11 December 2008

Body Spray for Dead Men

The girl at the register was too rapt in her phone, tapping messages to distant friends, to notice me duck out the door with my supplies. I put on my sunglasses and headed down the street.

As I walked, I took stock of the people around. Men and women striding with purpose, children sprinting, a few strollers. All shared one trait: none noticed the zombie in their midst. I was there, but not there. Across the street, I saw another dead man. We nodded in passing.

Taking the stolen body spray from the pocket where I’d stashed it, I misted heavily. I doubted the advertiser’s promises of beautiful women throwing themselves at me, but I needed to keep the flies at bay.

Summer of sophomore year I worked as a lifeguard at an all-inclusive resort in Cozumel. One of the cabana boys, Cisco I think his name was, broke our dance instructor’s heart. She was a voodoo priestess. It didn’t take long in the Yucatan summer for everyone to smell what she’d done.

Until I could get some formaldehyde, the Axe would have to do.

Previously in "I,Zombie".