The Creeping Dead: A Zombie Novel by Edward P. Cardillo

to MacAteer.
    MacAteer took out a pair of squared oval reading glasses and rested them low on her nose as she processed Tara’s resume, which only made her look even more severe, like one of those draconian librarians from Catholic school, the kind that was always shooshing the children.
    Tara was trying to guess her age. Either she was in her mid-forties or she was a well-preserved early fifties.
    “So, I see you have no experience working in skilled nursing facilities.”
    “That’s correct,” said Tara. She didn’t want to appear defensive. She wouldn’t give this bitch the satisfaction. “But, I’m a cognitive-behavior therapist, and I could easily adapt Rational-Emotive Therapy to the residents here to address their presenting problems.” She dropped the term ‘Rational-Emotive Therapy’ because she knew MacAteer wouldn’t have a clue what she was talking about.
    “How would you adapt your treatment from preschool children to adults, some with heavy psychiatric diagnoses? There’s a significant difference between a three-year-old tantrum and a verbally agitated schizophrenic.” Her condescension was apparent.
    “I would employ a functional behavior assessment to determine the antecedents to the problematic behavior and what in the environment is reinforcing it.” Bring it, bitch.
    Dr. Loews observed the exchange quietly. Tara wasn’t sure what he was thinking, but for the moment her focus was on MacAteer.
    “Then what? I hope you don’t think you’ll be burdening my nurses with token economies and the like. They already have enough to do and will be expecting you to help alleviate their burden, not add to it.”
    “I believe in helping my patients self-advocate,” replied Tara. “So, I would help the resident become more self-aware about their triggers, and how they can properly react to them. I believe that if you build an individual’s skill set, he or she will be less likely to engage in inappropriate behaviors.”
    “Speaking of inappropriate behaviors, I hope you’re not easily frightened by a psychiatric population. Some of our residents can be kind of rough. We’ve had nurses who’ve been scratched, punched, groped, and spit at.”
    Tara smiled. “I am a psychologist. Psychiatric conditions don’t frighten me in the least.”
    MacAteer took off her glasses and put them back in her breast pocket. “Well, we haven’t had a great track record with Oceanside psychologists.”
    Dr. Loews, ignoring the obvious barb, leaned forward in his seat. “Well, we have a lot of faith in Dr. Bigelow. She comes highly recommended.”
    MacAteer sized Tara up with her eyes quite obviously, appraising her and making quite a show of it. “So, why did you leave the preschool?”
    Dr. Loews interjected before Tara could respond. “I’d like to remind you, Ms. MacAteer, that you are not hiring Dr. Bigelow, you are simply granting her privileges here. She’s been vetted by Oceanside.”
    “It was a simple question,” said MacAteer. “Your reaction, quite frankly, has me concerned.”
    “It’s all right,” said Tara. “I feel more than comfortable answering that question.”
    Loews nodded his assent.
    “It was a simple matter of budget cuts. The school’s pool of students has been constricting over the past few years, and I was newest in the department. It was a simple case of ‘last hired, first fired.’”
    “I see,” said MacAteer. “She’s all up to date on the Medicare/Medicaid regulations?”
    “She’s going to be oriented and trained this afternoon,” answered Dr. Loews. MacAteer was now talking about Tara as if she wasn’t in the room with them, yet another power tactic.
    “Well, I’m okay with her if you are, Phil.”
    “We’re ready to go ahead with this.”
    “When can she start?”
    “Tomorrow.”
    “Excellent. We need someone to pick up Monroe Hetz’s caseload. He was a disaster.” MacAteer looked at Tara and smiled. “We need more women in healthcare. I like