Zero Worship: Confessions of a Fake Psychic Detective #6

Chapter 11 - Zombie

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How am I supposed to smoke in handcuffs?

It's Zandra's first thought after she's "helped" into the 'cuffs. She's searched, her pockets are emptied, and she's sat at the base of a tree. Her hands, fastened behind her back, scrape against the rough bark. Chad and Bexley are similarly detained by a man covered from head to toe in camo. He's by himself, and a gaiter and sunglasses obscure his face. He's yet to say anything, but his guns do the talking.

Guns. Plural. One long rifle with a scope. Pistols on either hip. Pistol-grip shotgun slung over his back. The ammo alone must weigh a ton. That's not counting everything in the MOLLE—a sort of tactical vest.

No identification, though. No patches. No insignias. No nothing. Beyond the handcuffs, this could be a police officer or anyone else with some guns and a hero complex. God bless America.

"Aren't you supposed to read us our rights?" Bexley says.

The man in camo doesn't respond. He organizes everything he removed from the three into piles. Zandra's nifedipine, poker cards, cigarettes, and lighter go into one pile. Bexley's and Chad's portable drug dens get divided by levels of illegality, presumably.

"Hey, shithead. I want a lawyer," Chad says and kicks dirt at the man.

Again, the man ignores the protest. He finishes sorting the piles next to his rifle, which is leaning against a tree. With that done, he stands and crosses his arms like he's pondering what to do next with his three captives.

Maybe this will get his attention.

"Surprised to see me, Glenn?" Zandra says with a crooked grin.

You'd be forgiven for thinking—in the heat of the moment—that Glenn really is a cop. His commando cosplay could easily pass, except for one thing: no radio. Police officers' lifelines are their radios. Any idiot knows that.

Well, except for these two idiots next to me.

Glenn tugs down the neck gaiter, revealing a sliver of the scar that runs down his face.

"Stand up," Glenn says to Zandra.

Zandra remains seated against the tree.

I can't, idiot.

Glenn yanks Zandra to her feet. He turns her around and around, each rotation getting faster and more panicked. Finally, he pushes Zandra's bruised shoulder down until she's back in the dirt by the tree. Zandra winces.

Glenn takes a step back and raises his hands even with the sides of his head, fingers spread apart. He says to Zandra, "Where's the bullet holes? Where's the blood?"

Zandra wants to say something sarcastic, but she stops.

This is Glenn, after all. I'd be foolish if I passed up an opportunity to fuck around.

Zandra purses her lips in a half smile. "You killed me, child."

"I know I did. I'm...I'm positive. You're dead, at the bottom of the river," Glenn says.

Chad looks confused. He starts to ask a question. Bexley shuts him up.

"I was dead," Zandra says. "And now I'm here."

Glenn doesn't take that well.

"This is some zombie stuff right here. Shit. Holy shit," Glenn says, sounding more manic with every syllable. He slips a pistol out of its hip holster and points it at Chad. "I seen'd these two on the boat before, and I thought it was just a weird thing just now that they were with someone who looked like you, like a coincidence. But no, it's really you."