Darkest Days: A Southern Zombie Tale by James J. Layton Page B

stadium.”
    “Anything emotionally?” Bryant raised an eyebrow.
    “Sure, I’m nice. I won’t call her a trick ass bitch or anything like that.”
    “I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.” Bryant then returned to his post leaving Robert to the grill.
    ***
     
    Doctor Wagner walked into the hospital cafeteria and scanned the faces. Anxious family members and exhausted members of the staff sat at scattered tables with plastic trays loaded down with food placed in front of them. Most of the nurses ate quickly but few of the visitors touched anything on their plates. One beaming face caught his attention and she beckoned him over. It was an attractive, voluptuous woman (some would say full-figured). He nodded in acknowledgment and headed to an empty seat across from her.
    She stood and shook his hand as he leaned over the table to reach her more easily. They both sat down and she immediately reached into her purse and pulled out a small legal pad and a pocket tape recorder.
    Eric raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “I didn’t think this interview would be so formal.” The look that she returned forced him to look away in embarrassment.
    In a voice that he recognized from a brief phone conversation the previous day, she explained. “We may be a small town paper, but the Times Record takes reporting very seriously.” She recited the line with much indignation and a little monotony hinting that she regularly combated the lack of respect associated with Podunk periodicals.
    She clicked the record button, waited two seconds, and spoke. “This is Martina Cook speaking with doctor Eric Wagner. First question: How long have you been an M.D.?”
    Eric snapped out of his daze and shifted his eyes away from her plump breasts. “Six years.”
    “Where did you graduate?”
    “University of North Carolina.” He responded without pause.
    “Is that where you are from?” She curiously asked.
    “No, I moved there for educational purposes.” He tried to keep his answers short.
    “Where are you from?”
    “All over. I’ve moved quite a bit.” He tried to disarm her with a smile.
    “Where do you call ‘home’?” She tried an alternate approach.
    “Fayette.” He wanted to laugh at his own brilliant sidestep.
    “Where does your family reside?” She approached again, trying to keep her cool.
    “No living relatives.” He answered with finality.
    “If you don’t want to take the interview seriously, why did you agree to do it?” She snapped at him.
    “I am taking it seriously.” He retorted, sounding defensive.
    “Then why aren’t you answering my questions?”
    “I have answered them, all of them.” He calmed himself down with slow deep breaths. He was going to have to comply a little or she would become really suspicious. In a repentant tone, he made her an offer dripping with practiced sincerity. “Let’s start over. Ask me from the beginning.”
    Ms. Cook sighed, no longer excited about the interview. “Fine.” She glanced down at her notes and began again. Effortlessly dancing around the answers (giving just enough to satisfy while avoiding certain areas), he finished the conversation without exposing his secret shame.
    ***
     
    The car swiftly covered the road leading home. Not familiar with some of the regional fast food chains, Jean Creed asked, “What the hell is a Jack’s?” No one answered her question. David sullenly kept his eyes on the road, trying not to scream at his wife.
    Finally, the tension reached the high-water mark. “Can I get a home cooked meal, Mrs. Working woman? We have eaten at every place in this town except Jack’s apparently.”
    Jean responded in kind. “I’m sorry to interrupt your patriarchy by expecting the same consideration for the time I put in at work, too.”
    “You’re unemployed!” He shouted.
    “Because you forced me to move to this piece of shit town. I could still have a town house in New York if not for you!”
    Cara sat in the back of the car ignoring