Page 8 of Slayer Mom
I shivered and dropped the alcohol wipe on the filthy pavement. The wound wasn’t terrible, pretty clean looking, but it was deep. “You should go to the hospital and get stitches.”
“Naw. You can do it.” He gave me the weirdest smile I’d ever seen in my life, like he was genuinely delighted to make me do something that I had no idea how to do that might make me vomit again.
“I can do it?”
“Sure. I’ll walk you through it. Trust me, if zombies are targeting you, you’ll need to start learning some new skills.”
Words that could sober anyone up. I drank deeply from my bottle and then took the needle out of the sanitized packet and tried not to think.
three
. . .
Zombies are real.
Everything other than that seemed somehow insignificant. Tom was talking, droning on and on in the least entertaining way imaginable, all about the rules of zombies and slaying zombies, and avoiding being tracked by zombies who have an incredible sense of smell for some unknowable reason. I’d passed out last night in the room up top, clutching my bottle because it was my greatest defense against both zombies and my own mental turmoil.
The next morning, I was still in that room, faced with reconstituted freeze-dried eggs and toast for breakfast. My stomach was queasy, because alcohol was a poison, and I’d been eating healthy for years. I was too old for drunken binges or zombies.
I groaned and put my head in my hands.
“It’s the scent of nutmeg that tips you off that you’ve been marked as a target to more than one zombie. I’ve only heard about it, but that’s nutmeg, all right. She must have been marking you when she was behind you, before you lopped off her head. That’s a good bottle. Still, it was a lucky shot. If she hadn’t been busy, you’d be marked and infected.”
I thumped my forehead on my knees. Why? I wassupposed to be having a midlife crisis, questioning the continuity of my marriage, and maybe the meaning of my life, not faced with death and stalking by the undead. I had no idea what to do with that. Just none.
“I think you should run through some basic drills with me.”
I raised my head to glower at him. “Basic drills? Like exercise? Fire drills? Quadrilles?”
“Knife drills. Firearms just aren’t effective when you have to really break down the corpses to the point that they can’t regenerate. Mallets can be good, axes as well, but neither of those are as easy to carry unobtrusively.” He spoke in the same boring, no-nonsense tone as when he’d been teaching me to pop corn in the big popper and then clean it out afterwards. Yep. Killing zombies was just like popping corn.
I shook my head and got to my feet. “No way. I’m going to avoid situations where I need to fight zombies. That creature would have made mincemeat out of me if you hadn’t been behind her, and she still ripped your arm up.”
“Yes, but she was one of the stronger zombie types. We’ll take you down by the river where the zombies are mostly deteriorated and just need a little push in the right direction until you’ve worked up to something more challenging.”
I shook my head. “You’re not hearing me. I’m not working up to killing zombies. Are you kidding me? I’m a housewife!”
“But you’ve always had good reflexes, and you’ve retained the training I taught you way back when. I was hoping that you’d be a slayer after me, but then you got married, and that was that, but now…” He didn’t say that my marriage was in shambles and slaying zombies was a perfectly reasonable alternative to knitting.
I took a deep breath. “Tom, I appreciate that vote of confidence, but I have no interest in becoming a zombie slayer for fun or profit. I don’t know what my future will look like, but it’s definitely not going to involve the undead or nutmeg.”
He nodded like that was reasonable. He was impossible to get upset, maybe from dealing with zombies and whatnot. I wasn’t going to ask about the whatnot. I didn’t want to know. I wanted to get back to my real life, or play life, or whatever it had been, as soon as possible.
“If that’s how you feel, you’ll have to disguise your scent. You can use special cleansers, oils, and I have some extra I can give you until you can make your own. It will also help to cook with a lot of nutmeg, you know, so the scent is around, but not the marking, the actual nutmeg, which zombies hate even more than garlic. Not that you want to know. You’ll have to ditch those clothes, although the cross you can soak in salt. That should do it. You can also take salt baths. Epson salts are good for detox, too.”
I smiled and grabbed his hand. “Thank you! How long will the marking last?”
He stared at me for a long time. “I can’t say. I’ve heard that it’s until death, but usually if you’re marked, you don’t last very long before you’re turned, because, you know, zombies are pretty tenacious. You came here on foot, so your car hasn’t been contaminated. I could drive you to a motel, and you can clean up and put on some new clothes, then have Gloria bring your car around.” There was something about the way he said my friend’s name that would have made me look twice if not for zombies. She was way past the age that I needed to worry about a lecherous old man. And Tom was anything but lecherous. He had taught me a lot of self-defense, and I had enjoyed learning it, but therehad never been anything even slightly inappropriate.
“How often will I have to bathe?”
“The more often you bathe, the less likely you’ll attract zombies.”
“So, every two hours?”
“Twice a day should be enough, maybe once in the middle of the night. Baths or showers, either one, but soaking in salt will help, but no more than once a day, or that’ll attract different things.” He shook his head. “It’s a pity, though. You could attract zombies somewhere we could take care of them efficiently. There are a lot of those monsters just waiting for someone to put them down, and if we could have you somewhere we could trap them and then burn them, that would clean up the docks nicely. I’ve lost a lot of motivation. It seems like no one is interested in cleaning things up, it’s just video games and money.” Such a crazy world, people wanting to play video games about killing zombies rather than actually killing them.
“Right. If we could go, then I won’t bother you anymore.”
