Hungry for Your Love: An Anthology of Zombie Romance (26 page)

Even though my fingers were itching to get on the keyboard and offer an opinion, I knew it wasn’t possible. If I wanted any future with the police force, I had to keep my thoughts to myself. This was much worse than dressing up like Princess Leia.

I decided to call Rafe instead. Not surprisingly, he picked up after the first ring.

“Hello, Claire,” he said, all smug.

“There’s a big difference between zombies and overworked insurance agents,” I said without even bothering to engage in any formal greeting.

He knew exactly whom I was talking about. “I’ll give them the hunched shoulders and wheezing as typical for paper pushers,” he said. “But do they have red eyes?”

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I couldn’t believe how superior he was acting. Didn’t anyone tell him that sort of behavior wasn’t very attractive?

“Yes,” I conceded. “That’s because they are on the computer all day.” I wasn’t ready to let him win the point. Plus zombies weren’t real. The only place they existed was in bad horror films and the imaginations of people like Rafe.

“They are turning into zombies,” he said.

“Do you have proof?” I asked.

“No, I don’t—”

“Well,” I interrupted. “I guess this ends our conversation.” Then I hung up.

Maybe I was rude, but he was a weirdo. Did he even have a job?

The next morning when I pulled into the parking lot at work, Rafe was waiting for me. If I didn’t think he was harmless, I would have been concerned. This was the second time he stalked me in two days. If my mother knew about this, she’d make me call the police.

I scratched my head after I got out of my car. Rafe was leaning against a rusty VW Rabbit. His arms were folded over his chest and his legs crossed at the ankle. He looked just as smug as he’d sounded last night. I reminded myself he was a loser.

Without a glance his way, I marched across the parking lot.

“Would you like protection?” he asked the side of my face. He still hadn’t peeled himself off his car.

I rolled my eyes and turned towards him. “What kind of protection?” I demanded.

He held something up. A travel bottle in a Ziploc sandwich bag.

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“What’s that?”

The left corner of his mouth lifted. He looked kind of cute when he did that. But remember, I said kind of. Also, he wasn’t my type. I liked outdoorsy guys.

When he didn’t answer, I reached for the baggie. He pulled it away. He was taller than me and held it over his head. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of watching me jump. Instead I took a step back. “Look,” I warned, “I’m tired of your dorky games and I’m late for work.” I turned towards the building.

“It’s acid,” he said as he scurried up behind me.

“Acid.” I started to walk faster. I should have listened to my first instinct and called the police. This guy was a threat. On second thought, if I wanted to join the police force, I probably needed to handle this situation myself.

“I can’t send you in there with a shotgun or a machete,” he explained quickly.

“The acid is in a compact and will disable them so you have time to escape.”

I screwed my face up and gave him a funny look.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Listen.” He smiled at me. His teeth weren’t exactly straight but there was an attractiveness to his lopsided grin that I liked. “Just pretend you’ve got to mist your face, then turn it on the good folks at Shibboleth Insurance.”

He actually seemed to be enjoying this. I didn’t feel the same way. “That thing won’t leak in my purse?” I asked suspiciously. “I don’t want to permanently disfigure myself.” It wasn’t like I was picture-perfect beautiful, but I did have a cute dimple on my chin and a nice smile.

“No.” He shook his head. “It’s sealed.” He pressed the bottle into my hand.

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Just to humor him, I took it. At the end of the day, I planned to bring it back along with the name of a good therapist. A Google search should help me find someone in the area who specialized in delusion.

When I arrived at my desk Eliza moaned at me. Her wrists were still covered with bandages and that neck brace was wrapped even tighter around her chin. Plus she had a new problem. Sores were oozing along her jaw line. Maybe if she loosened the brace it would give her chafed skin a chance to heal.

Around noon, Mr. Nil invited Eliza and me into the conference room for a lunch meeting. It was nice to be included and after grabbing my brown bag, I eyed the Ziploc baggie.
What the heck
, I thought as I stuffed it into my sweater pocket and looked over my shoulder to ensure Eliza hadn’t seen me.

Mr. Nil motioned for me to sit at the head of the table. He and Eliza took their places on my left and right. I put my work folder down and pulled out the turkey sandwich my mother made for me. She also packed in three Oreo cookies. I could tell she was happy I had a job.

Deciding the polite thing to do was wait for my co-workers, I folded my hands on top of the table and smiled at them. With a moan of triumph, they grabbed my thumbs and started pulling my fingers towards their mouths. “Hey,” I yelled, trying to jerk loose while my Oreos spilled to the floor. With a shake, I was finally able to get Eliza to give up. With my free hand, I reached for my pocket and pulled out the acid. Unfortunately it was still in the Ziploc bag.

“Stop,” I demanded as Mr. Nil pressed my index finger against his chapped lips.

He was pretty strong and I put my foot on his knee to hold him back. “Damn,” I said as I 243

felt Mr. Nil’s teeth against my skin. Eliza didn’t seem to notice my curses because she was trying to grab at my other hand again. As I worked at opening the bag, I dodged her attempts.

Finally I had my fingers wrapped around the spray bottle. Just as she reached for my pinkie, I pumped a few squirts her way. The acid soaked into the back of her hand and she cried out in agony. In the blink of an eye, I could see her tendons and brown bones.

I realized Rafe was right. They were zombies. Satan’s Army of the undead.

Without hesitation I turned on Mr. Nil. He cried out “acid,” and let go of my hand.

“Don’t come near me.” I held the spray bottle in front of him. “You belong in your grave,” I told my boss while I grabbed my purse and backed slowly towards the door.

“Please,” he groaned. “Help us.” He pulled off the bandages covering his chin.

“We need food,” he cried while chucks of bloody flesh fell to the table.

My stomach rolled and instead of barfing I turned and ran. I could hear them behind me. “Get her,” Mr. Nil told Eliza as I ran through the reception area and towards the double doors.

Rafe was outside, sitting on the hood of his car, and I immediately felt bad for every insult I had lobbed his way. “Start the car,” I yelled, deciding I would apologize later. “Start the car,” I said again when he didn’t react. I glanced behind me and could see the zombies piling up at the glass door. When Rafe saw them he jumped into the driver’s seat and turned the Rabbit over.

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A moment later I opened the passenger-side door. “They are zombies,” I cried out. Like he didn’t know. He peeled out of the parking lot as I closed the door. “They tried to eat me,” I said, pulling my seat belt on and waving my hands around.

“Did they bite you?” He took his eyes off the road and studied me carefully.

“Oh no,” I cried thinking of the gnawing Mr. Nil did on my knuckles. I held my hand up. There were teeth marks and it was red. “Am I going to turn into a zombie?,” I moaned.

“Did he break the skin?”

“I don’t know,” I cried.

After glancing one last time in the rear view mirror, Rafe pulled over. “Let me see,” he demanded. We had stopped next to the river. I could hear the water running as he turned towards me.

“Will they come this far?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “They don’t like water.” He held my finger in the palm of his hand. “Did you acid them?”

“Just Eliza and it was only a little on her hands,” I explained. “I threatened Mr.

Nil and that was enough to get him to let go of me.”

“His teeth are soft. He couldn’t break the skin,” Rafe said. “So you’re not infected.”

“I won’t turn into a zombie,” I clarified.

“No.” He hesitated. “But now that he’s tasted you, he’s not going to give up.” He pulled his eyebrows together. “He’s going to want to finish his meal.”

“You mean.” I breathed heavily. “He’ll come after me?”

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“And if he gets you,” Rath said, grimly putting the car in gear and stepping on the gas, “you’ll spend the rest of your days pushing papers at Shibboleth Insurance Agency.”

That sounded worse than death. After absorbing that thought for a minute or so, I asked, “What are we going to do?”

“Go to my house,” was the answer without explanation.

Rafe lived on the water. It was a big house with a wide front porch and a rolling lawn. There were three or four fancy cars in the driveway. It seemed Rafe was doing well killing the undead. Maybe I could forget about the police force and join him.

We stepped into a marble entryway after he opened the front door and threw his keys in the silver bowl on the credenza. “Ronnie!” a voice called from the living room.

“Mom, I’m busy,” Rafe replied.

“Come say hello to my friends.”

Rafe turned to me with a pained expression on his face. I decided to not comment on his pseudonym because I could commiserate with the meddling-mother problem. “My mother doesn’t know about my zombie work,” he explained through clenched teeth. “To keep her out of my business, I have to perform a few social niceties every once in a while.”

When we entered the living room, four women were sitting around a card table. I guessed they were playing bridge. Rafe’s mother had a big smile, big breasts, and wore tan pants with a pink cardigan sweater.

“Ronnie, how are you?” one of the other women asked in a snarky tone. “Do you have a job?”

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Even though we had a lot less money, the words sounded exactly like ones spoken at my house. People could be so mean.

“I’m doing this and that,” Rafe replied as he looked at his shoes.

This annoyed me. The woman was insulting him. He wasn’t doing this and that, he was saving humanity from those flesh-eating, brain-dead creatures living in our village. “He’s doing a lot,” I taunted. “As a matter of fact, he saved—”

“Come on, Claire.” Rafe pulled on my arm. “Let’s go downstairs. I’ve got a new video game I want to show you.”

“What?” I said to Rafe as he dragged me out of the room.

Once he had the basement door open, he turned on me. “They can’t know what I do,” he hissed. “To them I’m just a jobless, PS3-playing loser living in my mother’s basement.”

“Why not?” I protested. “You’re saving—”

He interrupted me again. Rafe couldn’t open a door but he certainly could get his point across when he wanted. I kind of liked that. “Do you think they’d believe me if I told them zombies lived among us?” he snapped at me. “Or do you think I’d be thrown in the loony bin?”

He pounded his chest. “Right now, I’m the only line of defense between the good people of this town and those flesh-eating monsters.”

Okay, he had a point. I snapped my mouth shut as he led me down the stairs to his basement. Once we were past the washer and dryer, which I might add were high-end and brand-new, Rafe pushed his way through a door. When he turned on the light I felt 247

like I was in Dexter’s laboratory. Computers lined one wall. Maps papered the other and a pink rug covered the floor.

“This used to be my sister’s playroom,” he said quickly when he noticed me looking at the rug. “She moved to Boston and found an acceptable job.”

I nodded. The story sounded familiar.

Rafe treaded across the room towards a grey cabinet on the far side. With a devil’s grin, he opened the doors. An array of guns were pegged on a board inside. Light reflected off their shiny barrows and black handles. He pulled out a pistol and turned towards me.

I blinked a few times.

“Do you know how to shoot?” he asked, completely ignoring the stunned look on my face.

I nodded.

“Good,” he said grimly. “It’s only a head shot.” Without asking my permission, he strapped a gun belt around my waist and tightened the buckle at my thigh. I know my reaction was completely inappropriate, but there was some tingling happening down there, especially when his fingers brushed my inner thigh.

“What are our next steps?” I asked and cleared my throat.

“We go back and kill them,” he said.

“Okay,” I breathed. Suddenly I was in deep. Really deep. I lifted my chin and knew I could do this. After all, wasn’t I looking for action?

When we got back to the office things hadn’t changed. “How—how do we do this,” I asked Rafe. I ignored the catch in my voice and he did too.

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“You put a bullet in the head of the girl and I’ll take care of Mr. Nil.” He passed me a pair of black gloves. I hesitated in taking them from him.

“Claire, if we don’t do this, they will kill again,” he said firmly. “We must protect our community.”

Since he put it that way, civic duty was something I could feel comfortable with.

“Do the police know?” I asked him.

“We won’t get arrested, if that’s what you’re implying,” he explained while climbing out of the car. He was two steps ahead of me and looking pretty confident as he swaggered up the walkway to the building. He didn’t have any problem with the door when he held it open for me.

Eliza sat at her desk. Before she had a chance to moan Rafe commanded,

“Eliminate her.”

I lifted my gun, sighted her eyeball, and pulled the trigger. She splattered all over the desk and computer screen. Before I had a chance to say anything, Rafe was in the other room taking care of Mr. Nil. Our job was done.

After we left the building, Rafe put his arm around my shoulder. “I sensed something in you, young Claire Defoe,” he said, sounding a lot like Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“You did good,” he added.