Shambling with the Stars

A Living with the Dead Short Story

Jesse Petersen

www.orbitbooks.net

www.orbitshortfiction.com

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Shambling with the Stars

Everyone on their marks, quiet on the set, and…cue Blake.”

With a sigh, Avery Andrews leaned back in her chair in the control room and watched as Blake Roberts, host extraordinaire, launched into his preprepared monologue to start the telethon. He looked right into the camera, kept his expression the perfect balance of a sad but nonthreatening (and attractive to all demographics) smile, and never missed a mark. Yup, the man was a professional.

A complete diva, jerk-off…but a professional.

“Move to camera two,” Avery cued as she glanced at the monitors before her.

Now the at-home audience would be seeing the long bank of telephones manned by some of the biggest stars in the universe. Hollywood actors and actresses, as well as musicians who either actually gave a shit, or at least were faking it in order to keep their name in the spotlight. Either way, it didn’t matter to Avery. What mattered was that they were here and dressed well (or crazy) enough that they would definitely end up on tomorrow’s episode of Fashion Police, for better or for worse.

“Put up the number graphic…now,” she said softly.

As Blake continued talking and the numbers to call and donate flashed across the screen, Avery’s gaze slipped to another monitor on the bank before her. But this one wasn’t one she controlled. No, it was the monitor for NCB news, the mother network of the telethon. It was showing a live feed of the crisis from their twenty-four-hour news network.

Right now they were showing scenes of utter destruction in Portland, Oregon, as rabid people attacked each other in a hungry bloodbath of torn flesh. Zombies they were being called, though Avery had been given strict instructions by the network brass not to let that term slip out during the night’s event. Whatever they were called, they had already destroyed Seattle, made their way down the coast, and were marching steadily toward Los Angeles.

But they wouldn’t make it all the way to the town of the stars. Avery couldn’t believe that. And apparently neither could those in the studio, because all these highly insured stars were here in order to raise money for “The Tragedy of the Northwest.” “Outbreak 2010.” “The Sickness.”

However the CDC wanted to spin it. Oh, and speaking of the Centers for Disease Control…

“Cue Blake to move to the couches, cut to camera three, and start the interview with Dr. Lithstone,” Avery said into the mike. She watched as her orders were followed in Blake’s smooth style that had made him a breakout star after hosting such reality classics as “Top Singer” and “Dance the B-List.”

“That man is worth a billion dollars,” her assistant of eight years, Kyle, said with a disbelieving shake of his head as he set a cup of hot coffee on the panel next to her. He sighed and leaned over her shoulder to look at the monitors.

“Well, he has a billion in assets,” Avery laughed as she smiled her thanks up at her friend. “What he’s worth is something entirely different.”

“Still…” Kyle began, but he never finished the sentence. Instead, his brow wrinkled and he leaned forward.

Avery swiveled to see what Kyle was looking at. That look had never meant something good in all their time together.

“What is Blake doing?” Kyle asked.

Avery leaned closer and so did everyone else in the control room. The room, which was normally silent except for Avery’s orders about camera switches and position changes, now began to buzz with murmurs from the crew. Avery would have nipped that in the bud if she weren’t mesmerized by what she was seeing on her screen.

Blake was blinking.

It didn’t sound weird when it was just put like that, of course. He was human (mostly). He blinked. But this was excessive. Over and over, like he had something in his eye. Like he couldn’t see.

“Mr. Roberts?” the doctor who was Blake’s interviewee said with a nervous shift. “Are you okay?”

Blake nodded and flashed that smile again. “Sure, of course. I’m fine. Continue. You were talking about symptoms of the disease that our Northwestern viewers can look for in themselves or family.”

The doctor nodded, but his voice had begun to squeak from nervousness. “Er, well, of course mainly the disease is spread by bodily contact. A bite from a contaminated individual or even a scratch can start the process of transformation in an otherwise healthy person.”

“Did you say scratch?” Blake asked, and Avery stared as he reached down to tug the cuff of his ridiculously expensive suit a little lower over his hand.

“Yes. We’re finding that a scratch has been the only mark present on a few victims,” Dr. Lithstone said, but he was staring rather closely at their host. “The symptoms once they’ve been bitten or scratched include sluggish response time, heightened sense of smell, violent outbursts, and a reddening of the eyes.”

As if on cue, Blake reached up and rubbed his eye and then looked at the doctor with a sharp expression.

“Within a matter of anywhere from a few minutes to perhaps half an hour, depending on the severity and location of the injury, the transmutation will be complete and the victim will begin seeking out the flesh of uninfected people.” The doctor sighed. “As far as we’ve been able to determine, there is no cure, but obviously this is very early in the outbreak and I’m sure we’ll come up with something to battle the infection. Our top men are working on it at this very moment.”

The doctor stared at Blake, who was now just looking at his interviewee. Not usual for the man who now snagged more high profile sit-downs than Barbara Walters.

Avery leaned forward. “Remind Blake that he’s supposed to point out that part of the proceeds from tonight’s telethon go to that research effort, with the remainder going to outreach and recovery from the disaster.”

There was a moment’s pause while the floor director relayed her message into Blake’s tiny ear mike. On screen, the host flinched and then reached up and tore the earpiece away, ripping off the padded section and leaving the wire dangling at his shoulder.

“What the—?” Donna from audio snapped.

“So once you’re bitten, there’s no hope?” Blake asked and even without the mike to amplify it, his voice sounded thick, like he had a hella bad cold.

“N-no,” the doctor confirmed, but Avery noticed he was starting to slide away.

“Then you’re fucked.”

For one brief, beautiful moment, Avery’s only concern was that Blake had just said the king of swears on national television and that the FCC was going to fine them for it. And then, without warning, Blake dove across the couch and sank his teeth into the doctor’s exposed neck and her concerns about fines vanished in a violent instant. There was a whine of feedback as his teeth severed not only the doctor’s mike, but his jugular, spraying blood across the floor, the white couch (Blake always demanded a white couch), and the doctor’s suit jacket.

“Oh shit!” Avery squealed as she tore her own headphones off and flung herself to her feet. “Get security in there, get security into the studio, and evacuate the stars and crew now!”

The room around her erupted into noise. People were screaming orders into their mikes, crying, reaching for cell phones to call their families. It was chaos, but Avery never moved, she just watched the screen as Blake left the half-dead doctor sprawled across the couch, gasping for breath through the gaping hole in his throat.

With a grunt, Blake spun on his heel and made for the telephone bank nearby. Already stars were bailing out, pushing each other down the bleachers where they’d been arranged and running each other over in their hurry to make it out. Singer and former Disney sensation Ali Henshaw had already stepped on Academy Award–winning actor Stephan Cross, leaving a stiletto hole in his hand. He was screaming at her even as they ran toward the fire exit together.

Screaming that turned from one of anger and pain to pure terror when Blake reached out, grabbed Stephan’s suit jacket and hauled him close to bite his face.

“Oh jeez! Cut away, cut away!” Avery barked, but then realized wasn’t on mike and that no one in the control room was listening anymore anyway. They were just booking it for the one door that led out.

“I think it’s time to follow the leader,” Kyle snapped as he grabbed Avery’s arm and started hauling her for the door. “Let’s go, girl.”

Avery hesitated as she took a final look at the chaos on the screens before her and then let Kyle drag her away. Yeah, seemed there was nothing else she could do here. Already the cameraman for Camera 1 was starting to reanimate…and Avery hadn’t even seen him bitten. And two of the biggest movie stars in the universe were eating the operator of Camera 2 alive. On National Television.

“I guess we won’t have to worry about ratings,” Avery muttered as she made for the door. Donna from audio had already gotten it open and was peering out into the hallway. “What do you see, Donna?” she whispered.

The woman turned back with a weak smile. “It’s okay,” she said. “There’s no one out here. We can just—”

Her sentence was cut off and replaced by a blood-curdling scream as one of the zombies (Avery was fucking calling them zombies now, she didn’t care who got fired for it) lunged out of the unseen area of the hallway and grabbed for Donna. He caught one of her arms and yanked. Donna screamed again and grabbed for the doorjamb, clinging with all her might to the wooden edge and staring into the room with wide, terrified eyes.

“Oh shit!” Kyle snapped as he dove for her. “Grab her, grab her!”

A few of the other guys lunged and suddenly three of them had Donna’s other arm.

“Who the hell is that?” Avery gasped.

She tilted her head and stared into the hallway at the…creature, because he couldn’t be called human anymore, that clung to her audio tech. It was Chase Howard, one of the most famous and sexy (formerly sexy) men on the planet. He didn’t look great now. Someone had bitten off one of his ears and slashed his face, he was missing a foot. But he was strong as a bull, holding Donna without effort, even as three reasonably strong guys pulled against her.

“Don’t let me go!” Donna whimpered, clinging to the edge of the door.

“Pull!” Kyle ordered and all three men strained back, trying to hold her.

The zombie tugged just as hard, though, clinging to Donna’s arm until Avery could actually see the strain in her blouse. Donna let out a pained yelp as her arm slipped an inch free of her saviors. The zombie reached forward and swiped at the men who were fighting against him. Kyle jumped back and so did another of the audio techs, Reece, but the third man, one of the graphics people named…shit, was it Sven or Stan or Shem? Whatever his name was, he couldn’t scoot back fast enough and the zombie slashed at him, before S-named graphics guy let go of Donna. She was dragged off into the hall.

Avery forward and grabbed for the door. She peeked out first and down in the dim lights of the hallway she watched in horror as the actor zombie dragged screaming Donna toward a larger group of shambling brain eaters. They groaned in what sounded almost like thanks. Avery shivered and slammed the door shut, locking it with the deadbolt and leaning back against the padded, soundproofed surface with a few panting breaths.

“Oh my God,” Kyle moaned as he sank down on the floor and stared up at Avery. “Oh my God. It’s here.”

Avery shut her eyes. Yeah, that was a bit of an understatement and now she felt stupid for ever believing that it couldn’t make it here. That somehow being rich or privileged or famous could stop an infection that was moving so fast and so furious that it could have been part of a Vin Diesel movie. Only Vin Diesel’s secret agent or bank robber with a heart of gold wasn’t going to swoop in and save the day in a CG blast of bald heroism.

“What are we going to do?” Jenny, one of video techs, moaned as she sank down to her knees on the floor and stared at the monitors that were still running, showing the bloody results of the attack begun by Blake. Every single star and crew member was either torn to shreds or slowly reanimating outside. Now instead of one zombie there were…twenty-five? And that didn’t count any they couldn’t see, like the little pod outside eating Donna for their evening snack.

“It’s okay, Jenny,” Avery said absently as she continued to stare at the screens. The NCB cable news channel had switched over to replaying coverage from the telethon and was now showing Blake attacking the entire bank of stars with gusto.

“It’s okay?” audio Reece said, staring at her in disbelief. “No way! I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

He lunged for the door.

“No!” Kyle snapped as he grabbed for Reece and pushed him backward. “Don’t be crazy, man! Those things are right out in the hallway and now they know we’re in the room. You open that door and you’ll get yourself killed and maybe get the rest of us killed, too.”

“We’re already dead,” Jenny sobbed from the floor. “We’re already dead. He might as well open the door and let the zombies in!”

“Oh, good grief!” Avery said as she turned away and looked at her crew. She had to snap out of her fog and remember that she was the leader of this little group. And obviously they needed her to pull them together. “Get up, Jenny. For God’s sake.”

Jenny looked up and her, sniffled, and then slowly got to her feet.

“Good. Now listen. Yes, we’re in a bad way here,” Avery said as she looked over the group and tried to summon her best Henry V for a Saint Crispin’s Day speech. “But right now the door is locked and thanks to the forty million or so people watching the broadcast of the telethon, they know we’re in here. Someone will come to get us. We just have to hang tight and not panic.”

Audio Reece stared at the door again, then looked to Kyle, then her.

“Yeah,” he muttered, some of the heat gone from his voice. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Avery said with a shake of her head. “This is a crazy situation. What we just saw, what happened…it’s crazy. But we have to control our response so that it isn’t crazy. Okay?”

Everyone in the room nodded and for a moment it was silent and tense. Kyle stepped forward and took Avery’s arm, pulling her into the corner.

“Good job, Miss Leader of the Pack,” he said with a proud smile. “Looks like our gal is growing up.”

“I’m thirty-five,” Avery laughed. “I’m a slow learner.”

Kyle shrugged, but then his face fell. “Unfortunately, I’m not sure if your advice is going to hold up.”

Avery looked up into his face with a frown. “Um, why? You think they won’t come for us?”

Kyle shook his head. “No, I’m guessing they’ll come eventually, but I’m afraid we won’t be here. See, um, I didn’t want to say anything, but I’m pretty sure that Sven got slashed by that zombie at the door.”

“Sven,” Avery breathed in relief. “That’s his name.”

Then she blinked as her friend’s statement sunk in. “Wait, did you say he got slashed?” she whispered as she glanced at the group still standing by the door.

Reece was pacing and she could see he was still thinking about bolting even though he’d agreed to stay, Jenny was rubbing her arms as she stared at the wall of monitors, and Sven…well, Sven was just standing there, not really looking at anything in particular. And he was holding his own hand, though she wasn’t sure if that was a nervous habit or to cover up the scratch Kyle claimed he’d seen.

“I don’t know,” Kyle admitted with a shake of his head. “I mean, I thought I saw blood, but everything happened so fast.”

Avery swallowed. “But if he was scratched…”

“That doctor said he’d turn into one of those…things.”

“Zombies,” Avery said, though her throat was very dry. Reaching out to the control deck, she grabbed the coffee Kyle had brought her and slugged it back. It didn’t help much and tasted like water to her numb senses.

“We’re not supposed to call them that,” Kyle reminded her.

Avery stared at him. “Are you afraid you’ll get fired, dude?”

Kyle hesitated for a minute then shrugged with a weak smile. “I guess job security isn’t tops on my list, no.”

A nervous giggle escaped Avery’s lips and she sucked in a breath to stop herself from getting hysterical. She was accustomed to high-pressure situations. That was how she’d found success in the entertainment business without screwing her way to the top. She had to get into “director” mode and stay calm.

That was really the only option.

“Look, maybe you’re wrong,” she said. “Let’s not get everyone even more hysterical than they already are, okay? I’ll talk to Sven. Can you send him over and then do me a favor and try to make Jenny stop talking to herself?”

Kyle glanced over his shoulder and sighed as he saw Jenny rocking gently, muttering. “Yeah, I’ll try.”

He walked away and Avery straightened her spine and shook off her nerves as she watched Sven speak briefly to Kyle, then head her way. As he reached her, she noticed he was sweating even though the room wasn’t particularly hot.

“You okay?” she asked, hoping he wouldn’t make this harder.

He shrugged. “I don’t like being trapped in small rooms,” he explained.

Avery nodded as she struggled to find a way to broach the awkward subject of “Are you a zombie?” This was worse than firing someone.

“Um, so that zombie that got Donna—” she began.

Sven’s gaze darted to her. “Yeah, poor Donna.”

“I noticed he swiped pretty near to you,” she continued. “I’m sure you would have said something, but I wouldn’t be very smart if I didn’t ask you if he, er, you know…touched you.”

Sven stared at her for a long, heavy moment. “Are you fucking accusing me of being one of those freaks outside?” he finally asked, his voice elevating.

Avery looked at the others. All of them were staring at them now, which was no good. Hysteria wasn’t going to help.

“Chill, man,” she soothed, purposefully dropping her own tone. “I’m not accusing you of anything. I just need to be sure we don’t have situation here…you know, trapped in the control room with no way out.”

“You know if you actually think that I got scratched by that thing that what you’re really saying is that I’m a zombie. And if I’m a zombie then the CDC says that all you can do is kill me.” He shifted again, closer to Avery this time. “You want to kill me, Avery? Is this because I asked for a raise last month?”

Avery shook her head. “You think I want to kill you over a raise? I’d have to kill everyone on staff for that, Sven. Hell, I asked for a raise last month! C’mon man. I’m just—”

“What’s going on?” Reece asked, storming over. “Did I hear you saying that Sven is a zombie?”

Avery turned on him with a scowl. “Not helping, Reece. I never said anyone was an anything. I’m just trying to make sure Sven wasn’t scratched during the attack from the zombie who took Donna.”

Sven folded his arms. “Then why don’t you ask Reece? Or your buddy Kyle? The two of them were at the door, too. They went head-to-head with The Sexiest Zombie Alive, too, you know.”

Avery squeezed her eyes shut and tried to tap into all her resources she used when dealing with diva stars. “Okay, that’s fair. Kyle, will you show me you weren’t touched by…well, I can hardly call him Chase anymore.”

Kyle shrugged out of his jacket and unbuttoned each sleeve in turn to reveal hands clear of any injury or bloodstain. “Happy?”

“Okay and you Reece?” she asked.

Everyone turned on him as Reece rolled up his sweatshirt sleeves and showed clean wrists and hands, as well as forearms.

“See, everyone else just did it.” Avery looked at Sven. He was sweating profusely. “Please.”

He reached up and combed his finger">Avery ugh his hair. In the process his shirt pulled away from his hands and Avery saw the one thing she’d been hoping she wouldn’t. A scratch. Thin and red rimmed with blood that was already crusting a little bit black.

“I see it!” Jenny screeched as she backed away, tripping over the chairs in her way and staggering against the soundproofed wall. “I see the cut! You were cut! That doctor said you can turn into one of those things from a cut.”

“No,” Sven said, shaking his head hard. “No, this is from before. I cut myself at home. This isn’t from tonight.”

“No way,” Kyle said, “That’s fresh.”

“Yeah,” Reece agreed, stepping forward with menace. “You asshole, you should have told us.”

Once more, Avery gathered up her “I’m the leader of this group” strength and inserted herself between the men. “Okay, okay. Let’s all calm down. Sven just got cut, but eventually he would have told us.” She gave the shaking, sweating man a meaningful look. “Wouldn’t you?”

He hesitated for long enough that everyone knew he wouldn’t have, but then nodded. “Yeah. I would have told you. I was just freaking out.”

“We have to kill it!” Reece snapped as he grabbed for one of the rolling chairs in front of the control equipment and raised it over his head. “That doctor said one scratch and it’s over!”

Avery raised up her hands and kept Reece from swinging down at Sven’s trembling form. “He also said top men are working on a cure! We’re not killing anything.” She glanced at Sven. God damn but he was sweaty. “Not yet. Let’s just try to figure out what to do.”

“I worked on a zombie movie last year,” Jenny sobbed. “You can’t cure it! You have to kill anyone infected or they’ll turn on you.”

Avery rolled her eyes. “If we go by Hollywood rules, then Denise Richards is a rocket scientist and some guy who is five foot two is a supersecret agent. Let’s get real here.”

“Yeah.” Sven said. “The stuff she just said. Let’s not get all killy.”

“Look at the screen behind you,” Reece said, motioning to the carnage that was playing out both on the internal screens and the ones from the outside world. “Do you want to take a chance that Sven will end up like Blake and we’ll end up like the panel of superstars who are now bleeding all over the floor or busily trying to eat anyone who’s still alive?”

Avery hesitated. “No, of course not. But you’re talking about beating someone to death with an office chair. I mean, that’s just crazy talk.”

Reece’s eyes went seriously wide and he motioned to the monitors that showed the zombies out on the set. “Really? Crazy talk, Avery? Are you seeing this? Are you seeing two Emmy winners eat the scant remains of our gaffer?”

Avery blinked as she looked at just that. She couldn’t help but wince. “Poor Ricky,” she whispered.

“Poor all of us,” Kyle choked, turning his face as he turned a strange shade of greenish gray himself.

“We’ll all end up like that if we don’t do something about Sven now,” Reece said.

“Either we have to kill him or we have to let him out into the hallway with his zombie friends,” Jenny said, staring at the graphics guy with nothingness in her eyes.

Avery rubbed her face. “Jenny, you liked Sven at some point, right? Didn’t you tell me you thought he was cute?”

Jenny’s face turned toward her swiftly and hot red filled her cheeks. “Y-yes.”

Sven stared. “Really?”

Jenny nodded. “Yeah, but that was before you were going to want to eat my brains. That’s not cute.”

“Well, shit,” Sven muttered. “That sucks even more.”

“Why don’t we tie him up?” Kyle asked.

Everyone turned to look at him, including Avery, and she grinned. Trust the best assistant ever to come up with a good idea. Now she just had to flesh it out (and take credit for it later. What? It’s Hollywood.)

“Yes!” she burst out. “That would be perfect. We can protect ourselves just in case Sven does turn into…whatever. But we can save him for when the CDC gets here and they can give him a cure or something.” She looked around the group. “Is that okay with everyone?”

After a moment’s consideration, everyone except for Sven nodded. He folded his arms with a grunt. “It’s not okay with me!”

She glared at him. “Tied up or someone bludgeons you with a chair. Which one?”

He sighed. “Um, tied up please.”

“Good.” She looked around. “Okay, you sit in my control chair, it’s the most comfortable. Kyle, will you get some of those coaxial cables? They’re really strong and honestly, we don’t need to hear the zombies eating the people outside, right?”

Kyle was already moving before anyone could answer. Sven took his place and gripped his hands around each arm rest. He looked up at her. “Actually, this is pretty comfortable.”

“Yeah, being director has its perks.”

Avery watched as Kyle yanked cords from the audio equipment and dragged it over to the chair. Without speaking he and Reece started tying Sven’s wrists to the arms of the chair. Once his hands were secure, Reece wrapped a cord around him three or four times and then tightened a knot at his back.

“Okay?” Avery asked. “Comfortable?”

Sven’s eyes went wide. “Really, Avery?”

She shrugged. “Sorry. How do you feel?”

“Like I’m tied to a chair.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. “Let’s just let it go, okay?”

Avery sighed and motioned everyone away. “Okay, let’s leave him alone and see if we can figure out anything else we can do.”

With reluctance, the group moved toward the door.

“Could we listen and see if those things are out there?” Jenny asked.

Reece’s brow wrinkled. “Soundproofing, remember. We can’t hear them out there any more than they can ombies s in here.”

“Then maybe they forgot about us,” Jenny said and Avery saw the desperation in her eyes. She was close to cracking, not that Avery could blame her. She was due for a hysterical cry herself, she was just saving it for later.

“I’m not going to open the door to find out,” Kyle said. “Look, Avery is right. All we can do is just wait this out.”

He looked like he was going to say more, but before he could Sven let out a low, moaning cry. Everyone pivoted to stare at their…well, Avery guessed the cops would call him a hostage if they saw him right now. Sven was still in the chair, but he was twisting painfully, his eyes squeezed shut as he shuddered uncontrollably.

“Does he have seizures?” Avery cried as she moved toward him. Kyle reached out and caught her wrist, dragging her back sharply and sending a twinge of pain through her arm.

“He’s…he’s changing,” he whispered.

She shut up, stopped moving, and watched. Of course her friend was right. When Sven opened his eyes, they were rimmed red and empty except for an increasing blood lust. He strained against the cables holding him to the chair and grunted and groaned.

“Oh shit,” Reece said as he staggered away, all his earlier “kill the beast” bravado gone in the face of very real terror.

“Don’t panic, he’s tied to the chair,” Avery said, even as she backed closer to Kyle. “So he’s not going anywhere, right? I mean, he can’t break through those things, can he?”

“Don’t they get strong?” Jenny sobbed. “Didn’t someone say they get strong?”

“Shit, I don’t know.” Avery moved forward, keeping her eyes on Sven. “I’ve got the CDC fact sheet on my table.”

She winced as she crept closer to Sven. He hissed and black sludge sprayed from his mouth into a pool on the floor.

“Oh, ew!” Avery squealed and half-sprinted around their zombie friend to the table behind him. She snatched up the fact sheet that her researchers had compiled for the broadcast and then scurried back to the door and the others.

She scanned the sheet as best she could while still keeping an eye on the thrashing monster tied to the chair.

“Um, bitten or scratched…” she murmured out loud. “…violent tendencies…red eyes…”

“Yes, yes, we see all that!” Jenny said with impatience. “What about strength?”

Avery scanned further. “The infected victim may exhibit signs of increased…” she was about to finish her sentence when Sven let out a roar and thrust his arms forward. The coaxial cords burst and the violent movement flipped the rolling chair backwards. “…strength.”

“Shit!” Kyle yelped and moved for the door where Reece was already clawing to get out.

Sven burst to his feet with another growl and then walked toward them, flat-footed and slow just like the movies. Huh, maybe Jenny was on to something with her comparison after all.

Reece finally got the door open, but Avery screamed because there was no way out. The stupid zombies outsidewere still there, just waiting in a disorganized mob. As soon as the door opened, they roared in unison and started forward.

“Close it!” Avery screamed.

Kyle hit the door with all his weight and got it slammed shut but not before a few of the zombies got their hands into the space. The door shut and fingertips rained down on the black carpet. With a gurgle, Jenny turned and puked in the corner.

“Oh great,” Avery moaned. “Puke, blood, some kind of…sludge or whatever. And Sven is lumbering toward you!”

She grabbed for one of the chairs and swung it up above her head and then flung it toward the zombie as hard as she could. It hit his shoulder (which Avery was particularly proud of since any kind of throwing-related sports had never quite been her forte in school) and he groaned halfheartedly as he staggered head over heels to the floor in front of Kyle and Reece.

Reece let out a primal sort of man-scream and then soccer kicked Sven right in the temple. The freshly minted zombie grumbled as part of his skull collapsed, but that didn’t seem to be enough for Reece. He swung back to kick again, but there was clearly some I want to live function (or maybe it was just, I want to remain undead, thanks) in what was left of Sven’s mangled, fevered brain because he caught Reece’s foot just before it connected and pulled it none-too-gently into his mouth.

As Sven’s teeth crunched into Reece’s shoe, Reece let out a roar. Avery was kind of hoping it was a sound of surprise or fear, but almost immediately, blood began to leak around Sven’s lips, dripping from the fresh wound in Reece’s foot.

“Zombies!” Jenny squealed. “They’re all zombies! We’re all going to be zombies!!”

She rushed forward and Avery stared despite herself. What was Jenny doing grabbing for the heavy cord that fed power to the main switchboard in the control room? There didn’t seem to be any purpose to…

Without warning Jenny pulled her keys from her pocket, flipped open a tiny pocket knife on her key ring and cut the heavy wire. The shock of electricity immediately arced through her body, making her back arch and her teeth smash together as her long dark ponytail stood straight up on her head.

“Damn!” Kyle breathed and even Sven the zombie and Reece the soon-to-be zombie stared in disbelief at the human firework that was once Jenny. Katy Perry would have been proud. That was until the power surge triggered an outage and Jenny collapsed forward, slumping over the now-dark control panel with a few last twitches.

Immediately, Sven, who had been mesmerized by the light show, returned his attention to Reece, digging his fingers deeper into Reece’s leg and biting his ankle. Reece bellowed out pain and terror a second time and then kicked Sven in the head with his free leg, bashing against the part of his skull that was already collapsed until Sven let out a whimper and his head dropped down in a pool of gooey brains, blood, and leaky black sludge.

For a moment, just a brief moment, the room was silent except for the panting breaths of those still alive and the occasional snap of whatever residual electricity was left in Jenny’s cord. Then Reece slowly sunk down to the floor next to the corpse that had once been Sven. He wrapped his arms around his knees, put his head down against them, and started sobbing.

eight="0em" width="1em">The sad wail woke Kyle from his fog first and he crouched down next to Reece and put an arm around him. “It’s okay,” he soothed quietly.

“No, it’s not,” Reece whimpered. “I just got bitten. I’m done. I’m cooked. I’m a zombie, my body just hasn’t figured it out yet.”

Kyle opened his mouth to say something, but quickly shut it again as he shot Avery a look. There wasn’t any answer to that claim…Reece was right, after all.

Avery rubbed her eyes and sucked in a long breath through her nose. Then she sniffed again. There was an acrid, smoky scent in the air that hadn’t been there before. She turned toward Jenny, flinched at the dead body, and then cursed. Flames had begun to flicker where the final sparks on her cord had caused the cheap carpeting in the control room to catch fire.

“Fire!” Avery yelled as she sprinted over to the small flames. “Get the extinguisher.”

Kyle turned and then stopped. “It’s in the hallway.”

Avery started stomping on the flames, but they didn’t lessen. She grabbed for what was left of her coffee and dumped it on the fire, but the few drops left of a cold cappuccino wasn’t much good for electrical fires, apparently because the sparks kept flying as the fire ate away at the carpet.

“Okay, so the fire isn’t going out, no one but me is allowed to have a drink in the control room, and we have a potential zombie on our hands,” Avery said as she kept trying to stomp on the rapidly building fire. “I think we’re going to have to run.”

Kyle spun on her. “What?”

“We can’t stay here!” she insisted, waving at the growing fire. “Not stay and live, at least.”

Kyle moved toward her, waving his hand in front of him to fight the smoke that was starting to fill the air. “You think we have a better chance out there?”

Avery thought about it for a moment and then shrugged. “Yeah. Come on, Reece, get up and let’s look for stuff we can use as a weapon.”

Reece looked up at her. “No point. My life is over.”

Avery rolled her eyes, even though she knew he was right. “Come on, no moping! We have to try. The National Guard is probably out there waiting for you with a cure!”

Reece glared at her. “Really, Avery? You think that doctor was lying on the broadcast tonight, that they really have a cure just waiting to be given to a graphics coordinator at NCB? Nope, I don’t think so. You guys go. I’ll just die of smoke inhalation.” He sighed. “My life was shit anyway. My wife was leaving me and I was like ten thousand dollars in credit card debt.”

“Sharon was leaving you?” Kyle said with a sympathetic head tilt even Blake would have been proud of (right before he ate Kyle’s head). “I’m sorry, dude, I had no idea.”

Avery’s eyes went wide. “Um, guys! Fire! Zombies! Need to find weapons!”

Kyle shook his head. “Yeah, sorry. Okay, weapons.”

They both looked around the room. It was pretty weapon-free. Just chairs and dead monitors. No guns or shovels or anything else you’d find in you typical zombie movie.

“We’re screwed,” Avery said.

Slowly Reece got to his feet. “Not if I go out first and distract them.”

Avery stared at him. “What?”

He didn’t answer, just turned to the door, unlocked the bolt, and ran out into the hallway. Avery and Kyle both raced out behind him. The zombies were still milling outside and they didn’t seem to notice or care about Reece. Avery shut her eyes as she realized what that meant. He wasn’t food anymore, he was friend.

Reece seemed to realize it, too, but he kept moving forward, pushing the zombies, guiding them backward like some kind of zombie Peter Piper and giving Avery and Kyle more and more space for their own exit.

“Now!” Kyle whispered and grabbed for Avery’s hand to drag her into the hall.

He hauled her away from the studio where Reece was pushing the once-famous zombies back onto set.

“I wonder if people are still calling in?” Avery muttered to herself.

Kyle shot her a look. “Focus, girl. No losing your mind yet. Not until you’re on your own time.”

They scurried along the wall at a brisk pace until Kyle finally drew up short. Avery stared at him. “What? Why are we stopping?”

He smiled and pointed to the heavy, industrial fire extinguisher that was hanging on the wall in a glass container. “Weapon.”

He turned his elbow and smashed the glass. At the same moment, the zombies Reece had been herding let out a collective moan. Avery turned back. They were shambling forward again, Reece at the forefront (and no longer in control of himself thanks to the virus). Shambling toward Kyle and her.

“Shit!” she squealed as Kyle reached into the opening he’d created and grabbed for the fire extinguisher. “Go!”

They ran through the hallways, twisting and turning toward the staircase that would lead to the lobby of the building and, hopefully, freedom, though Avery wasn’t really banking on safety. After all, someone had turned Blake before their broadcast and that someone probably hadn’t stopped with him. And considering all the bodies that were lying mangled in the hallway (all of them of people Avery knew, had worked with for years, and some she’d even liked), every step seemed to scream out “end of the world.”

They reached the stairwell and Kyle hit the door with all his might and held it open. Avery rushed past him, catching a brief glimpse of the mob of zombies that were now just feet behind them. Kyle slammed the door shut as they started down the staircase.

“Were they running?” he panted. “I thought they didn’t run.”

“In Romero movies they don’t run, but other movies they do,” Avery reminded him as they all but squealed around the next corner. Above them, Avery heard the door open and suddenly a body flew down the opening in the middle of the stairwell, growling and clawing at them as it flew by.

Avery screamed and looked up. The other zombies hadn’t followed suit and were now crowding at the stairs, tumbling down the first flight, and then dragging themselves up and fallig down the second.

“Shit, they’re going to catch us,” Avery said and shoved at Kyle. “Hurry!”

With the sound of zombies piling up behind them, they ran down the remaining two flights of stairs and burst out into the lobby. Avery stopped short as she looked around. There had been a bloodbath here. It was streaked across the marble floor, mixed with pools of thick, black sludge. The guard station, which was normally manned by two big, burly men (Hank and Frank, though Avery never remembered which was which), was now empty.

Behind her, the zombies moaned again and Avery ran forward to press the button that opened the security-locked front door. She looked around frantically, but before she could find it on the complicated switchboard, Kyle yelled.

She looked up and the zombies in the stairwell had made it into the lobby. Most had broken limbs from their descent, but that didn’t seem to stop them, or even slow them down. Kyle swung his fire extinguisher wildly, smashing a few heads as he backed away from the reaching mob of dirty fingers and clawing nails.

Avery couldn’t find the button to open the front doors, but she did see something that both excited and disturbed her. Though the security guards didn’t normally have them out, they had shotguns stored nearby, just in case a crazy stalker managed to get onto the studio lot.

And one of them was sitting on the desk, covered in blood.

Avery swept it up and a box of shells that was next to the equally bloody phone and popped a couple of shells into the chamber. She fired off the first shot and dropped the zombie closest to Kyle. Her friend swiveled his head to stare at her with wide eyes. When he saw the shotgun, he grinned. Then he turned his attention back to the zombies. Now that he had some space, he stopped swinging the heavy metal extinguisher and instead started firing it.

Liquid nitrogen sprayed from the nozzle and hit the closest couple of zombies moving toward Kyle. They sort of screech-squealed like injured puppies and arched back from the ultracold chemical spray. Avery took the opportunity to fire on them with the shotgun as they were distracted by the extinguisher.

She moved around the desk toward the stairwell exit, shooting the zombies as they shambled out in chaotic little pods of two or three. She stepped over her kills until she reached the door and fired into the gathered group at the bottom of the stairs. Once there was a bit of space, she slammed the exit door.

“Kyle, get something to block this!” she cried as she leaned back against the door with all her weight. She could feel the zombies pushing from the other side, though they hadn’t figured out the handle mechanism yet. Eventually, though, one of them would hit it just right and they would be screwed.

With the zombies in the lobby dead, Kyle set his extinguisher down and ran over to one of the very modern, chichi black leather couches in the lobby. He dragged it across the marble with a screech and shoved it against the door until it was blocked.

For a moment, the lobby was quiet except for the dull moans and thumps coming from the zombies trapped in the stairwell behind the couch. Avery stared at Kyle.

“You okay?”

“Having a small cardiac issue,” he panted. “But okay. Not bitten or scrched. You?”

“Good.” She lifted the shotgun. “Happy to have found this.”

He nodded. “Yeah. I’m not even sure I’d know how to load it.”

“Please,” Avery laughed. “I grew up in Idaho. Stick with me, kid.”

Kyle grinned, but the smile fell as he looked over his shoulder at the door. It was rattling as the zombies slammed against it. “That’s not going to hold for long.”

Avery nodded. “Yeah. So I guess we have no choice but to go out…there.”

They both looked out the long bank of glass doors and windows that faced out into the street. Already smoke curled down the avenue and there was blood on the sidewalk. Clearly, the infection hadn’t hit just their studio. It was full-on in L.A.

“I guess not.” Kyle sighed as he snatched up the fire extinguisher and moved to the desk where he easily found the door button Avery hadn’t been able to see. “Lead the way, boss lady.”

“God, I hate this town,” Avery muttered, and then she cocked the shotgun and moved out into the streets.

Meet the Author

A Facebook application once told Jesse Petersen that she’d only survive a day in a zombie outbreak, but she doesn't believe that. For one, she’s a good shot, and two, she has an aversion to bodily fluids, so she’d never go digging around in zombie goo. Until the zombie apocalypse, she lives in the Midwest with her husband and two cats. Find out more about the author at www.jessepetersen.net.

Author Jesse Petersen. Photo by Imaginate Photography.

Also by Jesse Petersen

LIVING WITH THE DEAD

Married with Zombies

Flip this Zombie

Eat Slay Love

If you enjoyed SHAMBLING WITH THE STARS,
look out for

MARRIED WITH ZOMBIES

Book 1 of the Living with the Dead series
by Jesse Petersen

Chapter 1

The Couple Who Slays Together…

David and I became warriors in the zombie plague on the first day, but don’t think that means we were front linoldiers or something. In truth we stumbled into the zombie battle because it was a means for pure, physical survival.

But I never would have guessed that unlike therapy, unlike the self-help books that littered our apartment at the time, killing zombies would save my relationship.

But let me back up. It all started on August 10, 2010. Wednesday was couples therapy day. It had been for six months, although I was beginning to think that all this talking and sharing and role-playing that our therapist Dr. Kelly preached was nothing but a bunch of bullshit.

Despite her advice, despite all our visits to her office, David and I were on the brink. I had even researched divorce lawyers in our area on the Internet. The thing was, when I put “divorce lawyer” into the search engine on our shared computer… well, let’s just say that I didn’t have to type the whole phrase before it popped up in the system memory as something that had been searched for before.

So by the time we were driving down I-5 South into the heart of downtown Seattle toward Dr. Erica Kelly’s tidy, sterile little office, I was just going through the motions of therapy and making a mental list of all the things I didn’t like anymore about my husband.

The item I added to my list on August 10th was the CDs. You see, we share the car and the deal we’d struck was that since six CDs can fit into the changer, I could pick three and he could pick three. But as I cycled through the changer, keeping one eye on the road ahead of me, I realized that every CD was his.

Every. Fucking. CD.

That probably seems like a little thing, and in retrospect it was. But I guess that just goes to show you how far off the track we’d gotten.

I switched the stereo off with a flick of my wrist and glared at David from the corner of my eye. As usual, he was so wrapped up in one of those handheld games he loved that he didn’t even notice my annoyance. Or maybe he was so used to it, he didn’t care anymore. Either way, it sucked.

“Traffic seems pretty light,” he said without looking up.

I glided onto the off-ramp and looked around. As much as I hated to admit it at that point, he was right. We’d lived in Seattle since our marriage five years ago and traffic was one of the main things that drove me nuts about the city. At any time of day or night there seemed to be thousands of cars crowding the highways. Sometimes I wondered where the hell they all came from.

But today, at four-thirty in the afternoon, when there should have been bumper-to-bumper cars and trucks honking their horns and blocking the street, instead there were no more than a handful of vehicles around.

I shrugged as I stopped at the red at the bottom of the ramp and checked to my left before I started to roll out into the intersection to make a right. Just as I touched the gas, an ambulance screamed by. I slammed on the brake with a gasp and barely avoided getting t-boned, first by the veering ambulance and then by the five police cars that raced behind it.

“Shit, Sarah,” David barked, bracing himself on the dash of the car as he glared at me. His seatbelt strained against his shoulder. “Watch yourself.”

“You know, if you’re going to drive, maybe you should sit in my seat,” I snapped, though I couldn’t really blame him for being freaked out. I don’t think I’d ever come so close to having a major accident and my heart was pounding. Without saying another word, I waited for the green before I double-checked for cars and made my turn.

Within a few blocks we pulled into the parking garage at the downtown office building we had been going to once a week since February. I sighed as I slid up to the guard box to check in and get our parking pass. But as I came to a stop, I realized that Mack, the usual security guy who greeted us every week, wasn’t at his station.

You may think it’s weird that I remembered his name, but I have a reason. You see, every time he checked us in, he asked who we were seeing, and when we said Dr. Kelly he gave us the look. The pity look. It stands out in your mind when a perfect stranger is giving you a “your relationship is doomed, how sad” face once a week.

When there wasn’t the usual banter with the security guard, David looked up. “Not there, huh? Weird.”

I glanced at him quickly then back to the empty box. “He must be around here somewhere. His TV is on, I can see the light of it flickering below the window line.”

“Maybe he just went to take a leak or something,” David said with a shrug. “Look, let’s just park. We’ll only be here a bit over an hour. If we have a ticket on the car when we come out, we’ll go talk to him about it. He’ll remember us. I’m sure we can work it out.”

I stared again at the empty booth and gave a shiver. It just seemed so weird that after twenty-four visits with the same routine, today was suddenly different.

“You’re right,” I said as I put the car in gear and inched into the garage.

David let out a snort as he pocketed his game system in his hoodie and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Wow, I hardly ever hear that.”

I swung the car into a space close to the elevator bank and slammed on the brake, purposefully making David catch himself on the dash a second time.

“Nice,” he muttered with a glare in my direction as he got out.

So what I did wasn’t subtle, but I couldn’t help but smile as I followed him across the quiet parking complex to the elevator. It took a minute for the elevator to come and since we apparently had nothing to say to each other, we just stood there with the sounds of the streets outside the garage echoing around us as the only accompaniment to our dysfunction.

There were cars honking, sirens wailing, even the drone of a helicopter as it swooped in low overhead. I hardly noticed any of them. Now I kinda wish I had, though I don’t know if I ever could have put two and two together at that moment. At that moment, it was just city noise, only magnified to the nth degree.

Once the elevator finally came, we rode up in silence, not even standing close to each other until the car dinged and came to a stop at the fourteenth floor of the complex. This ritual was so commonplace to us by now that neither of us needed to even look where we were going to find Dr. Kelly’s office.

DR. ERICA KELLY, MS PSYCHOTHERAPY, MARRIAGE AND FAMILY COUNSELING.

I hated how the little letters etched on her door were so even. I can’t even draw a straight line. The letterswere a damned judgment.

The office was quiet as we stepped inside. Dr. Kelly had once rambled on and on about creating a calming “Zen” environment. I had only just kept myself from asking her if she wanted “Zen,” why did she pipe in muzak versions of Nirvana songs that made my music-loving heart stop and my stomach turn every time? Today, though, the muzak wasn’t a good band. I think it was Miley Cyrus, which was probably worse.

I turned toward the sliding glass area where Dr. Kelly’s receptionist, Candy, generally sat. But, just like in the garage, the enclosed area was empty, though her little rolling chair had a pink sweater draped across the back of it and a half-drunk bottle of Diet Coke sat on the table top.

“Hey, Candy?” I called into the back office area as Dave flopped into a cushioned chair. “You here?”

There was no answer, so I signed the sheet that sat on the counter. It had a smiley face in the corner and Dr. Kelly’s name and credentials in pretty lettering across the top. I wondered if they’d notice if I drew devil’s horns on smiley? If Candy did, I guessed I’d have to explain myself to Dr. Kelly. I wasn’t really in the mood to discuss which of my feelings had inspired me to be so naughty, so I fought the urge and set the pen down.

With a sigh, I took a place next to Dave. The couch was uncomfortable.

“What is up with everyone today?” I asked as I grabbed for a Cosmo magazine with the article title, “Please Your Man — In Bed and Out!” emblazoned across it. I didn’t flip to it, but went straight for the horoscopes in the back.

“Just chill, Sarah,” Dave said as he pulled his game out of his pocket. It lit up as he opened the case. “I’m sure she’ll be back in a second.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said as I looked at the empty vestibule a second time.

“So were the Wonderful Wilsons signed in?” Dave asked in a sing-song voice.

I let out an involuntary groan. The Wilsons. They were the couple who had the appointment right before ours. God knew why, seriously. They totally held hands on the way out, making little coo noises at each other. It was borderline disgusting.

Once I’d asked Dr. Kelly why the fuck they came to therapy and she had tilted her head in that “how-do-you-feel-about-it-Sarah” fashion that made her perfect blond hair swing prettily around her heart-shaped face. Her smile was so calm it kind of made me want to punch her. Hard. Twice.

Then she said, “They come here for maintenance. Don’t worry, Sarah, we’ll get you and David there.”

Maintenance. Like we were a car. Oh yeah, except that since I was spending a hundred and fifty dollars a week on a therapist, I couldn’t afford the maintenance for my car and now it made this weird clunk sound whenever I turned left.

I glared at the clock. It was almost five now and Candy still wasn’t at her desk.

“Do you think Candy Cane quit?” I asked in a hushed tone.

Dave laughed without looking up. I mean, really, who named their kid Candy and didn’t expect people to crack that joke? I think it was her whole name, too, not short for Candace or anythingheronable like that.

“Okay, it’s after five,” I said as I watched the minute hand slip past the twelve.

“One minute.” He looked up briefly. “Maybe the Wonderful Wilsons actually had a problem to discuss today. Do you really want to derail their perfect existence?”

“Their problem is that stick up their asses,” I said as I tossed the magazine aside and got to my feet. “And now it’s two minutes, Dave. Didn’t Dr. Kelly lecture us about punctuality and how it equates to respect?”

“God, you are obsessive,” he said as he snapped the game system shut and pocketed it. “Do you want to barge in there and demand two minutes’ worth of cash from the woman?”

I stared at him, looking up at me from his slouched position on the couch. Sometimes I caught myself and remembered why I had liked him when I met him. Even now he looked… bad. You know, in a good way. Just a little tousled, just a little imperfect. Sort of sexy.

But then he glared at me and the moment passed, so I went back to cataloguing his faults, instead. Unsupportive, I added to myself.

“Yes. I do. I’m paying for this shit —” I ignored his flinching reaction to that. “— so I want my full benefit of it,” I said as I pulled the door to the back room open and moved down the hall to the suite where we always met with Dr. Kelly. “Two minutes of money at a hundred fifty an hour can buy me —”

“A bottle of water and pretty much nothing else,” Dave snapped as he followed me. “Come on, Sarah. There’s no reason to be such a bitch.”

“I can’t believe you just called me a bitch!” I said, staring at him over my shoulder as I yanked the door open. “Dr. Kelly, do you approve of my husband calling me a —”

I turned toward the open office and stopped talking. There was our therapist of six months, wearing one of her impeccable black pantsuits with the usual silk shell underneath. This one was a bright blue that matched the pretty necklace dangling around her neck. And she was with the Wonderful Wilsons, just as we had suspected.

Only instead of sitting behind her desk with her notebook, looking over the rims of glasses I was sure were fake as she counseled the couple, Dr. Kelly was kneeling on the floor, her suit covered in blood. Mrs. Wilson, I think her first name was Wendie (with an “ie”), was sprawled out beside her with her throat still leaking blood from a huge bite on her neck. Her eyes were cloudy and blank.

As for Mr. Wilson… maybe it was Mark, I couldn’t really remember.… Well, Dr. Kelly was paying special attention to him. She had his limp hand in hers as she leaned over him… eating great hunks of flesh from his shoulder.

About Orbit Short Fiction

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Copyright © 2011 by Jesse Petersen

Excerpt from Married with Zombies copyright © 2010 by Jesse Petersen

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

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First eBook edition: June 2011

ISBN: 978-0-316-19832-5

Table of Contents

Begin Reading

Meet the Author

Bonus Material

About Orbit Short Fiction