Night of the Living Hipsters, Part VI

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You just got a call from Jim.”

“Yeah, we have each other’s numbers on our phones,” Dr. Porter answered.

“So he’s on your phone there?” I asked.

“Uh yeah, he’s in my favorite five,” she added a little sheepishly.

“Did everyone in the youth center trade phone numbers?” I asked.

“Yeah, you know so we can keep in touch just in case…” he voice trailed off as she started to put together my next question.

“Do you have Reed’s?” I asked. “If you do, maybe I can track it.”

She nodded and showed me his number; I quickly programmed it into my Wristcomm. Luckily, the phone was still on and the screen pointed in its general direction.

With Dr. Porter right behind me, I followed the signal down a darkened side hallway to a corner. I motioned for her to step back, she did so and I dialed up his number. His phone rang from around the corner and I quickly jumped with my pistol drawn. The only thing that met me was the phone on the ground.

“Well, it was a nice idea,” Dr. Porter said, trying to be encouraging.

“What kind of a hipster would be caught dead without a cell phone?” I thought out loud. “Or caught undead, for that matter.”

“Guess he didn’t need it,” Porter shrugged.

Something didn’t feel right, something back down the hall we came from. I held my finger to my lips and the doctor nodded. I quickly threw myself around the corner again with my gun pointed out. This time I found myself staring face to face with someone who I couldn’t recognize.

“Oh my God, don’t kill me,” he quickly dropped to his knees and folded his hands together.

“Aren’t you one of them?” I asked.

“No I’m not, I swear!” he pleaded.

“What about the greasy hair and the neck beard?” I asked. “What’s up with that?”

“I’ve been stuck in here a week,” he said. He pointed to his neck beard. “Honest, this isn’t a hip, ironic beard, this is a slobby I’ve been trapped in a mall beard.”

“Is that so, huh? OK, what’s your name?”

“Kyle,” he answered without an ounce of hipness.

“Kyle, who won the Super Bowl last year?” I asked.

“Th-the New York Giants,” he answered very un-ironically.

“What’s your favorite coffee drink?” I grilled him.

“Just coffee,” he answered also very un-ironically.

“What do you think of my outfit?” Dr. Porter asked.

“Uh, it’s nice, I guess,” he answered with a slightly confused look on his face. “I mean, you look all right. I dunno.”

“He sounds OK to me,” she said.

“Yeah, me too,” I nodded. “Trying to find Reed turned out to be a wild goose chase. Let’s just figured out a way to get out of here, but keep your eyes out for any of them.”

“You mean they’re in here?” Kyle gulped as we walked back towards the food court

“Yeah but just one,” I said. Then I saw the throng of undead hipsters shuffling around outside. “So far.”