Chapter 3: Aftermath, Part 1

"I don't suppose you'd sell me the card in your camera for five grand?" Kevin asked as he came up to Pranthi, still carrying the mic stand. Blood spattered his shirt, but he spoke no differently than he ever had.

"These shots are worth twice that," Pranthi said.

"Did you at least get a picture of me dinging that clown?" Kevin dropped the mic stand and turned away to vomit on the grass. Pranthi took pictures of the downed zombie walker so she didn't need to watch.

Kevin wiped his face with his sleeve before noticing the red covering it. He threw up some more before pulling out his cell phone and dialing 911.

***

Most of the crowd had vanished before the police arrived.

"We need the card from your camera, ma'am," the sergeant said to her after she'd given her statement for the third time. Her legs ached, her head ached. Something important nibbled at the back of her mind, but she didn't have the energy to pursue it.

"You have a warrant?" Pranthi clutched at her camera until her fingers ached. "These pictures are my livelihood. You can get a warrant and have a fight on your hands, or you let me copy the pictures and give you the copy."

"How long do you need?" the sergeant asked.

"Leave me alone for two minutes and I'll have them for you." The cop nodded and stood over her while she copied the pictures from her cards onto a USB drive. "Don't be releasing any of these without my permission." Pranthi handed him the drive and took the receipt he gave her.

"That's usually my line." The sergeant handed her a card. "If you need to talk to anyone about this experience these people are good. Free, too."

Pranthi put the card in her camera bag and packed up her gear. She gave him one of her cards.

"The files on the USB are in RAW format," she said. "If your people have trouble accessing them, give me call."

"Thanks," the sergeant said, "but we should be good."

She waved at him and walked a little ways outside the crime scene tape before pulling out her phone.

"Denise," she said when the Journal's photo editor picked up, "I have some pictures you'll want to buy from me."

"I have last year's shots from the Zombie Walk," Denise said, "why should I pay you for more?

"You don't have pictures of a guy going off his head and chewing out the throat of a couple of women."

"Ugh," Denise said, "I need something I can print."

"I have shots you can use," Pranthi said, "or I could call the Sun."

"Zombies are more their style," Denise said. "Matt's supposed to be there, catch a ride with him and we'll talk."

Pranthi found a seat and waited. A big man with a cheap camera on a strap around his neck walked up and sat beside her.

"You're Matt?" Pranthi asked.

"I was on the other side of the park when it went down." He rolled his head a couple of times making cracking sounds, then nodded. "Some girl had her dog done up as a zombie dog."

"I'll tell you about it on the way to the paper," Pranthi said.

"Sounds like a deal," Matt said. He groaned as he stood up. "At least the dog was cute."

Pranthi let him carry her gear bag to his car. Matt let her climb in before closing the door and driving off.

"So, what happened?" he asked her as he cut off a garbage truck.

"I'm not sure." Pranthi hung on to her camera bag with one hand, the handle over the door with the other. She slid the bag to the floor. If the airbags went off, she didn't want any of her gear getting damaged.

"Come on," Matt said, "it isn't like they're going to let me actually write an important story. You said you'd fill me in."

"One of the zombies went nuts." Pranthi's hand tightened on the handle. Partly from the memory of that blank stare and partly from Matt accelerating through a yellow light. "He chewed through the throats of two women and would have got me, too, if Kevin hadn't hit him with a mic stand."

"Chewed through their necks?" Gulping sounds came from the other seat. Pranthi took her eyes from the road long enough to see that Matt had turned even whiter and had beads of sweat hanging from his forehead.

"If you are going to be sick," Pranthi said, "you should pull over."

Matt took a deep breath, then a second.

"No," he said, "I'm good." He pulled up in front of the Journal building and parked by a fire hydrant. "I'll text Denise we're here."

Pranthi climbed out of the car and headed toward the doors of the modern glass and steel building. Matt ran briefly to catch up to her. He tried to take her gear bag again, but she shook her head and clutched it tighter.