Chapter 23 #2
‘I mapped it,’ said Terriffany coolly. She pulled up a data visualisation on her iPad. ‘I connected our sales software, which offers location tracking for targeted advertising, to the Nextdoor map of bitings and other potential zombie incidents. And the data speaks for itself.’
She was right. Hundreds of green lines snaked off from the smoothie shop, overlapping with reported biting incidents. The Smoothie Maven was zombification ground zero.
‘The reports start the day we introduced the Brain Freeze smoothies,’ added Terriffany, as she scrolled around the screen. ‘Data; it’s beautiful, isn’t it?’
Nick drummed his fingers on the table. Something wasn’t right about this hypothesis – and he wasn’t just being defensive about his mushrooms. His poor, beautiful mushrooms.
‘Hang on. You’re fine, even though you’ve been drinking the smoothies,’ he pointed out. ‘And so am I. And so is Ainsley, even though she’s been having the smoothies DoorDashed in bulk to Celeste’s apartment in the Pearl.’
‘Maybe they’re just immune,’ mused Gracie. ‘Like how neither Honour nor I had chickenpox as a kid. Everything just passed us by.’
‘Bounced off your unearthly good looks, probably,’ said Reba. ‘My aches and pain are kept at bay by my old friend here.’ She waved a weed pen. ‘Ooh, maybe it’s something in the weed. Anti-zombie weed. That’s definitely a thing, right?’
‘If weed were protective, there wouldn’t be a single zombie in all of Portland,’ noted Nick. ‘It has to be something else.’
Just then, a pair of red polka-dot Keds appeared by the gate. They were promptly followed by the uncannily upbeat visage and unbrushably bristly hair of Nestor.
‘Not this dweeb,’ whispered Reba. ‘He’s definitely a serial killer, no?’
‘Good morning, all!’ crowed Nestor, hefting a felt and leather shoulder bag from which an enormous Stanley cup poked out.
‘We’re all up bright and early, aren’t we?
I was on my way into the coworking space when I heard chatter.
What a pleasant surprise this is! Although I have the strangest sense of déjà vu.
Something about that dumpster over there … ’
Nick rubbed his chin, thinking. Nestor had been zombified, but no longer. What had happened to dezombify him?
‘The tattoo,’ he said suddenly. ‘Joaquin’s tattoo.’
‘Which one?’ asked Nestor proudly, showing off the tiny dot where Joaquin had accidentally jabbed him, and then a beautifully rendered … was that a logo? ‘Two tattoos in as many weeks! I sent photos of them both to my dad and he couldn’t believe his eyes.’
‘Nestor was fine after Joaquin jabbed him with that special ink,’ said Nick, in sudden realisation.
He tapped where Zoey had bitten him – right near the Toad tattoo Joaquin had so carefully inked – recalling the slightly distasteful face she’d made at the bite.
Ordinarily she loved dragging her lips across his skin.
And she adored Frog and Toad (especially Toad, because who didn’t identify with a habitual grump whose great desire in life was eating a whole jar of cookies?).
‘And Gracie and Reba, you got tattoos at InkWell, right? From Joaquin?’
Gracie and Reba showed off their matching tattoos.
‘I never turn down an opportunity for some ink,’ said Reba, rolling up the sleeves on her tie-dyed kaftan to demonstrate. ‘Got my first one free in lockup after the feds realised my grilled cheeses were spiked. Those were the days. Poke and stick with a ballpoint pen.’
She showed off a wonky tattoo that read Frank. Or perhaps Fink. It was hard to tell.
‘But I’ll take a weird vegan-ink one if that’s what’s on offer,’ she added. ‘Ink’s ink.’
Nick wasn’t quite sure he agreed with that, but to each their own. ‘And you’ve been drinking the mushroom smoothies, right?’
‘Not me,’ said Gracie. ‘Mushroom allergies.’
‘But me? A criminal amount,’ said Reba. ‘I say criminal, because I haven’t been paying for any of it.’
‘Any bites?’
She had to consider this.
‘No bites,’ said Reba. ‘Although that one hater guy with the yoga girlfriend got a bit frisky with me after she noshed on Zoey’s arm. I do bring it out in the gents, though. And the ladies as well.’
Terriffany was zooming in and out on her iPad, tongue out in concentration as she worked. ‘You might be on to something,’ she said. ‘The zone around Inkstigators is clear. Minimal zombie activity. Just one report about a cat.’
Nestor chuckled nervously. ‘The kids and their in-jokes, huh? Well, I’ll leave you to it – I do want to get my new walking desk set up before Sascha comes in. She’s going to be so envious. I’ll come back when you’re open, shall I? If my punch card is correct, I’m almost up to a free smoothie.’
‘You do that,’ said Reba, gesturing for him to get out of the way.
Nestor flounced off, humming to himself.
‘Wow, he’s astonishingly irritating,’ said Nick.
‘You need a pair of these,’ said Terriffany, tapping the noise-cancelling headphones she’d pulled up over her ears.
The next pairs of shoes to darken the patio door were far more welcome: Ainsley’s Birkenstocks, which were promptly followed by Celeste’s red slouch boots.
Nick waved, and Ainsley waved back with a dexterity that suggested that she wasn’t yet infected.
Celeste seemed fine as well – she was presently noodling about on a ukulele, which, though annoying, seemed beyond a zombie’s skills.
‘There you are!’ Ainsley exclaimed, depositing a box of doughnuts on the table. ‘The shop isn’t open for some reason, and I can’t get a hold of Zoey. Also, I swear someone slept in my beanbag last night.’
‘That was me,’ said Nick. ‘Long story.’
‘Not that long.’ Reba grabbed a cronut and took a hearty bite. ‘Zoey’s a zombie.’
Ainsley blinked. ‘All right.’
‘It’s the mushrooms,’ explained Reba, mouth full. ‘I should’ve known when you showed us that lightning-strike bit on the farm that we’d be dealing with something like this. Reba’s Razor.’
If they ever found and dezombified her, Nick had a feeling he knew what Zoey’s next thesis topic would be.
‘You’re all taking this very well,’ said Nick.
‘Speak for yourself,’ said Ainsley, who’d dropped her cinnamon doughnut from the shock of it all. (Alice was happily cleaning it up.) ‘Zombies.’
‘Could be worse,’ said Celeste, tapping the ukulele against her chin.
Ainsley made a face as she reached for a fresh doughnut. ‘You’re right. There’s way worse out there than zombies. Like whatever Winslow was before … wait! Before he became a zombie.’
‘Pee bottles,’ agreed Celeste.
Ainsley nodded emphatically. ‘Zombification was an improvement on pee bottles.’
Gracie picked idly at a matcha mini doughnut. ‘And for our part, Reba and I have seen our share of weird, trust us. Murderous coffee roasters, Freaky Friday rainstorms – we’ve come to expect it all. We’re off to San Francisco soon for a project Honour is working on, and who knows how that’ll go.’
‘Vampires, I hope,’ said Reba. ‘I’ve never met a vampire.’
‘What about Desdemona and Ambrose from that goth wedding that Lily did?’ suggested Gracie. ‘I’m almost certain they were vampires.’
‘Hmm, you might be right. And the cousin, too.’
All right. Nick had to get things back on track so that he could find Zoey – and hopefully save her. An idea was coming to him: he just had to figure out the details.
‘Ainsley, you have one of Joaquin’s tattoos, right?’ asked Nick.
Nodding, Ainsley pulled up the back of her shirt to show off a giant Bigfoot figure.
‘Wow,’ said Gracie.
‘It was free,’ Ainsley said with a shrug. ‘Joaquin’s really into Bigfoot.’
When this was all over, Nick would have to arrange a meet-up between Joaquin and Bozo – Bigfoot sympathisers tended to get along.
‘Nothing you can’t cover up with a bigger foot,’ said Reba, with a flap of her hand.
‘It’s Joaquin’s ink,’ said Nick decisively. ‘Whatever’s in it, it’s counteracting the zombie effects of the mushrooms. They didn’t affect Zoey until now because she had the temporary tattoo to protect her.’
‘Hold up,’ said Ainsley. ‘You’re behind all of the shuffling and mumbling about brains? You did that to Zoey?’
‘At least he redeemed himself with Winslow,’ said Celeste, who was perched casually on the patio table. At least she’d set down the ukulele.
‘Zoey’s situation is partly her own doing, if you ask me.’ Reba helped herself to a handful of doughnut holes, which she dunked in her milkshake, then devoured. ‘She should’ve got a matching Frog tattoo when you got yours.’
‘Hang on, you can’t put this all on me,’ protested Nick. ‘Can I help it if I bought a strangely cheap farm with a weird spot that got struck by lightning, twice, and now grows luridly orange mushrooms that interact with Zoey’s smoothie recipe to cause … whatever that is?’
He pointed out at the street, where a horde of people dressed up as zombies staggered past. Someone was blasting ‘The Monster Mash’ over a Bluetooth speaker (which cut out every few seconds, to the frustration of the owner of said speaker).
Several of the zombies, clad in leotards, were doing a high-impact aerobics routine, and were shouting commands to the rest of the shufflers.
To the left! High knees! And … grapevine!
‘Oh, most of those are here for the Zombie Shuffle.’ Ainsley unrolled a giant cinnamon roll and ate it inch by inch, like a snake might a rabbit. ‘It’s an annual tradition. Also, you should maybe look into why a place on your property has been struck by lightning more than once. Seems sus.’
Nick had a sudden flashback to the time Alice had come running up to him with a herringbone rag stuck in her collar. Sus, indeed.
‘So,’ said Ainsley, as she munched away on her cinnamon roll, ‘I know I’m far from the resident morning person here, but shouldn’t we be looking for Zoey instead of hanging out having coffee and doughnuts?’
‘They’re really good doughnuts, though,’ said Celeste, around a bite of a Nutella-filled Long John.
Nick didn’t respond. Brow furrowed in thought, he tried to piece together all the very strange pieces of the current situation.