

  Nothing. A charade for the next ten, twenty minutes. Zeke would leave and they’d go back to being Nil and Commander on a covert operation to exterminate zombies. He’d catch some razzing from Zeke later, but he could handle that.

  He was about to ask Jorie to give him the T-MOD when Zeke stuck his head through the open kitchen doorway. “You two cooling off yet?”

  Theo stepped away from Jorie. “Very funny.”

  With a snort, Zeke disappeared.

  Theo’s kitchen had two windows, one over the sink and one to the left of the door to the backyard. He leaned over the sink, pulled on the cord to raise the slatted blinds, and opened that one. Jorie was staring at the other. He walked over and, making sure she was watching, duplicated his movements. Then he flipped the small latch on the frame of the bottom window, braced his palms under the frame, and shoved.

  Screech!

  Life in air-conditioned Florida. People rarely opened windows. “Got it now?” he asked her.

  “I have acquired knowledge, yes.” Jorie snagged the duffel as he headed for the living room.

  “Always admired your decorating,” Zeke said. “Glad to see everything finally matches.”

  Camille had taken a lot of the living-room furniture when she left, except for his television, leather recliner, and two end tables. Theo had finally bought a leather two-cushion love seat last month at a Rooms-to-Go clearance sale and dragged the floral-print sofa bed Aunt Tootie had given him—Zeke called it his “daisies on drugs” couch—into his spare room. Zeke had been to his house enough times that he knew that. The comment had to be for Jorie’s sake.

  “Don’t have a lot to clean that way,” Theo quipped back. Thank you, God, his brain had finally kicked back into gear. All he had to do was act normal, talk normal, let the banter flow like it always did. This was no big deal. So Zeke thought he had a girlfriend. There was no way he’d know she was a space alien.