"Sorry about the smell," Robert said to the psychiatrist as he settled onto the leather couch.
       The psychiatrist -- Doctor Gupta -- sniffed theatrically but did not grimace or make any sort of pained face. "I don't smell anything. Why do you say that?"
       Robert shifted in the chair. "I mean, I'm dead."
       "Oh yes."
       Silence for a moment.
       "Did you get a chance to look at my file?" Robert asked at length.
       Doctor Gupta nodded. "Yes, I did."
       "And what do you think?"
       "More to the point, what do you think?"
       "I don't think anything. Not anymore. I'm dead."
       "Oh, that's right. So you said." Doctor Gupta tapped the file which lay on the desk before him. "Well, Mister Springer, I have to say, your case appears to be unique."
       "Thank you." He'd heard this before but had never worked out whether it was a compliment or not.
       "In most cases, Cotard's syndrome is the result of organic brain damage or severe psychosis and is co-morbid with conditions such as depression or schizophrenia. But that isn't true in your case."
       Doctor Gupta paused. Again, Robert felt that he ought to say something. "I'm sorry."
       "There's nothing to be sorry about. After all, it's not often that a psychiatrist gets to treat a case such as yours. Truly remarkable. A person with no symptoms of Cotard's save for the primary indicator that you believe you are dead."
       "I'm sorry," Robert repeated. He wanted to tell Doctor Gupta that he wasn't delusional, that he really was a walking, festering, oozing corpse. But there was no point. Doctor Gupta wouldn't believe him. None of the doctors believed him. And they all got hung up on the death thing. He had other issues he wanted to talk about. His loneliness, his lack of success in relationships.
       Doctor Gupta went on. "So the question is treatment. The most modern treatment is electro-convulsive therapy, but I don't believe that's called for here. The second course of treatment is usually anti-psychotic medications, and some of them are very good. Would you be open to that?"
       Robert nodded.
       "Excellent." He turned to face his computer and began to type out a prescription order. "What pharmacy do you usually go to?"
       "Uh... The LifeAid on Main Street."
       "Excellent, excellent. Do you have good health insurance?"
       Robert nodded, excited to talk about his job. "Absolutely. I'm a programmer at Interstitial Interfaces. I generate low-level code, by which I mean C and C++, and create APIs that incorporate..." He drifted off, sensing that the doctor was not paying attention.
       "Hm," Doctor Gupta said distractedly. "Excellent." He tapped hard on the Enter key, sending the prescription off electronically to LifeAid. "There you go!"
       "Thank you."
       "Now, let's get down to basics. How long have you been dead?"

       The appointment with Doctor Gupta had left Robert depressed and pensive, and he drove cautiously and slowly from the clinic to his office. At the corner of 9th and Main, a young woman had shuffled against the red light into the middle of the intersection, head down and arms bent at odd angles. As other drivers shouted at her and blared their horns, Robert stared at her gray skin and frazzled hair and sympathized. He knew how she felt. She probably had trouble getting people to believe her too.
       He didn't allow himself to worry about her for long, though. There were too many other things to think about as he pulled into the parking lot in front of Interstitial Interfaces.
       Such as how to avoid Sondra Porter.
       Sondra sat at the reception desk, answering phones and greeting visitors to the offices of Interstitial Interfaces. She was funny, she was cute, she was smart, and she seemed to have a crush on Robert. Robert had no idea why. When he was alive, he'd had his own crush on her and had even asked her out a few times. He'd only ever done it jokingly, though, playful office banter because he'd known that she was way out of his league. But then he'd died under circumstances that were still mysterious to him, and now that he knew he was honor-bound to stay away from her, she wouldn't leave him alone. His attraction to her seemed to be reciprocated now.
       "Hi, Robert!" Sondra said as he walked in the front door. She smiled, her lips painted a deep red lipstick that matched her dress. "How are you?"
       Robert cleared his throat. Speech was difficult for him. He didn't like to disturb people with his gravelly moans and fetid breath, even if everyone was too polite to say anything. "I guess I'm okay," he replied. He started to shuffle past the desk. "Excuse me, I've got to get to my cubicle."
       Sondra shot out from behind her desk and followed. "Oh hey, Robert, did you see the protesters?"
       Robert shook his head. "What protesters?"
       "All over the city. They're dressed up like zombies, you know, like, all dead and stuff? They've got great makeup, and they look amazing."
       Robert was intrigued in spite of himself. "What are they protesting?"
       "Who knows? They don't have any signs or anything. Maybe it's just one of those zombie marches, you know, like they had yesterday in San Francisco and New York? And this morning in New Orleans?"
       "In the morning?" Robert knew about zombie marches. They were usually a nighttime event, but he hadn't heard of one happening for a while. He shrugged. "Maybe." He wondered if he should go outside and join the protesters, offering solidarity as an actual zombie, but decided not to. He really needed to get to work on his project, and he had promised to help Peter finalize the login protocol.
       "So, you want to get some coffee or something later on today?"
       They had arrived at Robert's desk, and he sat down with a huff. "I don't know. I don't think so. I have a lot of work to do."
       Sondra's face fell. "Okay. Maybe some other time, though, right?"
       Robert nodded. "Maybe."
       "Okay! Great! I'll talk to you later, okay?" She turned and started to walk away while Robert sat at his desk and turned on his computer.
       "What do you see in him, Sondra?" The question had come from Veronica, the system administrator who sat in the cubicle next to him. "He's so weird."
       Sondra's reply, when it came, was cheerful. "Pfft. He's smart and nice and funny. What more do I need?"
       Robert sighed. As a zombie, he knew that he had no potential at all, and there was just no point in trying to apply himself to anything. Zombies had no ambition except to eat human flesh, and since he didn't even do that -- there was something weird with his undead metabolism that required him to eat normal food -- he was a failure even as a zombie. And if Sondra was attracted to him, an undead, rotting corpse with a foul odor and a voice like the rattling of bones in a tomb, then she obviously had deep problems, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be involved with someone like that.
       In other words, Robert would never want to date a girl who would want to date a guy like him.

       The office emptied out at noon as most of Robert's co-workers left in groups of three or four, off to local cafes or restaurants to eat. Robert, always conscious of the effect he must have on other people, had brought a paper sack with a peanut butter sandwich and an apple to eat at his desk.
       After eating, Robert stood up from his desk and stretched. He liked to take walks during the lunch hour, shuffle around the building's exterior, just to get away from the stack pointers and variable references and to stretch his legs.
       It was in the parking lot that he saw the zombies, a dozen or so, approaching the building. Sondra was right: their makeup was good. Not only did they look like corpses, some of them were actually missing limbs. Some crawled across the pavement with prosthetic entrails dragging behind them. Some looked even worse than that. Realistic blood and gore caked their faces.
       But this wasn't really a typical zombie march, was it? They had to be one of those professional improvisation troupes, the ones with huge budgets and really good special effects and who showed up on YouTube in some big dance number. This week, they were zombies. Next week, they would be pirates or maybe ninjas.
       Robert watched them approach. Smears of blood trailed behind them as they lurched or crawled. They moaned with each slow breath. And the smell... Even with his own rotted nose Robert could tell they'd gone the extra mile and coated themselves in something meant to give them the scent of decaying flesh.
       He sniffed. Maybe they weren't actors or marchers after all.
       Robert backed away from them. He knew he had nothing to fear from them. If they were actors they were harmless, and if they were real zombies, he was one of them. But they made him nervous.
       "No! Go away!"
       The woman's cry came from Robert's left. He turned and saw Emily, the database administrator. She had backed up against her car and was screaming, arms flailing in front of her face, as several of the zombies approached her. Robert watched, wondering if Emily was in on the prank right up until the moment that one of the zombies grabbed her arm and took a large, fleshy bite.
       Robert took a step backward. He blinked hard, then pressed his fists into his eyes until the colors swirled, then opened them again. Emily was still screaming, trying to back away from the zombies, but they were starting to swarm on her, biting and chewing and grunting rudely.
       He ran back into the office, whirled around, and locked the door.
       "Robert?" Sondra said from the reception desk. "What's going on? I heard screaming."
       Robert spun around. "Those zombie protesters you told me about?"
       Sondra nodded, looking concerned. "Yeah, sure. Why? What's up?"
       "Well, they're outside the office now. But it turns out they're real zombies."
       Sondra lifted an eyebrow. "What do you mean, real zombies?"
       "I mean real live flesh-eating George Romero Night of the Living Dead zombies. Coming this way."
       "Robert, there's no such thing as zombies." Sondra looked at him quizzically. "Robert, are you all right? You look pale."
       Robert didn't answer. He was watching the zombies as they approached. "Sondra," he said. "Just look at them."
       Sondra came out from behind her desk and looked out at the approaching mob. "Oh, wow. Their makeup is really good."
       "It's not makeup, Sondra. It's real."
       "No, it's not. It can't be." She paused. "But the head that one guy's carrying almost looks real."
       Robert looked. A zombie carried Emily's decapitated head by her long hair. He said nothing. Emily's mouth opened and closed, and her eyes twitched. She was dead; she had been dismembered, but there was still animation there. Robert found himself wondering wildly just how much brain was required to keep a zombie active.
       "That head looks familiar," Sondra said. She looked at Robert again. "It really looks like Emily, you know? Is Emily a part of this?"
       "Emily was into kittens and needlepoint and database administration. She wouldn't be into this kind of thing."
       "Yeah. Yeah, I know." Sondra turned white. "Oh my God, Robert, those are real zombies!"
       Robert nodded. "Get out of here. Find someplace safe to hide."
       Sondra nodded and backed away from the door. "What about you, Robert? What are you going to do?"
       "I'm going to go talk to them. They won't hurt me."
       "Why not?"
       Robert gave Sondra a look. He knew that she saw his rotted flesh, his shambling gait, smelled his fetid odor and heard his moaning (which she was somehow able to understand as regular speech). Why would she even ask such a question? "Just trust me," he said. "Go hide and tell the others what's happening."
       "Okay." Sondra took another step backward. "Yeah, I'll do that right now." She turned and then ran from the reception area down the hall to where the development staff worked on their computers. "Hide, everyone!" she shouted. "Hide! Zombies!"
       Robert looked back at the lurching mob. Some had reached the door and were pressing against the glass.
       "Hey," he said. "There's no need to get hostile. I'm one of you, and I'm telling you there's nothing to eat here."
       The other zombies didn't even pay attention to him. They pressed up against the glass door, reaching their hands up and dragging them down. Some of them moaned incoherently. The one carrying Emily's head kept slamming it against the glass.
       Robert took a breath and let it out, grateful that his own lungs had not rotted away completely. This was frustrating. He knew their brains had dissolved to jelly, but why did they have to be so dumb? "I really am one of you. So just go away, okay? Nothing for you here."
       The zombies did not respond. In fact, as Robert approached the door to speak to them in a more forceful tone, they just pushed at the door even more frantically.
       For the first time since his death, Robert felt his heart beat, and it was beating hard. Oh, crap, he thought. Even though he was dead, his brain was free of putrefaction, and the zombies outside probably couldn't tell the difference between his flesh and the flesh of the living people around him.
       He turned and shambled after Sondra as fast as he could.

       Aside from Robert, Sondra and Veronica were the only people left in the building, and the two of them had made it to the break room. It was a secure room, far away from any windows or outside doors. A vending machine with snacks and sodas lurked against one wall next to the door for the unisex bathroom. On the opposite wall, a sink had been installed next to a full cupboard set, along with a dish rack filled with freshly cleaned silverware and dishes. Assuming the water supply held out, Robert, Sondra and Veronica could probably hole up here for weeks.
       Sondra and Veronica both watched the television grimly as a frantic anchorwoman reported that zombie attacks were happening all over the country. Sondra held a long object that Robert recognized as the blade off of the paper cutter, long, heavy, and sharp enough to slice through fifty sheets of paper at once. Veronica leaned against the bathroom door, glaring at Robert from her pale face and dark-sunken eyes.
       Sondra rushed up and gave Robert a hug. "Oh my God! I was so worried! Where were you?"
       "I tried to reason with them." Robert's sense of failure was overwhelming. "It didn't work."
       Veronica snorted. "Of course, it didn't work. They're zombies, not people." Her voice was high-pitched, and seemed just on the edge of panic. "You can't reason with zombies."
       "I suppose so," Robert said. "Are we the only ones here?"
       Sondra nodded. Then she held the paper cutter blade out to Robert. "Do you want this?"
       Robert looked down at the improvised weapon. There was no way he could take it. His muscles wouldn't be able to hold it, and his rotting flesh would just slough off onto the handle. Not for the first time, Robert thought that being dead sucked. And his situation was even worse; he couldn't reason with the zombies, and he couldn't help protect the living people. It just wasn't fair. He sighed. "You'd better keep it."
       "Okay." Sondra held the blade close to her chest. "I'm really glad you're here."
       "I..." Robert had no idea what to say in response to that. Fortunately, before he had to come up with something, there was a sound like breaking glass from elsewhere in the building.
       Veronica screamed. "Oh my God, they're inside the building! They're coming!"
       "Quiet," Sondra said. "They'll hear you."
       Veronica kept screaming until Sondra went up to her and put a hand over her mouth.
       But it was too late. The zombies outside began to pound on the break room door. Their moaning and groaning and repeated demands for brains were clearly audible.
       "Oh no, no, no," whimpered Veronica. "We're going to die, and then we're going to come back as zombies!"
       "Shh," Sondra told her. She held the paper cutter blade at the ready. "Everything's going to be okay, all right?"
       "Go away!" Robert shouted at the door. "I promise, there's nothing here for you!"
       The zombies remained in place outside the door and kept up their caterwauling.
       "It is going to be all right, isn't it, Robert?" asked Sondra.
       The voices outside the door grew louder.
       "Definitely," Robert replied.
       "How can you say that?" demanded Veronica. "They're right outside the door! They're going to come inside and eat us, and we're going to die!"
       "We're not going to die," Robert said. He wished he could swing the door open and face the zombies outside, simply reason with them and convince them that there was nothing here for them. But it wouldn't work. They would just ignore him, shove him aside to get at Sondra and Veronica.
       Then the door creaked dangerously as if the combined weight of the zombies on the other side threatened to push it down.
       Robert took a step backward, away from the door.
       "Oh my God," Veronica cried in a shrill tone.
       The door creaked again, then the handle turned, and the door burst open. The half-dozen zombies just outside the break room poured through the open door and approached the three of them. For just a moment, Robert found himself doubting everything that he knew was true: maybe he really wasn't dead after all. Maybe that was why the zombies weren't listening to him. Maybe that's why they were coming after him. Maybe he was still alive, with an active circulatory system, working lungs, and a heart that wasn't rotted and putrefying. The notion was terrifying.
       Robert shook his head. That was just crazy talk.
       They moaned and lurched toward him.
       "Hey!" shouted Sondra.
       The zombie hesitated and looked at her.
       Sondra swung the paper cutter blade around over her head and managed to connect with the zombie's neck. To Robert's surprise, the zombie's head fell away from its body.
       Robert looked at Sondra. He hadn't noticed before, but she had some serious muscle tone in her arms. "Wow," he said. "That was really cool."
       Sondra blushed and smiled. "Thanks," she said. "I've been working out, and..."
       "Hey!" Veronica shouted. "Stop flirting and kill the zombies!"
       "Veronica, watch out!" cried Sondra.
       Veronica turned and dove left, narrowly avoiding the swipe of the zombie that clawed at her. She bumped into the counter, rattling the dishes in the dish rack.
       "Veronica! The knife!"
       Veronica looked around wildly. "What knife?"
       "The bread knife!" Sondra shouted. "Right next to you!"
       Robert saw Veronica look down and take the knife with both hands, then swing around and bury the serrated edge into the shoulder of the zombie that had just approached her.
       The zombie moaned and lurched forward again. Veronica backed away.
       "You have to cut off the head!" Sondra said as she decapitated another zombie herself.
       "Like I'm supposed to know that," Veronica shot back. She worked the blade of the knife out of the zombie's shoulder, then swung it again, this time aiming for its head. The zombie halted as Veronica buried the blade into the side of its head and then fell to the ground.
       "Great job!" Sondra shouted. She turned back to the zombies approaching her and swung the paper cutter blade again, beheading another zombie.
       The two women, each with their own weapon, managed to push back the remaining zombies through the door. Robert slammed the door shut when the last mobile zombie had been shoved out of the room, then leaned back against it, panting. "I'm sorry."
       "Why?" asked Sondra. "It's not like you opened the door yourself."
       Robert slumped against the door behind which the zombies were still moaning. "I should have been able to talk to them."
       "I already told you, you can't," Veronica said.
       Robert could say nothing. Veronica was right. There was no reasoning with the zombies outside. He was a very high-functioning zombie, he realized, much higher level than the ones outside the door.
       He looked over at Sondra. Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing after all. Still, if they were under attack from the zombies, Sondra deserved to know the truth about him. "Listen, Sondra, I've got to tell you something."
       Sondra looked into his eyes. "What is it, Robert?"
       Robert cleared his throat. "The reason I thought I could communicate with the zombies was... Well... That is, I..."
       He was interrupted by a rapid popping sound from elsewhere in the building.
       "Oh, hell," moaned Veronica. "Now what?"
       "Machine guns," Sondra said. She was smiling. "I think we're going to be okay."
       The machine gun fire went on for several seconds, growing louder. Finally, there was a pounding on the door. "US Army!" shouted a voice. "Biocontainment! Anyone alive in there?"
       "Yes!" shouted Veronica.
       "Absolutely," added Sondra.
       And Robert, of course, said nothing.

       "Hm," said Doctor Gupta, tapping his teeth with his pen. "So, during last week's crisis, how did you react? How did you feel?"
       Robert shrugged. "About the same, I guess. It was kind of puzzling. As a zombie, I should be able to communicate with them. I should have been able to stop them."
       "Hm. And this new girlfriend of yours, this Sondra. She knows about your... condition?"
       "Of course. I've told her everything."
       "And she's okay with it?"
       "She's cool."
       "Hm," repeated Doctor Gupta. "How are the medications working?"
       "I'm not sure." Robert had been taking the medications every day, according to the directions on the bottle, but he hadn't noticed himself feeling any different in any way. Maybe a bit sleepy. "I haven't noticed anything."
       "Well, sometimes these things take time. Let's keep up with the Sulpiride, but I'd like to add some Doxepin as well." He turned to his computer and typed up another prescription. "You may find that the combination will make you feel drowsy and cause dry mouth. But other than that, the side effects should be minimal."
       Robert took the prescription and looked it over. "All right," he said.
       "Good. Now, why don't you come in again next week? Go ahead and make your appointment at the front desk. Have a good day."
       Robert nodded, then stood up.
       In the waiting room, Sondra stood up and smiled at him. "What did the doctor say?"
       Robert shrugged. "Same as last time," he said. "I'm supposed to come back next week. But I don't know if I'm going to."
       "Well, that's your decision. You want to go straight home? Or how about some coffee?"
       Robert looked at the script in his hand again. Then he crumpled it up and dropped it into the waste bin next to the door. He took Sondra's hand. "Coffee," he said. "Coffee sounds great."
       Then the two of them, the living girl and the dead man, walked together into the fresh air outside.