Servant of the Undead

"You've had enough when I say you've had enough."

"It's fantastic stuff. You're going to get more of it, kid."

Hayden cringed at the word kid. Holding the phone to his ear, he hopped off the curb and leapt over a snow bank, offering his reply as he stomped across the nearly empty street. "This whole zombie thing is going to blow over. The snow will melt, the comic convention will end, and everyone will get back to their life and forget about zombie tribes and life-or-death sex."

"Life-or-death sex. I love it! Write that down, use it for the next headline."

Hayden reached the corner and jumped over another pile of snow. "There doesn't have to be another headline."

"What's your problem, college boy? You too good for zombies?"

Not by a long shot, apparently.

"This is the best angle we've had in months and you know it. Get your ass back over to the library right now, or wherever you dug that stuff up, and write me something about that life-or-death sex. And more pictures. I want more of those."

Images of the previous night slashed through Hayden's mind as Bob continued. "You do this for me, I'll do something for you."

Hayden halted in the middle of the sidewalk. He'd never heard that, or anything close to it, come out of Keeler's mouth. "I'll look into it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'm all the way over in Cambridge," he lied then continued with the truth. "I spent hours talking to that widow you set me up with. I got some useable stuff. Papers that prove she's the long-lost daughter of Punchy McLaughlin."

"All right. Fine. That does sound choice. But I want you back on the zombie sex stuff first thing in the morning. Don't even come in to the office. Just get your ass out of bed then get me something hot. And fresh. You know I want it fresh."

"Yeah. I know." After Bob grunted a goodbye, Hayden ended the call but didn't slide his phone into his pocket.

He started walking again, making a list of things he wanted from Keeler. Money. A better desk. Most of all, he wanted access to the man's connections. Even though he ran a tabloid, Keeler knew people at the Globe and a few at The Times--people who could offer him a better job. A real job. An introduction to a couple of them, that's what he wanted most.

The streets were amazingly clear and the snow had stopped that morning, but the going was still slow and his legs ached from stepping over uneven heaps all day. Once he was on Commonwealth, a block from his apartment, he stopped, leaned on a low wall sheltering some steps and hit Rachelle's number.

She answered on the first ring. Her greeting was the usual, but the tone in her voice made the hair on the back of his neck rise.

"You okay?" he asked. "Something going on?"

"Going on?" She laughed, then added, "What would be going on?"

He scanned the nearby rooftops and checked under the eaves. "You sound...different."

Her laugh lowered, the sound making a shiver roll down his back. "I have you to thank for that."

More images from the night before tumbled through his mind. Some good. Most not. "So everything's okay?"

"Stop with that already. When will you be home?"

"Soon." He watched a van from Cindy's Market drive past, another lie forming as he started to speak. "Hey, I'm expecting a package. You didn't happen to see a delivery person hanging around out front, or anyone looking for me, or knocking on the door, anything like that, did you?"

"No. Hurry up and get home."

Hayden kicked a clump of snow. It rolled a few inches then hit another. There was so much snow. It was everywhere, piled high and stacked in corners. And the wind, constant and biting. There was no escaping. "I am on the way, but I have to write up an interview and do...some other stuff when I get there."

"Other stuff, huh?" She laughed tightly, the sound rolled through him, making his muscles twitch.

Rachelle ignored both his comment and the silence. "Come over to my place as soon as you get home."

"I—"