Neeta Lyffe, Zombie Exterminator

by Karina Fabian

  Boris broke the silence in a hushed tone just above a whisper, the kind of voice used in theaters or funeral homes. “How’s it going, Karl?”

  The man in yellow grunted.

  Jake trained his camera on them, backing up into the shadows to get a better angle. He stopped abruptly when he bumped into something.

  “Careful!” Lacey whispered. “That cage is expensive.”

  “Didn’t see it.” Jake’s voice registered surprise.

  Spud hadn’t seen it himself until just then, either. The glass was so clear it barely showed up in the dim light, except for a faint outline of a rectangular cube where the sides and ceiling met. Spud followed one edge toward the front.

  Now that he knew what to look for, he could see the side facing the factory had its doors flung open at wide angles, like corral doors to direct cattle into the pen.

  Lacey tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the other end. “There’s a small door on the back that closes in nothin’ flat. Now, both of you stay quiet and listen. Here’s how this goes down. Boris and Karl are using a crawler remote to find a small, isolated cell of zombies near a door. I’ll go in and draw them out.”

  Neither Spud nor Jake spoke, but even in the dark, their expressions said it all.

  Lacey rolled her eyes. “We’re not stupid. I was state champ in track three years running, and I’m even faster when something undead is at my back. This spray-on stuff?”

  She scratched hard at her skin. A thin line of something curled under her nails, but her skin remained unmolested.

  “It’s like liquid Kevlar. They won’t be able to claw me on the fly. Fire retardant, too, so if I need to, I can roast the place and keep running. The guys at ZERD are geniuses. I could have their babies.

  “So, I come tearing out of there like a bat out of hell with the demons on my tail and run right for the trap. I dash in the big door, out the small. The small door slams shut. They follow me in, get trapped, and we got ourselves a delivery.

  “Your job, Pippin, my man, is to keep any strays from escaping—either corral them or destroy them. Karl will swing the doors shut, and we keep a covering fire while we get to the van in case any others come after the first group. Jake, probably the safest place for you is right past the small door. We’ve got bots with cameras hanging off the walls by the entrance, so you don’t need to worry about that. You can catch me in my moment of glory, then run with us to the van.”

  “How many times have you done this?” Jake asked in a strangled voice.

  “Five. One more run, and Boris’s mortgage is paid.”

  Boris came up from behind. He spoke softly. “We’ve also scrapped more than that because the conditions weren’t perfect. Lacey may be an adrenalin junkie, but I don’t want anyone thinking I’m risking her life to pay my bills, got it?”

  “Um, you are risking her life,” Spud pointed out.

  Lacey punched him. “I’m risking my life. You want to tell me this is any different from signing up to fight in a war? These vermin need to get taken out, and we need better ways to do that. I’m no brainiac, but I’m fast and wily, and this is how I can help. Boris, you find a spot yet?”

  She started bouncing on her toes and shaking her wrists and arms to loosen them up. Boris turned his back to them and held his pad up so they could all see the screen. In what once passed for a reception area, a half dozen undead lazed about. The Coke machine was spilled onto its side, and mattresses either half-made or half-destroyed rested on it and around. Two zombies lay on it, arms and legs tangled together. In fact, Spud counted five legs. The extra leg’s owner sat on the sagging sofa, methodically slicing at its forearm with a torn soda can.

  Two other zombies sat on the floor, leaning against the machine. One kept pushing its head upright, only to have it sag again. The other was slapping at something on the floor. The final zombie lolled in a corner chair like a discarded rag doll.

  “Friday night in Zombieville,” Lacey said.

  “They don’t look like much,” Jake said.

  “They’re not motivated yet,” Boris replied grimly. He worked the touchpad, and the scene retreated and shifted as their bugbot slunk out of its spot near the doorway and scanned the hall.

  “Karl’s been watching the area for about twenty minutes and nothing has shown up. Finish getting ready while we give it one last sweep.”

  “Got it, big brother.”

  While he looked intently at the screen, his finger on the touchpad to guide their surveillance bot, Lacey guided Jake to a spot well into the shadows. Spud followed. She pulled a thin can of energy drink, downed it in a series of quick, heavy swallows, and tossed it to Spud.

  “Hold that for me. Don’t want to litter on international TV.”

  He glanced at the Bottom’s-Up logo. “My mom loves this stuff.”

  “The Energize is great for quick rush if you drink it fast enough. Now for the piece de resistance.” She picked up the plastic bag of liquid and read its label in a fake British accent.

  “O-positive. Yes, a favorite among the discerning undead.”

  “Wait,” Jake gasped. “That’s blood?”

  “Keep your voice down,” she hissed. “Of course it’s blood. I told you they need motivation.”

  She tore the plastic and then poured about half on her shoulders and chest.

  She handed the bag to Spud. “Do my back?”

  Wordlessly, he took the bag and poured it messily over her clothes.

  “Is that really necessary?” Jake asked, though he filmed the whole thing.

  “It is if I don’t want to get too close to them. First time, I went in clean. Had to get real close and aggressive. Never been so scared in my life.”

  “You scared now?”

  “Sure. It’s part of the rush.” She took the bag from him and tossed it into the cage. Spud noticed Karl had placed some packets of hamburger in the corners.

  Lacey went back to her routine of stretching and shaking, speeded up slightly from adrenaline and the energy drink.

  Boris walked up to her. “Clear all the way down the hall. We should go now. It’s a straight shot in, room on the left.”

  “I remember it. This should be easy.”

  “You sound d-disappointed,” Spud pointed out.

  Lacey shrugged then rolled her shoulders quickly. “Well, I was hoping for some excitement for the cameras. Gotta show up LaCenta for you—get you some points for the game, right?”

  Spud shrugged before standing still, a counterpoint to her restless energy. “Don’t want to w-win if it costs anyone a life.”

  Lacey stopped her bouncy movements. “That is so sweet.”

  She took his face in her hands and kissed him full on the mouth.

  She pulled away before he could react and, still smiling directly at him, donned the clear helmet her brother gave her. She did a quick sound check on her mike, gave them a thumb’s up, and trotted off toward the entrance.

  Spud stared after her, blinking.

  Boris whacked him with the nozzle of his flamethrower. “Wake up, Romeo. You get that side. Flame anything veering from the path.”

  Spud nodded and took a position to the right of the open doors. He watched Lacey pull open what was once the employee entrance and move in, leaving the door braced open. He decided he’d blog about her—how she was brave and funny.

  Also a great kisser, he thought, but he wouldn’t mention that. It wouldn’t be seemly. Besides, his mom watched that blog.

  “Ew,” Lacey’s voice came over the headsets. “There’re guts all over. Fresh, too. Better tell Monica to have them check Missing Persons. If I see a wallet or something—”

  “Leave it and concentrate on the mission,” Boris cut her off sharply.

  “In and out,” Karl said.

  Lacey sighed. “Got it. Coming to the door. Ew. Okay...”

  Spud winced when she suddenly called out, “Who ordered bait to go?”

  Then he heard roaring, panting, and a h
alf-elated shriek.

  Lacey’s slim form erupted from the doorway, followed only steps later by a slower, shambling horde. The carefree manner had disappeared, and she ran full out, increasing the space between her and her pursuers.

  Suddenly, her foot slipped out from under her, and she fell onto the cement of the parking lot.

  “Lacey!” Karl bellowed.

  Spud didn’t even think. He ran toward her. He caught a glimpse of Boris running her way, too, but he quickly outstripped the older, slower man. As Lacey scrambled to her feet, shrieking in earnest, Spud stood beside her and let loose with the flamethrower.

  “No!” Lacey whacked down on the nozzle with her hand. The flames struck the ground feet in front of the zombies. They jumped back. “We can salvage this.”

  “Run,” he yelled at her. He let off another bout of flame. It struck the ragdoll zombie, who had forged ahead of the group. The others swarmed past it.

  Lacey grabbed his arm. “You, too. Head for the cage. Go!”

  He released the flamethrower, grabbed her hand and ran. Lacey was crying and limping, and he pulled her along, ignoring how the flamethrower bounced against his leg.

  “Go, go, go,” Gregory yelled.

  Behind them, five zombies moaned and another screamed as the flames consumed him.

  They rushed into the cage, Lacey again slipping as her blood-and-gore encrusted soles struck the slick Plexiglas. Spud pushed her in front of him and through the small door. He thought he felt something pull at his suit, but it didn’t catch.

  Then he was through.

  The small door slammed shut faster than he could track. The large doors swung closed not a second later. The lack of groanings assaulted Spud’s ears with its silence.

  Lacey all but fell onto Jake, her face contorted with pain, and she breathed in high-pitched gasps.

  “Get her in the van,” Boris yelled. “Keys are in the ignition. Don’t wait—we’ll go in the truck.”

  Spud went to pick her up, but Boris grabbed his shoulder. “Not you. We’ve got company! We cover them, got it?”

  Spud looked past the exterminator at more zombies pouring out of the entrance. They moved slowly, unsure of their purpose. They looked at the exterminators, dazed, processing.

  Jake wrapped Lacey’s arm over his shoulder, and together they ran toward the van, with Greg following to protect them. Karl already had the cage moving. Boris and Spud took positions between them and the zombies and waited.

  “Wait until they make a move,” Boris warned. “Our goal tonight is to get the goods and get out. Everything else is gravy.”

  A zombie with a tremendous belly jerked his head up. Its head twisted clockwise as it took in Spud and Boris, the cage, then Lacey and Jake. It held up a flabby arm, one finger pointing.

  “Gra-vy,” it groaned, and the entire horde started toward the fleeing duo.

  Boris swore. “Covering fire! Measured bursts. I’ll get in the cab. Start her up. You cover Karl and the cage.”

  “How many—”

  “Don’t count. Just shoot!”

  Spud let loose on the large zombie, who seemed to be the leader. As it went up in flames, the rest simply parted around him.

  He heard the van door slam, and the engine start.

  Boris grabbed a grenade from his belt, an actual pineapple-style grenade. He pulled the pin, counted “one-two” and threw it.

  A loud boom and a flash of light came from the center of the zombies, followed by the meaty slap of flesh hitting the pavement.

  The swarm stopped, turned inward and as one, began to pounce on the victims, ripping and feasting on their flayed bodies.

  Spud swallowed hard.

  “Truck, now,” Boris shouted.

  Boris dashed into the cab. Spud closed the distance between him and Karl. The older exterminator had driven the cage onto the elevator ramp and had clipped the restraining straps into place. He started it rising as Spud sprayed fire on one zombie that broke from the feeding frenzy.

  “You, in back. No time!” Karl didn’t wait, but jumped into the back himself. He looked back long enough to make sure Spud had followed him in and then pounded on the wall.

  The acceleration made Spud stagger. He slammed into the Plexiglas cage.

  A zombie flung itself toward him, smacking the other side of the wall, mouth open in a savage but soundless scream.

  Spud’s scream echoed in the trailer as he flung himself backward, falling on his behind and scrambling back, crablike. If he hadn’t lost his grip on the flamethrower, he would have set it off on the cage.

  Karl laughed. He operated the controls, and the cage moved forward into the truck. He slipped between the cage and a wall, banging on the glass as he did, and reached out of the moving truck to pull the doors closed. Then he returned to sit by Spud’s side.

  “Seventy-five thousand dollars, there. Thirty-five for business. Ten for each of us. Good night’s work. Lacey, you okay?” He directed the last into his headset.

  Lacey, her voice high and tight, answered. “I pulled something in my leg, and I think I broke my wrist. I don’t know which hurts worse.” She swore.

  “Lacey,” Boris’ voice came over the line, calm but firm. “I know you’re hurting, but we’ve got to tell the police.”

  “I know. I called Monica on the radio. They’re sending a Z-Mat crew and calling in Neeta to contain the mess. I’m sorry. Stupid guts got in the treads of my shoes. Ow! Gregory wants to take me to the emergency room.”

  “Yes, little sis. Go. There shouldn’t be much left at the factory. As soon as I find a quiet place to pull over, I’ll let Karl drive, and we’ll get a cab and meet you there.”

  “No. Go help. Our mess.” She paused, and they could hear her breathing through her teeth.

  After a moment, she asked. “Hey, Pip on the line?”

  “Here, Lacey,” he replied.

  “Thanks. You saved my life, you know. Maybe I should have your babies.”

  Karl laughed as Spud felt his face heat. He hoped Jake was not recording the conversation. He didn’t know what he’d tell his mom.

  Chapter Ten

  Notes from The Zombie Syndrome

  A Documentary

  By Gary Opkast

  Episode: Zombie Reality Meets Zombie Culture

  CASSIDY MALONE clip from the special features DVD for the anniversary release of Unwashed Unholies Six: Houston, We Have Cluster! She sits in an office chair, one leg resting against the arm, elbow braced on her knee. Goes very well with the SWAT-style outfit and bandoliers from the movie. She still fits them perfectly. She runs her hand through graying hair as she speaks.

  CASSIDY MALONE: You know, when we did these movies, they were just fun. None of us ever thought people would really rise up from the dead. I remember scenes where we’d have to do take after take because I’d laugh so hard... I’d laugh every time I watched the movie, too, but after I saw a zombie attack on the news—well, it wasn’t funny anymore.

  NARRATOR: In the late 2000s and early 2000-teens, zombies shambled their way into popular culture. Movies like Zombieland, books like Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, games like Zombie Fluxx, and even zombie plushies and action figures, made zombies fun.

  Cut to DR. ROURK POTTER, PhD, in front of the Horror Movie Hall of Fame’s Zombie exhibit.

  DR. ROURK POTTER, PhD: By 2014, zombies had taken their place as a modern cultural icon. While there were some attempts to make zombies a romantic figure—Blue Moon, comes to mind—for the most part, they took on a harmless, even comedic role or became the embodiment of evil. The cult classic, the anthology The Zombie Cookbook, illustrates this quite readily. In fact, this is part-and-parcel with the emergence of vampires as sensitive, romantic creatures rather than bloodthirsty parasites.

  As with so many trends of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, it began in America, which was reeling from the shock of 9-11, the tragedy of an ongoing war in Iraq, the bureaucratic fiasco of universal health care refo
rm—which reminds me, I have an appointment in 15 minutes. I’m over the cold, but it took two weeks to get in, so I’m not wasting it...Where was I? (NOTE to self: Cut that aside.) Also, let’s not forget Tiger Woods.

  America was reeling—losing confidence in its government, its security, its celebrities. There was a feeling of powerlessness. With the rising awareness of the fragility of the individual’s self-esteem and the penalties for expressing racial, social, gender, and choice-based prejudice, people needed a new outlet. Yes, there was Internet trolling, of course, but that does not translate well into groups, and with the enactment of Godwin’s Law with its subsequent fines and jail time, it became a dangerous way of releasing frustrations.

  As a result, the Living Dead became the perfect scapegoat—you could mock them, hurt them, even drop a piano on them—and not feel guilty. They aren’t sexy, which made them all the more attractive—if you will—as a scapegoat. We all knew they were fake—and there was no wishful thinking that they weren’t.

  They are the politically safe group to abuse. Because of that, they took on a safe, almost cuddly aspect in the minds of Joe and Jane Public.

  NARRATOR: Of course, all of that would change when zombie fantasy became zombie reality.

  FADE IN to parade of masked figures shambling past the Stonehedge Unitarian Resting Place cemetery—”zombies” in latex masks and wearing long-sleeved t-shirts with their state flag.

  NARRATOR: Even as late as 2023, years after the outbreaks of actual zombie-ism were common knowledge, people continued to “celebrate the zombie.” Zombie crawls, like this one in New England, still happened across the country.

  In October of that year, five states banded together for what was supposed to be the largest zombie crawl in history. They’d hoped to make the record books, but made history for an entirely different reason, as actual zombies joined the parade.

  —cellphone video of the zombies clawing their way out of the graves. Be sure to clean up the voiceover of the owner gushing over how creative some people got about joining in.