Plum Zombie

When Stephanie Plum stepped out of the elevator on the fifth floor Monday morning, the first thing that struck her was a broom handle. It had been thrown across the room by one Lester Santos, not only catching her by surprise but in the chest as well. As she fumbled to grab a hold of the stick before it clattered to the ground she acknowledged one lonely little though.

This. Ain't. Good.

The last time a broom handle had been thrown at her there'd been a broom head attached and she'd been expected to sweep up the glitter spilled on the floor of the comm. room – don't ask, it's a long story. Suffice to say that some things simply should not be left in the hands of large, curious men.

Stephanie felt sure that if she'd taken a job at the button factory she wouldn't have to deal with having things thrown at her as she walked out of elevators, but then, she'd thought the same thing about taking the job at Rangeman before she'd started. Files, she could handle, she knew what to do with those. Read them. Or perhaps run a search. But broom handles? She sighed as the horrible pun slid through her head. She just couldn't handle that.

"Hey Lester," she called, holding the long, straight piece of wood above her head. "Your broom's broken."

"Good," Lester replied quickly, ducking under his desk and practically tossing things over his shoulder as he searched for some mysterious object. "It's balanced that way. More practical. A little fragile, but beggars can't be choosers. We'll find you something more suitable as soon as we can."

Horrified, Stephanie took two steps toward him, thinking that maybe he was having some kind of mental breakdown. Perhaps he'd been working too hard and his brain had simply snapped. Of course that theory suggested that the dear man had a brain to begin with, which, for obvious reasons, was questionable. She turned toward the bank of monitors in order to ask what was going on only to find it unoccupied.

A shiver ran down her spine.

Something was most definitely not right.

Dropping the stick, she hurried across the room to Lester, intending to demand answers from him this instant. By the time she'd reached his desk, however, that instant was over and a new one was already passing as well. Shaking her head, she grabbed his one shoulder that was sticking out from under the desk to pull him up to face her, but found herself sailing through the air, back toward the elevator.

"Fuck," Lester announced, staring down at her where she lay on the floor. "I thought you were one of them." He held out a hand to help her up. "Sorry."

"One of who?" Stephanie enquired as he hauled her to her feet and handed her the handle she'd discarded.

"Zombies," he said simply.

Yep. She'd been right. Lester Santos was out of his tiny little mind.


A/N: Thanks so much for giving me a chance and stopping by to read my story. I will probably end up continuing it if the right interest is shown in it.