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A half-dozen food-storage containers and a handful of sandwich bags fill Peter’s dining room table. He has three fungi identification books open beside them and busies himself with verifying the ID of each mushroom from his haul. Peter tosses anything edible or mildly irritating in the trash. If anyone asks about Smith’s report of their adventure, he’ll have to play up how well the mushrooms might’ve gone in a stir-fry. The truth, though, is Peter’s not a big fan of mushrooms either.
After the sorting, he’s left with three bags of mushrooms likely to mimic food poisoning, but end in death. He skips details of each mushroom’s fatal symptoms. The little he’s read about dying from any species of fungi is horrific. He spares himself any extraneous details. He’s come so far in his plan that he can’t let graphic descriptions of kidney failure talk him out of it now.
Peter feels the pressure of the appointment with Glen looming on the calendar. He dons gloves as he pulls fungi from each bag and places them on a tray to dry. He puts the arrangement in the oven to speed up the air-drying process and dumps the leftover samples in the trash.
While Peter waits on the mushrooms, he pulls Glen’s name and address from his files. He palms the AA phone and wonders if talking to him will change his mind. Maybe Glen will be pleasant today, convincing Peter to give him the electric guitar and be done with it. Peter puts the phone against his ear and it rings a dozen times. He’s about to hang up when the line connects.
“Yeah?” Glen’s voice is hoarse.
“Hi Glen. It’s Ted from Alphabet Apes. I’m calling to confirm our appointment for tomorrow.” Peter slides his appointment book closer. He’s circled Glen’s name in repeating red strokes.
“Did you figure out what I won?” Glen’s tone is brash and demanding.
“I won’t know until you bring that winning box to the office. You still have it, don’t you?” A part of Peter hopes he’ll say he doesn’t. He’s overwhelmed with a mixture of anxiety and euphoria when Glen answers.
“Yeah. Got it right here.”
Peter clears his throat, dissolving the tense scream building inside. “Great. I look forward to seeing what you’ve won.”
“Did you get anything with the Alphabet Apes logo?”
Lips pursed and body tense, Peter grips the phone so tight, the plastic case creaks in protest. Even when he hopes Glen will change his mind, the selfish prick focuses on getting something he can profit from. “A few things. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”
Glen grumbles something unintelligible. He makes a smacking sound that makes Peter’s skin crawl. “I hope so. The price on my crossbow jumped two-hundred dollars over the weekend. I’ve got to flip this shit before it’s totally out of my reach.”
“Oh, right. The crossbow used by Derrick Something?” Peter pulls the phone away from his ear a couple inches and rolls his neck to release some tension.
“Daryl Dixon,” Glen corrects.
“Right. From that zombie show people used to like.”
Glen’s disgust is palatable. “It’s more than a show. It’s a fictional documentation of a sociological reboot brought on by a mass viral plague. The characters’ resilience is not only plausible, but the storyline is probable should such an event occur in present-day society.”
“Maybe I’ll check it out sometime,” Peter says, not bothering to care if the other man recognizes his disingenuous tone.
“With the present state of bio warfare, and global history of viral outbreak, I suggest you do. Unless you don’t care about becoming a mindless drone who eats your neighbors.” The wet gargling sound in Glen’s voice makes the idea more vile than necessary.
“On that note... I’ll see you tomorrow.” Peter hangs up.
After checking the oven, Peter wanders the apartment. He collects the boxes of cereal he’s been using as prize displays and arranges them in a neat stack. He has more Alphabet Apes than he thought. Thirty packages tower above the kitchen counter. Peter pulls his vacuum sealer out of the cabinet and sets it up on the table.
Opening one, Peter is careful not to tear the cardboard tabs so he can glue them back together later. The plastic sleeve of cereal slides easily from the carton. He uses a straightedge and a hobby knife to slice the top open evenly.
Now, he has to wait for the mushrooms to finish drying. He’ll pound them into a powder and mix the compound into the cereal before resealing it. If he’s careful, the package will look factory fresh.