Flip This Zombie - Jesse Petersen [15]
But now other sounds were clearer. Outside the walls of the camp, coyotes moaned and howled as they retook their territory and crickets chirped in the stillness. Humans still had a place though. In the distance I heard the light strum of guitars and the faint sounds of singing that made my heart stutter a little.
The van only had an eight track that was long dead, so we hardly ever got to hear music. I came to a stop as I left the tent area and just listened to the tones of “Come as You Are” by Nirvana, with a faint female voice singing the lyrics softly.
I shook my head with nostalgia as I strode forward again toward the big board in the middle of the camp. I found it by the campfire lights and the moon, but reading the little notes and requests was too hard without additional light, so I reluctantly turned my flashlight back on.
In the stark light of the bare bulb, the messages on the board seemed even sadder, just as they had in the church. There were plenty of faded ones looking for people who were missing. Some had been there for over a month (at least as long as we’d been coming here) and were obviously pleas for people who would never be found or at least not found alive. Undead maybe, but that wasn’t a good end for anyone involved.
Finally, through the mass of notes asking for specific food items and one particularly disturbing request for a sex doll and some lube (um, ew, people. Just… ew), I found a note addressed to Zombiebusters Exterminators, Inc (the whole name, no less). I pulled it from the board and examined it closely.
It was written on heavy paper, something far more expensive than the back of newspapers or cheap notebook sheets most people used. The author had neat, even handwriting and the pen he or she used was red.
Blood red words on a stark white sheet. Gee, obvious horror music playing in the background, anyone?
Still, a job was a job and this one was intriguing:
“I am in need of your assistance for a unique task. If you can accommodate me, please meet with me. Sincerely, A Friend.”
An address followed, one I didn’t instantly recognize even after all our exploration of the dead city and its surrounding areas. Looked like the old GPS was going to get some use.
Oh yeah, GPS satellites? Turns out they don’t go down, even when most of the people on earth (or at least this part of earth) get eaten by a shambling horde of monsters. Just an FYI.
I stuffed the note into my pocket and headed back toward our tent, but my mind was still clouded with thoughts. Most of the time our “services” got repeat offenders. People we knew asked us to clear out a shed or wipe out an apartment building filled with the living dead.
But this… this was a whole new person (or people) with a “unique” task, whatever that meant. It could be dangerous. And not just “zombie dangerous,” but like… “don’t go down there!” dangerous.
Sadly, as I stepped back into our tent and climbed into my sleeping bag, the concept of a whole new kind of dangerous gave me a thrill I hadn’t felt in a long time.
“So you just went out into the night all by yourself?” Dave snapped as he practically ripped the passenger door of the van off before he got inside.
“Yes,” I grunted as I slammed the driver’s side door of the van and started the engine a bit more loudly than was probably necessary. “As I have mentioned to you about thirty times since we woke up this morning, that is correct.”
“It was a stupid thing to do, Sarah.”
With a shake of his head, he pulled out a GPS unit from the glove compartment (kept right beside a nice collection of 9mm handguns and ammo—yup, we were pretty much right out of Bonnie and Clyde now… minus the bank robberies and the Faye Dunaway hair). He jammed the plug into our ancient cigarette lighter and waited for the satellite to link up.
“I don’t get what you’re freaking out about,” I said with a heavy, put-upon sigh. “I got up, in camp.”
“How silly of me,” Dave said, his voice laced with the same blunt sarcasm he’d used last night with the idiots