Neeta Lyffe, Zombie Exterminator

by Karina Fabian

  “Mrs. Wanker was only trying to help extinguish the fire—”

  “I have been putting out fires all day,” Dave complained. “Producers, network people. Our sponsors are complaining about losing out on millions of viewers. LaserScrape Oral Hygiene was especially concerned—”

  Gary spoke up, “The ratings went back up. We only had the dip between seven-fifteen and seven-thirty. People returned for the challenge, even though it was in the middle of Forrest’s speech.”

  “Wait a minute.” Neeta pulled her feet to the floor with a thunk. “Are you telling me that right when we were discussing home defense, the part of the show people most needed to see, they were off watching some aging actor spout off about how he should run this country? That’s the most important segment of the show!”

  “No, Neeta, baby,” Dave countered. To Neeta’s ears, his tone mimicked the patronizing tone of Wanker. “The most important segment of the show is where your trainees go up against the zombies.”

  “Those ratings are fine.” Gary repeated.

  “Ratings?” Neeta stood to scream across the table at him. “What is wrong with all of you? People are getting killed out there. They are dying—then coming back. Millions of people missed the chance to learn how to defend themselves—but you’re worried because some company selling electronic tongue scrapers is upset?”

  Dave reached out to touch her shoulder. “Neeta, baby, we understand—”

  She flung his arm off her hard enough to knock him into his chair. “Don’t talk to me about what you understand.”

  She stormed out of the room.

  Only after she was halfway down the hall did she realize she’d left her coffee behind. She stomped to the soda machine and fed a ten-dollar bill in. It spat it back out.

  “Please insert exact change,” the machine’s mellow female voice intoned. “I can accept all forms of American currency. If you need help determining what to use, please say, ‘I need help making change.’”

  “Kharbachiya!” Neeta shrieked one of the swear words Nasir had taught her.

  The machine replied. “Thank you. You may insert your money at any time. The price is seven dollars and thirty-five cents. You may insert one five-dollar bill, two one-dollar bills, a quarter and a dime. Or you may insert seven one-dollar bills, a quarter and a dime. Or you may insert—”

  “Allow me.” Ted came up behind her. He squeezed in between her and the machine. He looked right and left to make sure no one was watching then began to push selection codes in a quick pattern and kicked the side of the machine.

  “Mmmmm. Thank you!” the voice purred. “Please, choose anything!”

  He pressed a button and a cola popped out the bottom.

  “Oh, yes, thank you.” The machine hummed and went silent.

  “How did you do that?” Neeta asked, her anger momentarily forgotten.

  “You can’t tell anyone. Got a friend who programs these. He put in a cheat code. Only works once every 30 days, though.”

  He leaned over to grab the bottle. Neeta couldn’t help but grin at the view.

  “Kicking the machine is part of the code?” she asked.

  “Nah. I just hate this machine.” He handed her the soda with a flourish.

  “I wanted a diet.” She unscrewed the cap and swallowed down half the contents anyway.

  He wagged his finger at her. “Aspartame causes brain cancer and induces post-mortem zombie-ism.”

  He led her to the chairs. His hand felt warm on her elbow. His smile teased. Why couldn’t she have met him under different circumstances?

  “You don’t really believe that, do you? Doesn’t matter. When Mom died, we buried her with her severed head cradled in her arms. My aunt had a fit, but the people really close to her understood. I want to go the same way.” She took a long drink.

  For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just watched her with that intense, thoughtful look she’d seen him wear when blocking out a scene to video. She rolled the bottle between her hands, thinking of Mom, thinking of him, not sure what to say.

  Finally, he spoke, his voice calming. “They came back for the challenge, Neeta. They saw the stuff in action. That’s going to convince them more than Hansen’s lecture.”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “There’ll be reruns. Trust me, Zombie Death Extreme is going to be a streamed for a long time.”

  “Okay.”

  “Hey, did you know Gary is making a documentary about the zombie uprising? He’s calling it The Zombie Syndrome. He’s already started taping all kinds of experts. He’s already gotten Hansen, and I think he’s planning on follow-ups with him.”

  Neeta felt a spark of happiness warm away some of the tension of the morning. “Really?”

  Ted grinned. “He was in heaven when you suggested ZERD. Listen, no one’s supposed to know about it. He considers it his opus, and he’s very protective. Scared Dave will try to take it over and make it a blockbuster movie with exploding bodies and bikini-clad women or something. I only found out because he needed to borrow the camera during break.”

  “Hmph.” Neeta sighed. “Wonder why he hasn’t interviewed me.” She realized only after she said it how self-pitying that sounded.

  Ted, however, laughed. “Are you kidding? He’s still trying to work up his nerve. He’s got a serious case of hero-worship.”

  Her eyes widened. She nearly dropped her soda. “Hero worship? Me?”

  Again Ted laughed. “You know, Neeta, you play this right, you could be an action figure. Zombie Exterminator Barbie!”

  “With her own chainsaw?”

  “Sure, and a bottle of spray cleaner for emergency home defense. See? Now, feeling better? Because we have to talk about the next challenge.”

  Neeta felt her stomach drop and her smile sour. “Is that why you came after me?”

  He spread his hands. “Someone had to talk you off the ledge. Besides, it’s a great chance to get in good with my master.”

  She leaned back and crossed her arms, still holding her nearly empty bottle. What are you about? she wondered. She nixed the thought; it didn’t matter. With her job, her debt, and her vocation, she could hardly afford a romance.

  Maybe she could animate Zombie Exterminator Barbie and retire to a real life.

  She stood. “All right, then. Let’s go. I’ve got bills to pay and dolls to pose for.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Once inside, Dave all but pounced on her. “Neeta, cooled down, then? No, no—no apologies. We all need our Diva Moment.”

  Diva? Anger began to smolder the happiness Ted had brought out in her. He may have “talked her off the ledge,” but they hadn’t solved what drove her there.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got the perfect idea for the next challenge. We’ll rescue this ratings fiasco yet! Work with me here—we get a boxing ring: ropes, audience, girls in bikinis, the whole enchilada, right? Can you see it?”

  Neeta clenched her jaw to keep from gaping. Ledges sound like a good idea. Wonder how hard it would be to get Dave out on one?

  “I see in your eyes that you’re sharing my vision. Now, brace yourselves, everyone. Ready? Zombie...Tag team...Wrestling!” He looked around at his slack-jawed, horrified audience. “Do you have chills? I get chills!”

  Ledges? Ledges are too good for him. I’m taking him to the Bedder Rest Mattress Factory and dropping him though the roof!

  “Okay... I see that some of you have doubts. What if we made it a hot-tub sized tank of Jell-O? Even up the odds? What do you say?”

  Neeta growled. “How about ‘criminal negligence’? Where’s the list of challenges I submitted?”

  “Come on, Neeta, baby,” Dave cajoled. “I don’t like these vibes! Turn that frown upside down. It takes more muscles to frown than smile, you know.”

  She leaned in close, her hands clenched. “How many to handle a chainsaw?” she snarled.

  He blinked. “Um...more?”

  She looked him up and down. �
��Could be worth it. Ted, want to get the camera and my gear? Sounds like one for the blooper reel.”

  “All right.” Dave backed away, hands up in surrender. “No need to be so negative. We’re all brainstorming here.”

  “Remember what I said about your last brainstormed episode—the encounter in the warehouse? You disregarded my objections—and what happened?”

  “Okay, so your instincts were right on that one. I totally trust you now, all right?”

  “Good. The list.”

  “Neeta...”

  Neeta reached into her pocket and pulled out her keys. She held them toward the room at large. “Right side of the van, mounted on the wall. Bring the gas can, too. Gary, you might want to leave—this could get messy,” she said.

  Even so, Dave didn’t relent until after he saw the half-dozen people, including Gary, get up and reach for the keys.

  “Er...Sharon, baby, got that list?”

  Sharon had already called it onto the screen and highlighted three of Neeta’s ideas.

  She explained, “During the recess and discussion, I logged into the Zombie Death Extreme Chitter account and ran a poll. I’ve highlighted the three most popular story ideas.”

  Dave frowned. “How many replies?”

  Sharon hesitated. “Only 157,980 chits, but we’re talking about fifteen minutes of poll time, sir. Also, I removed the ideas that would take longer than a week to prepare.”

  “All right,” Dave sighed heavily and considered the list with a frown.

  Behind him, Sharon rolled her eyes at Neeta and winked.

  * * * *

  Gordon settled back in his desk chair with a beer and turned on the webcam. Dave had ordered them all to make a blog today about the Forrest candidacy. He had something to say, and no doubt.

  “Forrest? For President? Give me a break! Look, I liked him well enough in Unwashed Unholies Six, but he ain’t exactly the tough character he plays. You think he’s going to do anything about the real zombie problem? Probably have the country high and eating tofu first year in office.” He snorted and took a swig of his beer.

  “Who’s he going to get for a running mate? Maybe he’ll find Nancy Pelosi all zombiefied and hook up with her. Now wouldn’t that be a hoot.”

  * * * *

  Roscoe sighed deep from his heart, his eyes misted. “Oh, gawd, I’m such a fan of Forrest. Such a fan—and not just of him as an actor. My parents actually met in his leaf bar. They were there when he was arrested in a rally for legalization of marijuana. Of course, I grew up watching that classic series, Rainbow Crossing.

  “He’s just so commanding in front of the camera—yet so natural and so frank. Oh, and sexy! He oozes charisma! When this show is over, I am joining his campaign. If there’s anyone I’d trust at the helm of this nation, it’s Woody.”

  Roscoe replayed the blog. Hm, it was missing something. American flag in the background. His “The White House Needs Woody” campaign button showed prominently on his shirt. He could probably have lingered more lovingly over the wedding photo of his parents... What was he saying? That was perfect. No, something else...

  He snapped his fingers. Of course! He dashed to the television and called up the Ultimate Collection of Unwashed Unholies Quotes DVD. He set it to play low in the background, and as Forrest as Aspertaim spouted his famous one-liners, he re-recorded his blog.

  * * * *

  LaCenta frowned at the camera, but it lacked her usual biting annoyance. She shrugged.

  “Listen, I’m not all that up on politics, okay? But we’ve had women running this country for the past twelve years, and America is finally on the way up. Should we really mess with a good thing? That’s all I’m saying.”

  She raised her hands in an “I’m done” gesture and switched off the camera.

  * * * *

  Spud shifted uncomfortably in his seat before the computer. He hadn’t blogged much for the show, and the ones he had made mostly talked about how he felt he’d performed. Dave kept scolding him to “get emotional! Get controversial! Give me julienne fries, baby!” He didn’t know what that meant, so he kept his posts to a minimum. Besides, these things made him nervous; and the more nervous he was, the more he stammered. He hated stammering.

  This blog entry, however, he couldn’t escape. Dave had been clear on that point.

  He took a breath, remembering Mom’s advice: speak slowly; think about your words. Don’t let yourself get nervous. Pretend you’re talking to me.

  “So. I heard these gu-guys talking in the snack bar. One asked how W-woody Forrest could run for P-president if he was from Athens. The other one said, ‘Athens, Ohio, idiot.’ Course, then he asked me today if that was c-c-close t-to where I lived.

  “I’m from Idaho. That’s like t-twenty-six hundred miles away from Ohio. So maybe if Forrest becomes p-p-President, he could do something about the education in this country?”

  He scratched his chin, trying to think of something else to say.

  “Oh, um, it would have been nice if he’d waited ffforty-five minutes to make his speech, or done it half an hour earlier. Then it wouldn’t have interfered with our show. I heard a b-bunch of zombies invaded his community in p-Pensa c-Cola last year. You’d think with that and the movies he’s done, he’d want folks to know about fighting zombies. Ah, who knows? Maybe his p-press agent makes all those arrangements. Still, it would’ve been nice. Neeta and the rest of the team work real hard to put these shows t-together. I hope you’ll all catch it on the reruns. They told everyone how to keep their houses safe, you know?

  “I’m from a really small town, and fffolks are always asking my mom which episode is best. Well, it’s not the most exciting, but I think everybody ought to watch this one. I’m calling Mom to tell her to t-te-tell folks that, too.

  “I mean, the other episodes are neat and all, but this one c-could save your life.”

  He paused, and not having anything else to say, signed off. Then he went to get some iced tea and call his mom. He’d tell her about the video, too. She’d be proud that he’d spoken so long.

  * * * *

  Lawyer Larry had advised the cast against going to Bergie’s funeral. “Presence there could be interpreted as an admission of guilt,” he’d warned.

  At two o’clock that afternoon, Neeta dressed in a black suit dress and high heels. She left behind the traditional black spray pack and instead grabbed up the new hat with veil she’d bought after Lawyer Larry’s “advice.” She would have to catch a bus to the cemetery; anyone would recognize her van with its logo of a woman stepping on a cockroach and holding a zombie head in one hand.

  When she stepped outside, however, she found Spud lounging against his Ford F450. He opened the door for her.

  “Who’s g-gu-going to recognize me in a suit?” he asked.

  The Truly Eternal Rest funeral home was nestled on a hill, with the cemetery stretched out around it on three sides. Neeta nodded approvingly at the location. One of the few cemeteries to have the resources and wherewithal to exhume all of its “residents” and sever their spines before they could return from the dead, it had profited from its foresight. The engraving on the large granite sign proudly declared “Zombie Free since 2023.”

  Some hundred people crowded into the chapel. Neeta and Spud took standing spots against the back wall. Atop the closed casket, the funeral directors had set his surfboard, its surface crowded with flowers and family pictures, surfing trophies and other memorabilia. The preacher talked about “shooting that great tube in the sky.” His younger sister talked about him teaching her to surf, her voice so quiet people stifled their sobs to hear her. His uncle talked about his laid back, happy-go-lucky attitude, and how they’d rebuilt his Pacer.

  No one mentioned his time on the show or his desire to be an exterminator.

  When the funeral ended, they ducked out the back rather than greet the family. Several others had done this, too—to catch a socially unacceptable smoke during the one occasion when peop
le might sympathize, to head back to work, or to get a seat near the gravesite. Away from the need for a tearful, respectful silence, they chattered freely.

  “Closed casket,” one grunted within earshot of Neeta. “Guess that proves it, then. The exterminator woman really did cut off his head.”

  Neeta froze.

  The guy beside him swore. “I heard Maude didn’t believe it until she actually viewed the body. Bob said she passed out right there in the morgue. Said they were going to press charges, get her for murder, but police said they couldn’t. Once you’re bitten by a zombie, you’re considered worse than dead.”

  The first man puffed out a blast of smoke. “So sue her pretty ass.”

  “Can’t. Show’s lawyer’s got documents Bergie signed absolving them of responsibility. Then he said that if they wanted to sue, they had to sue the show, not the girl.” He leaned toward his friend confidentially, yet still speaking loud enough for people nearby to hear. “Maude and Bob aren’t saying, but I think he gave them a fat settlement to keep them quiet.”

  Neeta grabbed Spud by the elbow. “Let’s go.”

  Once in the car, she leaned her head against the back of the seat. Her hat tilted forward. The veil tickled her chin, but even if she thought it was safe to remove it, she didn’t have the will.

  Spud asked, “You okay?”

  She took a moment to make sure she could speak with a steady voice. “Drive me to Studio Law Associates, please?”

  * * * *

  At the law firm, Neeta strode past the receptionist before she could protest and charged into Lawyer Larry’s office. Spud followed with a shrug. The lawyer glanced up from his computer, took in their black attire, and waved off the apologetic receptionist.

  “I specifically advised you against attending the funeral.”

  “Did you pay off the family?” Neeta demanded.

  He leaned forward, setting his elbows on his desk. He clasped his hands over his laptop. “Didn’t you yourself say they deserved compensation?”

  “Did you make it sound like hush money?”

  He set his chin on his hands.

  “Was that the only way to protect your precious studio?” she persisted.