“It’s ze-cedure, though,” Dillalia said. Her tone was questioning. She was looking for confirmation, instruction. “It’s right in the handbook to be on the defensive when you’re in the wild.”
Carl snorted and slid heavily into the passenger seat. “The wild, huh? That what you kids are calling it these days, Dill?” He shook his head. “That meant something entirely different when I was your age.”
“Right, I know. Jungles and stuff.”
Carl snorted again. “Well, kind of. Not really, though.” He shot her a look. “And please don’t call it ‘ze-cedure’ again. Just call it ‘procedure’–call it what it is. Believe me, all the ‘ze’ this and ‘ze’ that is not going to catch on if it hasn’t yet.”
“But the handbook–”
“The handbook is ninety-nine percent crap once you’re in the field,” Carl said. “File it away for the information regarding health care and whatever, but I’ll tell you one thing right now that will help us get along–don’t contradict me with handbook bullshit. Okay?”
Dill nodded, her face untroubled but intent, and Carl wondered what his reputation at ZI had become. Of course, everyone in Field Assessment was considered a little bit of a loose cannon. Assessment was the front line, the ones who left the safety of the ZI compound to do the dirty work. Assessment decided next steps, further measures and compensation. It took a lot of training, a lot of practice. There had been two trainees before Dill that hadn’t made it. One dead, one quit, and they both went against Carl’s record. It wasn’t bad over the course of a career to lose one or two, even four or five depending on how long you were training and the adversity of your territory, but to lose two in a row had been bad luck.
There was every possibility that Dill, herself, was Assessment, too–Employee Assessment–the most hated and feared group in ZI.
“Scan for the Wranglers,” Carl said. Time to get down to business. “We’ve got a menzie stuck head first in a sewer grate.”
“Collared or…?”
“Yep, pretty sure. Not popped from what I can tell. One Wrangler truck is enough.”
Dill flipped down the visor and touched the corner of her eye. A laser bloomed from the small scanner tucked next to her eyelid, and she trained it on the code under WRAN. A blip came from the vicinity of her ear, and she touched her earlobe lightly with two fingertips. “This is FA 12382, and we are requesting one Wrangler truck. Location broadcast.”
“Okay, Field Assessment, Wrangler truck on the way.” The automated voice was good, very close to human, but there was always a hitch when it switched. “Is this containment?”
Dill glanced at Carl and without looking up from his clipboard, shook his head. “It’s already contained itself,” he said, muttering distractedly. “There’s nothing to panic over.”
“No,” Dill answered the voice and removed her finger from her earlobe, ending the call. “What’s next? Do we go wait out near the one in the gutter?”
“Christ, no,” Carl said. “We wait until the Wranglers–” Carl shuddered, “–get here.”
“Are they really that bad?”
Carl raised his eyebrows at her. “You haven’t seen the Wranglers yet? No? Well, they’re just, you know, different. Not as bad as the Cleaners, but you wouldn’t want to hang out with Wranglers on a regular basis.”
“I’ve heard that about them.”
Zombie Inc. is available from Amazon here!
Or find more great zombie books at www.severedpress.com
