iZombie

Previously on iZombie...

I want back in. Scratch me.

Make me a zombie.

Local hospitals have now reported 125 cases of Aleutian flu.

We need to begin large scale vaccinations tomorrow.

Fillmore-Graves is infecting the Aleutian flu vaccine with zombie blood.

Every person who received the Aleutian flu vaccination today

is now in the process of becoming a zombie.

The Aleutian flu was never about harvesting brains.

It was about getting as many people turned into zombies as possible.

There are no plans to harvest brains from the living.

Let's show the world the is no reason to fear the other.

You were a waste of my sperm.

That kind of stinks.

That, my friend, is a vaccine for zombies.

Are you sure?

BRAIN TEASER

The Seahawks, my man.

That's who. Legion of Boom.

Twelfth man.

Russell Wilson, back there scrambling,

pulling rabbits out of hats.

Hey, wanna come over and watch the combine?

You know... let me see what I'm doing that night.

You know what, it kills me.

Man, it kills me we're playing our home games in Tacoma.

Stupid zombies. Stupid wall.

- Hey, Clint. - Why'd they have to choose Seattle?

They should've taken their filthy virus to New England

and scratched some of them chowder-slurpin' sons o'bitches, huh.

Hicks!

Awfully chatty over here, boys.

You meeting your quotas?

Always.

That's what I like to hear! Carry on!

Stupid zombies. Stupid wall.

This is a quarantine zone.

Violators will be shot.

For your safety, vacate this zone at once.

This is a quarantine zone.

Violators will be shot.

For your safety, vacate this zone at once.

Gotta hand it to the Red, White and Blue.

One day, they decide to wall off the city.

Seventy-two hours later, we're living in Baghdad.

No one goes over tonight, Dugan!

Yes, sir.

So, let's see, what've I got for you this time?

Two of your officers enjoy playing high-stakes poker.

Croslin and Carney are their names.

They're in deep to a bookie they call The Barber.

Sinclair! Look alive.

What else?

Word is watered-down brain tubes are being sold for

forty bucks a pop in the back alleys of Seattle.

You've got a leak in your food chain.

Someone's getting rich.

Commander! It's here.

Excellent.

What else?

All right, here's a riddle for you.

I own a cemetery. One of my backhoe's goes down,

and I'm finding it very difficult to rent digging equipment.

Why do you think that is?

Where might one want to dig to?

All right. You can stay open another week.

Look, it's not that I don't enjoy going on our strolls.

You've really started opening up to me.

But having to bring you these little nuggets of information

like I'm your stool pigeon isn't exactly my style.

I could just close down your businesses.

All right, well, this will have to remain our arrangement.

Hey, man, do you even use the information that I...

What the cuss?

Is that a guillotine?

Of sorts. It's a guillotine for zombies.

But why? We're zombies.

Zero tolerance. That's our message.

Message received.

GNARLY IN THE BRAIN PASTE FACTORY

I work in a brain processing plant,

and this was the gnarliest thing I've ever seen.

Clint always volunteered to...

That's Clint Hicks, the victim?

Yeah. Clint Hicks. He volunteered to pick up some extra hours

cleaning the equipment after hours each night.

Nasty work. I don't know how he did it.

Sorry, no offense.

None taken. I think.

I mean, you'd probably enjoy licking the brain bowls clean,

but Fillmore-Graves doesn't let zombies work the line.

Too much temptation.

Makes sense.

Anyways, Kelly, that's Clint's wife,

she called security last night at 2:00 in the morning,

says he hasn't come home.

Security comes down here

and finds him in the grinder.

I believe I've arrived at a cause of death.

"Ground up in a giant mixing bowl."

No. Wait a minute. Let me recheck my work.

Yep. "Ground to death in a mixing bowl."

Mr. Perales,

how long have you been working across from Mr. Hicks?

Ever since the plant opened,

right after the world got turned upside down.

So what's that? Three months?

Nearly four. You know anyone who might've wanted to kill him?

Well, he wasn't real keen on zombies.

Any particular reason?

Thing you gotta know is that

he's the biggest Seahawks fan you've ever met.

I've met a lot of crazy Seahawk fans.

Didn't mean they hated zombies.

Yeah, but before everyone got turned into zombies,

Clint had his dream job at CenturyLink Field.

Then, boom! We're zombie town.

After that, instead of a job he loved,

he's packaging human brains by day

and cleaning them out of the grinders by night.

He was always complaining about zombies.

Sometimes a little too loud.

I mean, the Fillmore-Graves guys here aren't the warmest dudes.

Oh, God. I'm sorry.

I didn't mean it like "warmest", I just meant like...

No. Of course. I'm fine.

I just meant they weren't... they're not friends...

This new world is gonna take some getting used to.

Why bother. Someone's probably going to nuke us any day now.

Sir.

Sir!

I know you're aware of the curfew.

No one out on the streets after midnight.

Come on, man. Check this out. I met this girl at the club...

- Come on, baby! - You suck!

Die, zombies!

No.

Let me go, you undead freak.

I baked your buddies good, didn't I? Didn't I?!

A TEEN-Y CONCERN

Major. Come.

Sit.

Yes, sir.

I hear last night was eventful.

Gully and Chu were hit by a Molotov cocktail,

but they'll be okay in a couple of weeks.

And I hear you caught one of our human terrorist friends.

What do they call themselves? "Human Shield?" "Up With People?"

"Dead Enders."

We're not sure he's a member. I mean, the kid is only 15.

Well, that kind of segues right into what I wanted to talk to you about.

We noticed you have a background in youth counseling.

Yeah.

There's a problem in the city. You must've noticed.

Young zombies.

They're homeless because their parents kicked them out.

They're starting to roam around in packs. Packs become gangs.

We need productive, contributing zombies

fully integrated into the fabric of the city.

You think you can give me that?

I can give it a shot.

Excellent.

Chase Graves, man.

What's he got that I don't got, Dad?

Oh, that's right. An army.

What's that old proverb?

"Mo' money, mo' problems."

I want to expand, Pop, but he's got me by the short and curlies.

He could shut me down any day.

And this whole business of me having to seek him out

every week to feed him dirt from the street

like I'm some two-bit street hustler is humiliating!

It's a shame you raised me to like nice things.

Love you. Mean it. Ciao.

Dino! Chop, chop. Let's go.

This is the one.

Check it out!

#GO!HAWKS CHAMPIONSHIP MINDSET

Russell Wilson. I would have your babies.

Try to dial it down a bit, Liv.

Let's not remind them that zombie cops eat their loved ones.

Zombies are the worst.

Pale-assed brain-eating bitches.

Looks like they just put this poster here to cover up some gang taggings.

Yes?

Mrs. Hicks?

Yes.

We're with Seattle PD. Homicide.

We'd like to come in and ask you a few questions. Do you mind?

So you clocked out at the plant at 6:00 p.m. Is that right?

Thereabouts, yeah. It'd be on my timecard.

What time did your husband usually get home from his cleaning duties?

About 9:00. Could you set that down?

A Seahawks salt shaker? It's pretty damn awesome.

Liv.

Sorry, Mom. I guess I missed that one.

Detective Babineaux and...

Assistant Medical Examiner Moore.

...are just asking some questions.

This is my son, Zorn.