by Nathan Allen
“While you’re here,” Steve continued. “There’s an extra shift available tomorrow if you’re interested.”
“Sure, I can do it,” Miles replied. It was supposed to be his day off, but he could always do with the extra cash, and it wasn’t as if he ever had any other plans.
“We’re really understaffed at the moment. Campbell quit this morning.”
The shock must have registered on Miles’ face. “Campbell quit?”
Steve nodded. “He called up to inform us five minutes before the start of his shift. No notice or anything.”
Steve appeared to be a bit miffed by Campbell’s sudden departure, but deep down he was probably grateful for the abrupt manner in which he resigned. Since Campbell hadn’t given adequate notice, Dead Rite were under no obligation to give him his holiday pay or any other entitlements he had owing. This came as a massive relief for Steve, since that was money the company simply did not have.
Steve and Adam often felt guilty that, due to their busy lifestyles, they never did any charity work. With the current state of Dead Rite’s finances, at least they could legitimately claim that they ran a non-profit organisation.
Campbell didn’t give any reason for his sudden departure, but it wasn’t long before word got around that he’d accepted a position at Z-Pro. He was just the latest in a long line of Dead Rite staffers to switch teams when presented with a better offer. For the past couple of years Jack Houston had been using Dead Rite for spare parts, systematically stripping the business like a stolen BMW in a chop shop. This allowed Z-Pro to poach all of Dead Rite’s best workers without having to pay for their training or UMC licences.
Miles’ ego suffered a slight blow when he heard the news. He assumed that when Jack Houston approached him in the bar a few nights back he was being headhunted due to his reputation as a committed and hard-working employee. Now he realised that Houston was indiscriminately offering jobs to anyone, and Miles was just the next in line. This had to be true, since Campbell was far from a model employee – or even a semi-intelligent human being. He was a mouth-breathing dunce who would walk around the office shadowboxing. He thought Neanderthals were people from the Netherlands and albinos came from Albania. He once claimed to have been molested, just to get out of jury duty.
After giving it some thought, Miles decided that Campbell would be a perfect fit for Z-Pro.
Adam slammed his foot on the brakes and executed a quick u-turn, which the minibus was only barely able to complete on this narrow road.
“Right,” he said, putting the bus back into first gear. “Let’s try this again.”
He drove on at a slow speed, squinting to make out the numbers on the letterboxes as he searched for the address.
Miles and Elliott were in the seats behind, en route to another job. A concerned resident had called in to report some suspicious behaviour at her neighbour’s house, and they were immediately dispatched to investigate.
“Who was that feral-looking dude I saw hanging around your place?” Elliott asked, absentmindedly tapping his knuckles against the window.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific,” Miles replied. “You’ve just described half of Clea’s friends.”
“The skinny guy. The one with the ginger dreads.”
“Oh, that’s Fabian. Why?”
“He looks familiar. Is his last name Turner?”
“I think it is.”
“Yeah, that’s him then.”
“You know him?”
“Not really, but he went out with Sophia once. You know, Amy’s cousin. This was a few years ago.”
“Wait a minute–” Miles paused to make sure he had heard correctly. “Fabian dated Sophia?”
“Uh-huh. He looked totally different then. That’s probably why I didn’t recognise him at first.”
“Sophia, the model?”
“Yeah.”
Miles was having trouble wrapping his brain around this newest piece of information. Nothing about what Elliott had just said made any sense. Fabian resembled a scrawny Rastafarian version of Ed Sheeran. A hardcore vegan, he was so pale and anaemic-looking that his skin was almost translucent.
Amy’s cousin Sophia, on the other hand, was freakishly exquisite. She looked like a tall blonde cyborg developed by scientists attempting to create the most aesthetically-perfect human being imaginable.
“How the hell did that happen?” Miles said.
“Well like I said, it was a few years ago. He looked totally different back then to what he does now.”
“But, still. What could she have possibly seen in him?”
Elliott smirked. “I don’t know, Miles. Take a wild guess.”
“What?”
“What’s the one thing that would make someone like Sophia take the slightest interest in someone like Fabian?”
“Believe me, I’m racking my brain here and I’m drawing nothing but blanks.”
Elliott sighed, disappointed that Miles couldn’t solve what he thought was a fairly simple riddle. “He’s loaded, that’s why.”
“Fabian’s rich?”
“His family is.”
“But ... don’t his parents run an Aqua Bar or something?”
“No. His parents own Aqua Bar.”
“You mean they own the whole company?”
“That’s right.”
“But there are dozens of Aqua Bar outlets all over the country.”
“Hundreds, actually.”
Aqua Bar was a health food franchise that had experienced a surge in popularity in recent years. Their food was a little on the pricey side, but their customers didn’t mind paying extra for something that was both good for them and good for the earth – Aqua Bar were a proudly eco-friendly and carbon neutral company. Customers could congratulate themselves for saving the world while eating their lunch. However, recent studies have suggested their “health food” claims may have been somewhat exaggerated, and that their all-natural salads, sushis and juices contained more sugar than the average donut.
“So the Turners are, like, millionaires?” Miles said.
“They’re at least millionaires,” Elliott replied.
Miles shook his head in disbelief. Clea had made him feel guilty about his confrontation with Fabian a few days earlier, where she implied that he was basically homeless. Now he learned that Fabian was just another rich kid slumming it, self-flagellating to atone for his privileged upbringing. A freeloading parasite who was poor by choice, living a lifestyle he’ll give up as soon as he grows bored of it. While he was aware that most of the Zeroes came from fairly well-to-do families, Fabian’s was in a whole other tax bracket.
The minibus slowed down before coming to a complete stop outside a weather-beaten old grey brick house in one of the city’s the less salubrious suburbs. Adam switched the engine off and let out a heavy sigh.
“Okay, we made it,” he said, unclipping his seat belt. “Finally.”
Elliott’s froze when he saw where they had parked. His mouth fell open. “Oh no,” he said quietly.
“What is it?” Miles said. He could tell right away that something was wrong. Elliott’s face was a picture of despair.
“This is Trent’s house,” Elliott said quietly.
Trent was an old friend of Elliott’s. They had known each other since high school, and had remained close ever since.
It was Trent’s house that Elliott, Amy and a few others had barricaded themselves inside during those hectic first couple of weeks of the zombie outbreak. Trent’s gaming room in the basement became their fallout shelter, and it was the best place they could possibly be. Trent was a natural leader, and it was his clear thinking and decisive action that kept everyone safe during those early days of uncertainty. He took control of the situation and made sure no one panicked or did anything stupid. It just seemed wrong that he should end up this way.
Adam reached across and placed a comforting hand on Elliott’s shoulder. “Are you alright to do this, guy?�
�� he said. “We can call someone else in if you don’t feel up to it.”
Elliott took a moment to gather his thoughts. “No, I’ll be fine,” he said. “I should be the one to bring him in.”
He took a few deep breaths, then hopped off the bus. Adam and Miles followed.
“And you never know,” Elliott continued. “It might just be a false alarm.”
Nobody said anything. Dead Rite were called out to the occasional false alarm, but they usually came in at night when someone had mistaken a drunk or a prowler for a zombie. They didn’t get too many of those during the day. And walking up the driveway to Trent’s house, Miles saw all the telltale signs that something was amiss: several days’ worth of junk mail spilling from the letterbox; four newspapers on the front lawn still wrapped in plastic; the lights switched on inside the house despite it being the middle of the day. This didn’t look promising.
Elliott rang the doorbell. This was correct protocol – they weren’t allowed to just burst into someone’s house unannounced. After about twenty seconds had elapsed, Adam decided that no one was answering and looked for an open window to climb through. They kept a small battering ram in the minibus, but that was only used as a last resort.
“Don’t bother,” Elliott told him. He reached for the top of the fuse box, feeling around until his hand landed on the spare key.
Once they were inside the house, Adam opened the curtains to let some sunlight in. The place was a mess, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. The TV was on, and empty take-out containers littered the floor.
Miles found himself silently passing judgment on Trent and his housekeeping habits, until he remembered that his own house wasn’t much tidier when he left home earlier that day.
“Trent?” Elliott called out. “Hello? Anyone home?”
They proceeded through the house with caution, carefully checking every room. Nothing. The house was definitely empty.
But the back door was wide open.
Elliott was the first to lay eyes on Zombie Trent. He found him shuffling around the backyard over near the back fence, grunting and growling at nothing in particular. In one final indignity to befall the poor guy, he had the misfortune of turning whilst completely naked. Now his decomposing body was on display for all to see.
Adam shook his head when he saw this. “Now that’s unfortunate,” he said.
The three of them moved in to restrain Zombie Trent. Adam came at him with the snare pole, and Elliott stood by ready with the muzzle.
“We’ve got this,” Elliott said to Miles. “You go find something to cover him up with.”
Miles headed back towards the house, and then stopped.
There was a noise. Something moving near the side of the house, rustling in the overgrown bushes.
He backtracked a few steps. It was a shape, something human-sized, hiding in the foliage. He didn’t need to see any more to know what it was.
“Adam!” he shouted “I think we have another one here!”
Miles quickly retrieved his snare pole, then crept forward with slow deliberate steps. He wanted to see just what it was they were dealing with. A minute ago they thought the place might be empty. Now they had two confirmed obits, and the possibility of even more.
While most zombies were fairly predictable with their movements, they encountered the occasional one who was just that little bit sneakier. They would hide in discrete locations, then launch a surprise attack on any unsuspecting breather that happened to be walking past.
The industry term for this type of zombie was “lurker”.
Miles moved in as close as he could safely get, then pushed some of the shrubbery aside with his snare pole to get a better look.
He most certainly got that. His jaw hit the ground.
It was at that moment that Adam appeared behind him.
“Adam,” Miles said, as calmly as he could manage under the circumstances. “Get Elliott out of here.”
“What?”
“Trust me on this one. Don’t let him see this.”
Adam could tell that Miles wasn’t kidding around. He turned and saw Elliott coming towards him, following them over to see what the commotion was.
“What is it?” Elliott said.
Adam took Elliott by the arm and tried to lead him away. “I think we should let Miles handle this one, guy”
Elliott shrugged Adam off and pushed his way past. “What’s going on?”
He came up behind Miles, then stopped in his tracks when he saw the zombie.
He opened his mouth to speak, but it took several attempts before any actual words came out.
“Amy?” he finally managed to say.
It was Amy, his girlfriend of five years. Like Trent, she was a zombie. Also like Trent, she was completely naked.
It didn’t take long for Elliott to connect the dots.
Chapter 13
The bus ride from Trent’s house to the processing centre gave new meaning to the term “awkward”. Elliott sulked up the back and refused to speak or look at anyone. His zombified girlfriend and one of his most trusted friends were a few feet away, strapped into their seats.
Miles sat opposite, frequently readjusting the blankets covering the zombies whenever they fell down. He made sure he averted his eyes while doing this – even though Amy was now undead, he didn’t want to give Elliott the impression that he was doing anything inappropriate or trying to sneak a peek. But it wouldn’t have mattered, since Elliott spent the duration of the journey staring out the window with a permanent scowl affixed to his face.
While they were somewhat sympathetic to his situation, Adam and Miles were not particularly impressed with the manner in which Elliott had handled himself back at the house. Once Elliott realised what was going on he screamed abuse at Zombies Trent and Amy, who would have had no idea what was happening, before storming off and locking himself inside the bus. Adam was less than pleased about being left one short to do the job. He was even less impressed when Elliott sat inside the minibus and refused to unlock the doors for about twenty minutes.
Adam himself was prone to the occasional melodramatic outburst and juvenile temper tantrum, but even he thought this was all a bit over the top.
Miles and Adam finally managed to load the two zombies inside, and were now running the gauntlet of dead-heads as they tried to make it inside the processing centre. Some of the protesters had caught on to the fact that Dead Rite had been sneaking in through the alternative entrance, and this time they were ready for them. Two dozen hippies converged on the vehicle as it pulled up at the boom gate and gave the minibus’s creaking suspension a rigorous workout.
After a hectic couple of minutes of being rocked violently back and forth, they eventually made it into the centre. Everyone was left a little shaken up. Miles was particularly troubled; not so much by the protesters almost tipping the minibus over, but by what he had seen out the window on the way in.
Over on the grassed area, tossing a frisbee around with some of the dreadlocked dead-heads, he saw a group of schoolgirls. One of them looked just like his sister.
But he didn’t have time to worry about that right now.
He removed the straps holding Trent and Amy in place, and then he and Adam guided both zombies off the bus.
Elliott moved to follow, but Adam stopped him.
“I think it’d be best if you stayed here a while to cool off, guy,” he said.
The door closed, and Elliott fell back into his seat.
His mind kept returning to Trent and Amy, reexamining recent events for clues as to how long this had been going on. It didn’t take him long to realise the signs were there if he had bothered to look for them. All those times Amy said she was sick, or visiting friends out of town, or attending funerals for distant relatives, she was probably with Trent. He thought that her extended family had an unusually high mortality rate, but he didn’t want to pry – in this day and age it was entirely plausible.
Just last week
, when Amy told him she was going out of town, he called up Trent to see if he wanted to hang out. He received no answer, and Trent never responded to any of his messages, but Elliott thought nothing of it.
He tried to think back to when this all could have started, to when he first noticed Amy’s behaviour changing. He wanted to have at least some idea of how long this had been going on behind his back. She had been acting strange for so long that it seemed almost normal. It must have been years.
Then it dawned on him. It was years. Three years, to be exact.
This all must have started during those two weeks they spent barricaded inside Trent’s house, back when the initial zombie outbreak happened.
At the time he thought there was something odd going on with her. He’d wake up in the middle of the night and find her gone, or he’d walk into a room and Amy and Trent would suddenly fall silent. But it was a crazy time; the world was falling apart, no one knew how much longer they had left to live, and so he pushed those thoughts out of his mind. He was grateful that Trent offered them security and hospitality during such a distressing time, but it turned out he was offering Amy a whole lot more.
He looked up and saw Zombie Trent in front of him, through the bus’s front windscreen. He was being shackled and fitted into an orange boilersuit. His pale dead eyes stared straight back at Elliott, as if he was looking directly at him.
Maybe he was imagining it, but Elliott thought he detected the slightest of grins forming on Zombie Trent’s face.
If Elliott was in any way capable of rational thought, he would have understood that nothing remained of Trent. That person was long gone. Trent ceased to exist – he didn’t recognise Elliott, or know who he was and what he’d done to him. All Elliott was to him was a living, breathing organism that he wouldn’t mind sinking his teeth into given half the chance.