Netherstream - Episode 1: Jane Doe by S.E. Gordon

Chapter 1: Playground
    Why does it have to be like this? No matter how hard I try, something’s always waiting to bite me in the ass. I’ve changed names several times just to throw bad luck off my tracks, but it always seems to nip me in the end.
    This mess. My life. One.
    And now this shit…
    I’m not the cure, and certainly not a savior. I’m just a lowly bellhop. Here are your bags, sir. Thank you for the generous tip. Excuse me while I put a bullet in the zombie at the end of the hall. Enjoy your stay at the Black Diamond Regency!
    Perhaps it would be easier if I crossed to the other side, and joined the mindless hordes that skulked the streets at night. But fate had other plans for me, and would eventually grant my wish.
    Three months. That’s all I’d worked at this shit hole. I was the first and only female bellhop, and you bet your ass I was proud of it. All of 98 pounds, the hotel staff watched in amusement as I hauled off bags more than twice my size. My short temper and sassy mouth certainly didn’t endear me to the critics, but everyone respected me, otherwise, I’d kick their ass.
    “You charmed your way onto the staff,” the girls would say, but that was just a nice way of saying that they thought I was banging the boss in the bell closet. They were jealous, of course, and never would admit that such an original idea had crossed their empty skulls. They could be bellgirls too, if they wanted. It was convenient for them to sit behind the front desk and look pretty, but it took fucking balls to parallel park some rich asshole’s Mercedes in public parking during a rainstorm when the garage got full.
    All of the attendants were sharks, including me. Leave your post and you missed out. Everyone knew it, but most of the guys didn’t care. But I cared, and didn’t expect anything to be handed to me just because of my athletic body and fair complexion. I busted my ass for every penny and wouldn’t have had it any other way. And though people frequently underestimated me, it gave me a significant advantage in my dealings with them. Those chumps!
    I grabbed the bar and pulled myself up a dozen times. Damn, I was already getting tired. I used to be able to do twenty, no problem, but these days I could barely crack ten. Even worse, it had been an entire week since I’d performed my trademark handstand atop the bell cart. Somewhere along the line I’d lost my verve.
    Today was my lucky day, though. I pushed off the bar and straightened my body into a perfect line. I held myself there for a minute before finally relenting. “You’ve still got it, girl.” I cracked my neck, and hopped off the cart.
    Damn, I felt old. I had to be the oldest 20-year-old on the planet. Even though I still wasn’t legal drinking age, no one seemed to mind. A shot of Tequila and a few Margaritas didn’t do for me what it used to. These days, I had to unload an entire magazine from my M16 just to get a thrill.
    At least I wasn’t in demand anymore. It’s nice to be ignored, especially by my zombie brethren. Feeders no longer seek nourishment from my flesh, though at the time, I wasn’t exactly sure why. They’d learned their lesson, and now barely noticed me at all.
    I had plenty of scars to show for it, though. Some people collect tattoos; I collect bite marks. They reminded me of how many times death had visited me and come up empty.
    Fate can be a slippery thing sometimes, and roles can be reversed in the blink of an eye. Before I was just a drone, not unlike the walkers outside, fulfilling the customer’s every wish for the “greater good” of the company. Now I owned the place, or close to it. And once the customers had devoured the staff, the keys to the kingdom were entrusted to me.
    Unleash an army of the dead and you shall become king; at least, that’s how Ash did it.
    I made myself a cup of Earl Grey, and watched a few lost souls stagger by. Zombies used to come right up to the door and snap at me. They