Chapter 24
Nick
All right, if he were a zombie, where would he go?
Nick jogged along, Alice beside him. The others had opted for the scooters – thankfully Celeste had managed to coax Ainsley away from a recumbent bicycle – but after a few blocks of scooting along, Nick had decided that he preferred to move on foot.
At least all those morning jogs around the farm were paying off.
Not to mention the fun run he’d done up Mount Tabor a few weeks back.
Ugh, this Zombie Shuffle wasn’t helping. Zombie-clad individuals together with, no doubt, some actual zombies, had spilled out from Belmont and were wandering through the residential streets, moaning about a) brains (actual zombies) or b) local government (non-zombies).
‘Brains,’ groaned a green-tinged woman in a butcher’s apron splattered with blood.
‘Free flash tattoo?’ offered Nick, brandishing Joaquin’s card.
He’d never anticipated that a tattoo-shop business card would come in handy during a zombie apocalypse, but why not.
Life could be strange. Like the time there had been five other Nicks in his class.
Or when all of the original members of Ship of Theseus had reunited to release an album, leaving all of the new members of Ship of Theseus very confused about the composition of said ship.
‘Oh my God, I love Inkstigators.’ The woman turned to reveal her bare back. She was not wearing anything beneath the apron other than a vibrant phoenix with text that read Burn it all fucking down. ‘Joaquin did my back piece, and I get so many compliments at Orange Theory.’
‘Let me just give you a quick jab …’ Nick depressed the syringe, adding a dot of ink beneath her wrist. ‘All right, you’re good for the discount.’
‘I’ll tell all of my friends,’ promised the woman, before shuffling off once more to rejoin the Zombie Shuffle hordes.
Nick breathed a sigh of relief. That hadn’t been so difficult.
Next to him, Alice whined. Nick stiffened.
That meant only one thing. In the immortal words of the narrator in Plants vs. Zombies, zombies were coming.
Nick spun, a fresh syringe at the ready.
Before him was Beryl, the grumpy blue-skinned woman.
(Although, to be fair, if Nick were blue, he’d be grouchy, too.) She lurched along behind him on her walker, her skin now a weird ultra-bright blue, like she’d painted herself in the specific colours needed to blend in on the set of Avatar.
Nick could see it being popular as an interior paint shade among elder Millennials.
Also, wow, colour theory was full of surprises. He would’ve assumed she’d look more like something out of The Shape of Water.
‘Brains,’ Beryl glugged, in a voice no different from her usual one. But there was an absence behind her eyes that belied her undead nature – and Alice’s whining was a helpful indicator.
All right, here was the moment of truth. He drew back the plunger on his syringe, and just in time, for …
Beryl launched at him, teeth bared to reveal receding blue gums. For someone so sluggish in daily life, she moved with impressive alacrity.
Foot propped against the walker to prevent her from getting any closer, Nick jabbed the needle against the crepe-paper skin of her hand. Beryl screeched, dragging her hand back with a juddering movement.
Nick jumped back as well, waiting to see how quickly the antidote would work – if at all.
Beryl trembled for a moment, wizened hands clutching at her walker.
Then, bit by bit, the vibrant colour leeched from her skin, allowing the familiar blue tint of the colloidal silver to return to the surface.
Her red eyes took on their former yellowish tinge, and her mouth went from a hungry maw to the churlish twist Nick recognised from her mushroom-shopping adventures with her nephew Dermott.
Alice stopped whining.
‘It’s you,’ Beryl snapped. ‘The mushroom man.’
‘That’s right,’ quipped Nick. ‘The one who lives on Drury Lane. How are you feeling?’
Beryl sniffed. ‘Thirsty. And I could do with some jelly beans.’
‘No … odd cravings?’
Beryl considered this after a moment. ‘No, no cravings for the first time in my life. What did you jab me with? Ketamine? Is this ego death? Wait. I could really go for a grilled cheese.’
‘What about Dermott?’ asked Nick. ‘Was he … afflicted?’
‘He’ll be fine,’ snapped Beryl. ‘I’ve got plenty of colloidal silver to go around.’
Nope. None of that.
Nick dropped the used syringe into his cross-body sharps container, then pulled out a fresh syringe – still capped, of course.
‘Here. For Dermott. Just in case.’
He passed the syringe to Beryl, then reached into his pocket for another.
‘Now if you don’t mind, I have to find the love of my life.’
This was more easily said than done.
The Zombie Shuffle hordes had spread from Belmont to the surrounding residential streets, and Nick and Alice had their work cut out identifying and disarming the real zombies.
Not only that, but Reba and the others had all split up, disappearing into the thronging crowd – Nick could no longer make out Reba’s bright kaftan or Gracie’s tall silhouette.
‘Brains,’ hissed someone in Nick’s ear. Whirling, Nick gave them a jab.
‘Ow!’ shrieked his victim. ‘What the fuck, man?’
Nick held up his hands in apology. ‘Sorry.’
‘You’re that guy who puts needles in candy bars during Halloween, aren’t you? Hey, come back!’
‘You’ll thank me later,’ called Nick.
Dodging away from the furious but now zombie-inoculated guy, Nick raced through the shambolic crowds, trying to spot the tiny Zoey among the green-tinged skin and torn outfits.
Some of the shufflers carried placards featuring brain-themed puns, while others had boomboxes and were attempting a rather terrible shuffle in the hopes of going viral.
There were also several people dressed as sunflowers and peashooters, which the casual video gamer in Nick appreciated.
No Zoey.
No Zoey.
Where would she be? He’d checked all the obvious places. He tried to think back over their date spots – where had she particularly loved? It had to be close, because if last night was any indication, she was certainly in no state to drive. Or even take the MAX or the bus.
Then it struck him: Laurelhurst Park. The site of their first date, where she’d burst out laughing watching Alice climb a tree.
Where she’d clapped her hands over her mouth when Nick had pretended that yoinking turtles out of the water was one of his favourite hobbies.
Where she’d named half the trees and had a favourite bench for eating ice-cream on.
Where she’d almost (but not quite) joined in with a silent disco.
‘C’mon, girl,’ Nick said, jogging back through the zombie hordes, going against traffic for once, vegan-ink tattoo pen at the ready. He’d deal with the others later, but first, he had to make sure Zoey was all right.
The park felt the way it always did: like a deep breath of calm. The huge trees seemed to bow down, hugging him as he strode along the tranquil paths in search of Zoey. A few joggers gave him a wide berth – unusual for Nick, who usually invited friendly waves and chitchat.
But then he remembered he was carrying a cross-body sharps container and was brandishing an ink-filled syringe. Fair.
‘Braiiiins,’ came a groan behind him, and Nick whirled around, needle at the ready.
This was a skinny middle-aged woman in head-to-toe designer athleisure – definitely part of Zoey’s smoothie-chugging demographic.
‘Sorry, but I’ll be quick.’ Nick sprang forward, jabbing her in a scrawny arm.
The woman hissed, clutching a sinewy bicep as she shrank backwards off the path in her Hermès sneakers. (Apparently Hermès made sneakers – who knew.)
‘Oh God,’ she said momentarily. ‘What happened to my manicure? I can’t be out in public like this! What if my ex sees?’
She fled down the path, swearing as her $1,200 sneakers splashed in a sprinkler puddle.
Nick slipped the syringe in his sharps box and prepared another.
‘C’mon, babe,’ he murmured as he turned down a crunching fork in the path.
Alice was the one who found her in the end. Nose twitching, ears back, she began whining as Nick approached the copse of trees home to the wonky one she most loved to climb.
Alice raced off towards the thicket, then balked, trotting back to Nick as though she’d been stung. She stood there, midway between Nick and the trees, whining anxiously as she took a step towards him, then towards the trees, then back again.
There she was.
Zoey was hunched on the ground, arms around Romero, back pressed up to the bench closest to the angled tree that Alice was so good at climbing.
The tree with the strange boule that local artists would fill with miniature sculptures and scenes: rubber ducks floating on a cellophane pond, a fairy house populated with tiny gnomes, an arrangement of resin cupcakes.
Zoey trembled when she saw him.
It was a mutual feeling. Nick’s heart twisted at what had become of this woman he’d so desperately fallen in love with. The syringe wavered in his hand.
He thought about what Reba had said about love during a quiet moment over the fence-mending bonfire.
How if you spent enough time with the person you loved, you’d see each other at your lowest. How you’d love each other through illness, through loss, through all the very worst things.
But how the very worst things somehow felt more manageable when your person was there to share them with you.
Nick had always believed in the power of community. But with Zoey, he’d found something different and special. The two of them were so perfectly complementary in every way. She made every moment richer and better. She brought a spark to everything. He adored her.
‘Zoey, it’s me,’ he murmured, trying to keep his tone even. He didn’t want to scare her. However much of her was still inside there, anyway.
Next to him, Alice whined sadly.
‘And Alice,’ he added.
Zoey cocked her head, blinking as she tried to place the two of them.
She wore a strange half-outfit of a silver skirt and a pyjama top, with a puffer jacket thrown over the top.
There was some effort there – although who knew how much she’d changed overnight and since she’d escaped the house this morning. In her arms, Romero hissed.
‘We can help you,’ said Nick, trying not to think about why there was dirt under Zoey’s fingernails and what that red stain on her pyjama collar might be.
It was a phrase that always made Zoey recoil, and now was no different.
She scuttled backwards, staring at him with wary eyes.
All right, so there was at least some of Zoey in there.
‘Of all the times to accept some help, I think this one might be the one,’ he said gently.
He pulled up the cuff of his plaid shirt, revealing the Toad tattoo Joaquin had given him at InkWell.
Now more than ever, he wished that Zoey had joined him in getting one, but it was too late for that.
Well, not too late, he supposed. Because like it or not, she was going to get that tattoo.
It was a public service. A vaccination. A truly Portland-style vaccination.
‘We have an antidote,’ he said. ‘Joaquin’s ink counteracts whatever’s in the mushrooms. It’s why the rest of us – me, Ainsley, Celeste, Reba – are fine.’
Zoey’s cracked lips parted … in confusion? Hunger?
Nick forced back a sob at the sight of her. A mere day ago she’d been his beautiful Zoey, so smart and cheerful, so full of life.
But she was still that, he told himself.
She was still that person. She’d always be that person.
That was the thing about choosing someone to be yours for as long as they’d have you.
You’d change together, grow sick and old and wrinkled together.
Like Reba had said. Glorious Reba, with her Frank always with her, and with her attitude that love was always, always worth it.
That if you loved your person and they loved you back, you did what it took.
‘Will you let me help you?’ whispered Nick.
There was a beat as Zoey’s red-rimmed eyes regarded him.
Then she lunged.