Getting Buried in Vegas

By Stephanie Bryant

Chapter One

When in doubt, add zombies.

Tom dragged another troop of shambler zombies into the scenario, strategically placing them in the shadow of the high rise building that housed the level access code. The zombies stood, their slack jaws red with unidentified gore, while Tom nudged two of them closer to the building and the remaining three further out. It would be possible for a well-practiced warrior to do a straight run through the troop, but any newbies would be seeing the red screen of shame.

The alarm on his watch started beeping, and Tom pressed Control S to save the game code to his local hard drive before checking it in. It wasn't that he was paranoid. It was that he'd had the misfortune of losing a whole day's work on three separate occasions because the Windows network failed in the middle of the code checkin, and he hadn't caught it before heading home for the night.

His cell phone rang. He flipped it open.

"Hey, babe," he murmured into the phone. "I'm just about to head out right now."

"Oh, cool," Katherine's voice sounded vaguely distracted. "I was just calling to see-- do you really want that chicken tonight? Cause I just had a hell of a day, and all I feel like making is reservations."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "I'll pick something up on the way."

"Chinese?"

"Sure-- you want to call it in? I'm leaving here in five minutes, so if you call in, say, twenty--"

"Great." The relief in her voice brought a smile to his face. Katherine's job as a cake artist was usually pretty cool, and she enjoyed it-- to a point. Sometime around mid-May, though, things began to unravel under the pressure of wedding season and the attendant problems with planning, decorating, and delivering... not to mention the unexpected bonus of "Grads and Dads" falling in the same month.

And, more and more frequently these days, the obligatory "naughty cakes" for bachelor and bachelorette parties. Tom wondered how the average bridesmaid managed to avoid a diabetic coma, much less fit into her dress, but the answer was pretty obvious. Bulimia: breakfast and mid-morning snack of champions!

Tom passed by the reception desk and the overweight security guard seated there.

"Good night, Darlene," he said, unclipping the plastic name tag from his shirt pocket.

"Good night, Tom," she drawled after him. She pressed the security buzzer and Tom opened the door without setting off the alarm. It was after five, so the alarm was armed-- Tom had only set it off twice since starting at UnGame.com, the game design company "with a penchant for the perished." Their number one game, Zombie Hunter, was a fast-paced first person shooter with an underlying puzzle mechanic that threw a bone to the adrenaline junkies and the intellectuals. About the only thing it didn't have was a simulator, but Tom was working on "Wight Picket Fences," the undead neighborhood simulator where players could control legions of zombies, resurrecting their neighbors after slaughtering them in player versus player combat.

It was an Easter Egg in the next release of the game, but it was also Tom's next big bonus. The last Easter Egg he'd put in-- a flight simulator in a fantasy RPG that put the player on the back of a giant skeletal dragon-- had paid for the down payment on his car.

Tom was counting on Wight Picket Fences to help pay for tonight's big plan.

He stopped at the Chinese place for the take out. As he checked out, Mr. Hu handed him a small bag of fortune cookies, tilting the bag up to show him the contents. One of the cookies was wrapped in plastic, straight from the box. The other was not.

"Here's your fortune cookies, Mr. Tom," Hu said politely, a grin splitting his face like a ripe melon. "You have a good night?"

Tom grinned back at him. "You bet, Mr. Hu," he replied. He folded the top of the bag over so Katherine wouldn't see it, and tucked it into the bag with the rest of the food.

When he unlocked the door, he could hear the shower running upstairs. He set the paper bag of Chinese food on the counter and started pulling the containers out of the bag, pulling open the tops as he went. He took out two plates from the cupboard and set them on the kitchen table. Two sets of chopsticks. Two mugs of green tea, fresh from the microwave. A couple of serving spoons, and--

"Oh, hey," Katherine said, padding into the kitchen. She wore a pair of short pajama bottoms, a loose t-shirt, and a towel, which was wrapped entirely around her head. Steam seemed to waft off of her, and Tom caught the scent of her strawberry shampoo.

He smiled privately to himself as she tucked one leg under her butt and sat down on one of the chairs at the table. She tilted her head, eying the food, and the towel started to topple. "Oh, shit," she muttered and pulled the towel off all the way, tossing it onto the third chair in the kitchen.

"So, how was your day?" she asked. Then, without skipping a beat or even waiting for his answer, she said "Mine sucked. Bridezilla and Mom-of-Bridezilla came back and, oh, gee, aren't I lucky? Not only do they want us to do the wedding, they want me to do it."

"But of course they do-- you're brilliant and talented."

"Did I mention that the wedding is a Hawaii theme?" Katherine rolled her eyes.

"So, make a palm tree and--"

"Oh, no. They want a pineapple cake."

"You can't make a palm tree out of pineapple?"

"No. They want the inside of the cake to be pineapple, and the outside of it to look like a pineapple."

Tom laughed. "Wait, isn't Mom-of-Bridezilla the one with the hair--"

"Yes! Exactly. You remembered! See, that's why I love you, sweetie!" Katherine piled her own hair-- long, damp, and increasingly tangled-- onto the top of her head into a top-knot. She pursed her lips "And we want it to look exactly like a pineapple!" She giggled, dropping her hair. "Know what the bridesmaid dress colors are? I'll give you two guesses!"

"Umm.... pineapple yellow?"

"Bing bing bing! And the handsome young man in the blue shirt and khaki pants wins again! Let's see what he's won, Vannah..."

Tom chuckled again, and took another bite of his dinner. Or tried to. He fumbled the chopsticks and set them down. "Ah, damn. I can't get the hang of them tonight," he muttered. He stood up and dug in the drawer for a fork. While he was up, he took out the fortune cookies, unwrapped the one still in plastic, and set both of them on a plate. He cracked a tiny piece off the corner of the wrapped one so he'd know which one was his.

He set the plate on the table, and playfully smacked Katherine's fingers when she tried to reach for it. "After dinner, love," he remarked. "It's only fair."

She pretended to pout, but picked up her chopsticks. "But seriously-- how was your day?"

"Oh, same old, same old. I was kind of glad you didn't want to cook tonight. I didn't really feel like chicken anyway."

Katherine looked at him, then down at his plate, which was piled with Kung Pao chicken, Chicken chow mein, and vegetable fried rice.

"Uh huh," she said, narrowing her eyes. "Tell the truth-- you were just jonesing for your MSG fix, weren't you!"

Tom smirked at her. "Honestly? I really just wanted you, happy and not stressed out for once."

Her face darkened. "I'm not stressed out all the time.... am I?"

"Eh.... a bit. Just around this time of year. You know-- it's the busy season. I totally understand. If your high-pressure job as a cake decorator means I have to eat yummy Chinese food every night... well, I'm just willing to make that sacrifice, dear. For your career." He put a hand out and squeezed hers, sincerity oozing from him like pus from a zombie.

Katherine pulled her hand out of his hand and tapped him on the nose. "And that's why I love you so much. Such a giving, caring, sacrificing man, willing to do anything, even the dishes--"

"Hey, now," Tom said. "There's no reason to use that kind of language around here. Besides," he nudged the cookies toward her. "Dessert?"

Katherine's hand hovered over the plate like the seed pod of a strange tree gone to seed, but Tom knew the apparent agony over choosing a cookie was all pretense. Katherine might not realize it, but given the choice, she would pick the unbroken cookie every time. She had one older sister and a kid brother; as the middle child, she had never had the best, unbroken anything.

She picked up the cookie Tom knew she would and immediately cracked it in half, talking animatedly about the pineapple wedding cake. Tom set the plate down and watched her pull the pieces of cookie apart. Surreptitiously, he reached his left hand under the table, into his pants pocket.

She opened her fortune and read it, still talking. "And then she has the gall to say she doesn't want Yellow Number--" her voice trailed off. She looked at the cookie pieces, then at the fortune again. She looked up at Tom, puzzled.

Big moment, he thought, pulling the box out of his pocket and pushing his chair away from the table. He dropped out of the chair directly into a one-knee kneeling position, presenting the box to Katherine by setting it on the table beside her.

Katherine looked at the box, then back at Tom. Then at the fortune in her hand. She seemed utterly dumbfounded.

"Are you-- how--?"

"Will you marry me?" Tom asked, barely pulling the words out of his own throat, which had suddenly become closed, choked, like he was having an asthma or allergy attack.

"Oh, Tom," Katherine replied, her eyes shining with tears. "Oh, yes, yes, yes. Yes. Of course I'll marry you." She wrapped her arms around him and planted her lips firmly on his. They kissed, long and deep, the kiss of intimate partners starting on a new journey together.

©Stephanie Bryant Getting Buried in Vegas Page |

Next Chapter: Chapter 2