The glass made a dull thud as it hit the wooden counter. The bartender looked down at the mug, then up at the woman, and she responded with a simple nod. The mug was filled, and she immediately began to down it. Emily needed this.
It was another difficult day at work; more jabs and jeers than usual. For the past week, her coworkers at the Daily Sun had been making a joke out of her. She knew how ridiculous it sounded, even before she met with her boss about it. Any other way, she would have left it, like any normal person would have. But this wasn't normal. She was there, she saw one of them. It was too big to leave alone, potentially the biggest story her town had ever seen. If her article got published, it might even get the attention of the big papers in big city, and it would be her big break. But first, she had the struggle of trying to convince everyone it was worth publishing in their newspaper, instead of on an obscure internet forum. At least her boss was nice and heard her out, but word got around the office before the end of the day. They called her Zombie Girl, and pretended to stumble around the office with mocking dead expressions. She felt like her career was crumbling before it had even began. This was her last lead, one other witness. If he even sounded just a little bit sane, not like a crazy conspiracy theorist, then maybe her boss would consider her story for print.
She slammed the glass down and wiped her mouth, letting out a deep sigh. It was already ten minutes past their arranged meeting time, and there was no sight of him. He hadn’t bothered to give her a proper description over the phone, only that she’d know him when she saw him, before hanging up. ‘Real helpful,’ she thought. Interrupting her thoughts, a man plopped down on the barstool beside her, and she didn’t need to be an ace detective to know what was wrong with him. Droopy eyes, mouth hanging half-open, covered with an aura of a reeking smell. This man was as drunk as the day is bright. She looked around her; if anyone stood out here, it was this plastered man. Emily cleared her throat and addressed him.
“Excuse me, sir,” she stopped for a second to cough, clearing her lungs of the putrid smell before continuing. “You’re the man I talked with on the phone earlier about the… you-know-whats?” The man didn’t even acknowledge her until well after she finished her sentence. He gave a low “Whuzzat?” as he finally turned his head, realizing there were more people in the room than just him. His eyes flickered slowly over the sight of Emily, and his expression changed to a toothy grin. “Well… he-llo there, uh… priddylady…” He sniffed his nose and attempted to lean an elbow on the counter, but failed, and he nearly hit his head before very obviously beginning to lose his balance. The last thing Emily wanted to do right then was to touch him, but she reached over to steady him. Just before her hands could grab his shirt, another hand beat her to it.
“Alright, fella, looks like you’re way past your limit. Time limit in here, that is.” Another man yanked him up off the stool and began to lead him to the door. The drunken man started to protest, but was easily persuaded outside. The lights of the bar reflecting on the window made it difficult to see what was happening outside, but she assumed he was calling him a cab. Soon enough, the other man stepped back into the bar and smiled at Emily before making himself comfortable on the barstool beside her. He was a stocky man with light hair, wearing a checkered shirt and overalls and, oddly enough, a pair of what looked like old aviation goggles that sat on his head.
"So," he sighed contently after settling in, "the dead are walking in Tombstone, Arizona, huh?" Emily's eyes grew wide, and she looked warily around as she shushed him. The man dismissed it and continued. "I'm sorry, we haven't been properly introduced. You are…?"
"Emily. I'm Emily Roberts, reporter for the Daily Sun." She straightened up as she stuck out her hand. "And what should I call you?"
The bartender walked up to them, interrupting the meeting. Without him needing to ask, Emily ordered another round.
The server nodded and took her empty mug to replenish its supply. As he did, he looked at the man sitting next to Emily. "And what can I get for you?"
The man thought for a brief moment before settling on an answer. "I'll have a virgin gin and tonic, please, extra lime." The bartender gave him a puzzled look before complying with his order. The drink was set down, and the man took a large gulp of it, letting out a satisfying sigh before saying, "I'm the Inspector. Nice to meet you, Miss Roberts."
Emily scoffed as she looked from him to his drink, then back. "You're an inspector? You don't look like any sort of inspector I've ever seen."
He smiled knowingly. "I'm not what you normally think of when you think 'inspector', but I can assure you, I am one. My field of expertise is just more... unique." He took his stout glass and threw it back, finishing the rest of his drink.
Emily wasn't sure if the drink was starting to affect her, but she slowly nodded. "Okay..." She paused as she collected her thoughts, and pulled out her phone to record the conversation. "So, um... Tell me about how... You said you've seen one of them? Tell me about it."
The Inspector let out a chuckle. “Oh, I haven’t seen any zombies around here, but I’ve been looking for leads, myself, for the past while. Hints have been showing up everywhere, and I feel like I’m really close. Funnily enough, I thought you might be able to help me, since you’ve seen one. Looks like I’m the one interviewing you, I suppose.”
Emily’s mouth fell open. She looked longingly at her drink and started nursing it in her frustration. ‘Crazy conspiracy theorist,’ she concluded. As the reality of the situation began to grip her, she suddenly found herself crying in her beer. The charming smile vanished from the Inspector’s face, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. Before he could say anything, Emily began to release her feelings, telling him about the ridicule she received from her coworkers, how this story was the last straw; how she could lose her job and ruin her chances at becoming a big-time journalist if this story didn’t follow through. “If you can’t help me, Mister Inspector, then I quit. I can’t do this anymore if this is a dead end.”
She sniffled a bit, and the Inspector let her finish before giving her a squeeze on the shoulder. “You know what you are, Emily Roberts?” She simply looked at him with tear-filled, bleary eyes. “You’re not a failure, you’re brave. Any other normal person who saw a zombie during any given day would have let it sit inside, festering and plaguing their dreams at night, making them question if they really saw what they thought they saw.”
Emily nodded. She had been questioning the reality of the situation ever since that day at the graveyard, and while she had had nightmares, she still felt this tugging on the inside to move instead of letting it sit. The Inspector continued.
“You had the guts to present this in front of your peers, even at the risk of your potential future. All that, for a story no one’s ever heard. That has to be the most bold move I’ve ever seen. You’re not crazy, you’re confident.”
Emily laughed at that. “Yeah, sure. At least with this in hand, I am.” She lifted her drink and took a small sip before drying her eyes and smiling. “So, you really think zombies exist, then?”
The Inspector shook his head emphatically. “Of course they don’t. That’s why we need to find out why they do.”
Emily opened her mouth slightly, a question on the tip of her tongue. However, she was interrupted by a noise down the bar. The bartender seemed to be disputing with another man. Just as ragged, droopy, and smelly as the one the Inspector had helped her escape from. The man didn’t seem to be in his right mind at all, and only grunted when spoken to. The bartender finally put his foot down and commanded him to leave, but he just stood there.
As the bartender reached for his phone, presumably to call the police, the man abruptly grabbed him by the shirt and flung him from behind the counter onto the floor in front. Glasses crashed off the counter. The bartender now scrambled for his phone, but was lifted easily with one hand, and the strange man threw him through the front window. People screamed in panic, and the monster turned, now facing Emily. His eyes were bloodshot and droopy, his clothes were dirty and grimy, and he smelled awful, but this was no drunk. He began to stagger hurriedly toward the two of them, and she felt her hand being grabbed.
The Inspector held her hand tight, and said, “I think now would be a good time to run!”
