Being a Zombie isn't as bad the press makes out. The skin care problems and special diet get all the attention; nobody says squat about the laid-back, stress-free part of the gig. It's almost a zen kind of thing, really, if you know what I mean. Life, death, a little chanting. You get to sleep late, hang out with your buddies, and well – nobody really expects a Zombie to put in a full day's work. You punch the clock at dusk – a little terrorizing, a little havoc, infect a few innocents – and then it's kick back with a Corona and some brains and salsa for the rest of the evening.

Easy peasy, ya dig?

I should know. I'm a Zombie. You can call me Frank.

***

We never meant to wind up in Inuvik. Frostbites a bitch when your toes are already falling off. The sign on the bus said Miami but by the time we realized we were lost we'd already eaten the driver, and only Voodoo George knew how to drive. Turned out Voodoo couldn't tell North from South, so there we were, stuck in the frozen tundra.

We pulled in late in the day on a Saturday. By the time we'd unloaded our luggage and eaten a couple passengers grabbing a smoke behind the Greyhound station, we realized wherever we were, it was fucking cold. Some modicum of shelter was in order. Ralph had the fewest open sores – and he still had his nose – so he was first choice to handle renting the room. There was some discussion about whether it would be the Days Inn or the Howard Johnson's, but HoJo's had free HBO so really, it wasn't much of a contest. We pooled our money – we had enough for the room and a pizza, so life was fine. We got sausage and pepperoni on the pizza, and had the delivery guy and cheesy sticks on the side.

Later, around midnight, I went out for a smoke. Eddie was on a health kick and had just quit the week before, so we were in a non-smoking room. I was freezing my nuts off as I lit the cigarette, hunched in the doorway, and it took me a minute or two to realize there was someone else out there with me. For a minute or two I thought he was one of us – he seemed a bit stiff – but then I realized he was just pale, not exsanguinated. He nodded to me; I nodded back.

"Are you with the company?" he asked. He seemed kind of nervous.

"Company?"

He frowned. I knew it was my voice. The living don't think we can talk but really, some of us are just out of practice. We prefer text messaging.

"Cup of tea? Oh, no – no, thank you, kindly." He took off his hat. "Actually, I was just wondering if you were part of the dance troupe. I'm looking for one of the dancers. The Richie Cunningham Boogaloo Dance Troupe?"

See? There are worst things than being a Zombie.

I shook my head.

"Ah. Well." He rubbed his thumb over his eyebrow. "That is a problem. You see, I just met him tonight and the minute our eyes met we knew we were meant for each other, but he had a late show and I had to go on duty so he gave me his room number and I wrote it down on a piece of paper but then I got called to investigate two mysterious deaths at the Greyhound bus station and somewhere along the line I misplaced the piece of paper and now I don't know how–but perhaps I should start at the beginning. My name is Constable Benton Fraser, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I was born here and for reasons that, well, they don't need exploring at this juncture, I've never been more than twenty-five miles outside the Inuvik village limits–"

The door to the room at the end of the hallway opened. A man stepped out. He was – well, fuck, he was gorgeous. I mean, hey – I'm a Zombie. I'm not dead. Okay, well yeah, I'm dead but – he had arms to die for. Stormy blue eyes. Ass like a–

Well. Two out of three wasn't bad.

"Ray!"

"Ben!"

The door closed behind them with a bang. And then another bang. And then another, and another, and another, and another, and another...

I finished my cigarette.

***

What happened next was in all the papers, so I'm sure I don't need to go into much detail. We went to work about 2 a.m., starting at the local bar, and by morning we'd managed to annihilate a good third of the population. We headed back to HoJo's for pancakes with real maple syrup, and some shut eye.

As we were making our way to the room again I saw the door to the room at the end of the hallway open again. The Mountie was charging out the door, pulling up his braces – "Duty calls, Ray!" He tipped his hat as he passed me.

***

We were watching hockey when there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find Gorgeous leaning in the doorway.

"You got any cigarettes?" he asked, without preliminaries. "Every fucking store in this town is closed due to Zombies."

I pulled a pack from my pocket and passed it to him. "I'm Frank," I said.

"Nah, you're not fat at all," he said as he lit up. "Maybe a little chunky around the middle – I could show you some good exercises for you abs." He came further into the room, glancing at the television. "What're you – hey, cool. Who's playing?"

"Hawks and the Leafs," Voodoo George supplied.

"Leafs suck." Gorgeous dropped onto the sofa next to Eddie.

"Leafs rule." Ralph gave him the finger.

Well. Stub.

"Hawks rule."

"Hawks suck."

Voodoo George passed him a beer.

***

THUMP. THUMP. THUMP.

Ben. Ben. Oh, god, Ben.

Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray, Ray...

Fuck me. Fuck me, Ben. Fuck me hard.

Oh, god, Ray. Ray. Ray.

Oh, yeah. Yeah! YEAH!

Joe-Bob sighed. "Fucking humans."

***

We were caught red handed. Literally. Voodoo George had brain up to his elbows and Eddie was picking entrails from between his teeth when the door burst open.

"Gentleman. If you would drop your...forks please."

"Ewww." Gorgeous was peering over the Mountie's shoulder.

"They're Zombies, Ray. Traditionally, an undead person in the Caribbean spiritual belief system of voodoo, but the term is commonly applied to any dead body re-animated by unnatural means."

"No shit." He grabbed his crotch and started singing.

’Cause this is thriller, thriller night
And no one's gonna save you from the beast about strike
You know it's thriller, thriller night
You're fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight.

We looked at each other. Ha. Ha. Like we've never heard that one before.

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, well, you still owe me twenty on the last game," he said to Ralph.

"Ray, gambling is illegal in this part of the Territory–"

"So are you going to arrest them or what?"

"Well, actually Ray, gentlemen, this situation presents me with something of a dilemma. Technically, you are no longer persons, and therefore are not subject to the laws of Canada. By the same token," he did the eyebrow thing, "I really can't allow you to remain and continue murdering the residents of Inuvik. The situation is further complicated by the fact that Ray and I have discovered a deep and abiding love for each other, a level of mental and spiritual compatibility–"

"Don't forget physical, Ben." Gorgeous winked.

The Mountie blushed and cleared his throat. "As I was saying, Ray and I have decided to devote ourselves to each other for the rest of our lives and are anxious to make preparations to leave Inuvik and take up residence in my father's cabin, where we will devote ourselves to living close to the land and each other. Of course, I will have to teach Ray all of the challenging aspects of learning to survive in the wilderness, including shooting a gun, which of course he never had the chance to learn as a dancer, unlike, say, if he'd been a Chicago police officer–"

"Or a punk rocker," Gorgeous pointed out.

"Or a punk rocker," the Mountie agreed. "He took a deep breath. "Killing you is an option, I suppose–"

"Hey, I thought you said they were dead."

"They are dead, Ray."

"Well, if they're already dead, how can you kill them?"

"Perhaps not kill in the traditional sense of the word–"

"What, traditional? Dead is dead. You're either dead or you're not dead."

"Well," Joe-Bob chimed in, "there's  undead, and that's different."

"Precisely. Thank you, sir. Now Ray, perhaps if we could postpone the rest of this discussion to another time when we're not facing down a blood thirsty gang of Zom–"

"We could leave," Voodoo George piped up.

"Yeah, we could leave," Eddie nodded in agreement. He made a vroom-vroom noise, which was tough without both lips. "Gone with the wind, that's us."

The Mountie looked at us. "I...see. Where would you go?" he asked cautiously.

We looked at each other again. Shrugged. "South," I said.

"Seoul?" The Mountie frowned. "I'm afraid that sounds terribly impractical."

Eddie crossed his arms. "You get us a bus. Let us worry about the details."

***

It was a nice bus. Air-conditioned, tinted windows, built in DVD player. On-board potty.

"Now, I have your word as gentle–I have your word that none of you will harm the driver."

We all nodded solemnly. Eddie giggled when he saw Voodoo George cross his fingers behind his back and I had to kick him in the shin.

"Ow." He glared at me.

"Excellent. Well, then gentlemen, I wish you luck." The Mountie held out his hand and we each shook it. Eddie looked embarrassed when his finger came off but the Mountie handed it back to him without a word. Gorgeous gave us a six pack of Molson and some Milk Duds. "Drive carefully," they both said, and waved.

We stashed our luggage in the cargo hold. Voodoo George had two blondes and high school kid in his suitcase. I had at least half of hotel clerk. Enough to get us to the next town.

I snuck a peek at the sign on the bus as I climbed on board.

Sunnydale.

I smiled. Sounded warm.