Battle of the Network Zombies by Mark Henry Read Free Book Online Page A

into a spot on a rickety picnic table, whose purpose seemed to be only to hold up a massive bloom of cigarette butts sticking out of a spent can of Yuban. He jutted his chin forward, again, lips screwed up in a sneer, in that defiant way one does when there’s nothing to lose or live for. He probably figured if he put that tough face on, I’d be attracted—some women apparently go for the thug type.
    He was right. I was definitely into him.
    After a quick glance behind me, I shoved my arm through the handles of the McQueen and shrugged it over my shoulder like a pack (shielding it from the spatter, if you must know).
    “So whaddup? You getting’ on this?” he asked.
    I could barely conceal my glee.

CHANNEL 04
    Wednesday
10:30–11:00 P.M.
Cleaning House

    Humans complain about hauntings, but the undead really have cause to bitch. Follow eight zombie couples as they struggle with the highs and lows of purging their homes of unwanted spectral guests…forever. (Repeat)
    I slammed the door and settled my purse in the floorboard, turning to Scott for what I hoped would be the first pleasant moment of the evening—God knows I could use one—but finding a face smeared with enough ugly judgment to guarantee him a slot in the local PTA.
    “What?” I asked, agog perhaps and definitely in no mood. ’Cause really, could I pile any more bullshit on my plate?
    His disapproving eyes dropped to my cheek. “You’ve got a little gore on you.”
    I patted for it, the reduced sensitivity in my extremities not helping me any. “Here?”
    “No. A little to the left. More.”
    We played out the hunt a few moments and then I dropped my hand in my lap and sighed. “You get it. I’m frickin’ exhausted.”
    Scott shook his head and reached across to the glove compartment, retrieving a travel pack of tissue. He balanced them on my leg and turned his head. “I’m going to leave that up to you.”
    Fucker.
    “You know, what you do is worse.” I dabbed the tissue around my face until it came back red and spotted with gristle.
    “What? How the hell could a few scratches be worse than eating people?”
    “Please.” I rolled my eyes. “Like leaving them maimed, covered in scars and doomed to a life of unmanageable body hair is a prize.” I amped up the mocking. “Do they thank you? I don’t know how I’ve made it this long without juggling dog teeth in my mouth and these extra six nipples. Yeah, you’re a real humanitarian.”
    “Fine. Make fun. It just bothers me a bit.”
    “Whatever, just drive, I’ve had a really bad night.”
    I told him about Birch and his come-ons—he slapped the steering wheel while making threats, which made me smile—the yeti attack and how gross it looked shaved, the weird creatures on the peg boards like junior high biology experiments and the offer to judge on Johnny’s show.
    “So who wants to kill the fucker this week?” He grinned, lost in some violent fantasy.
    I shrugged as we passed the Center, with its mascot the Space Needle towering above us on legs like a modern TV tray. Scott pointed the car toward the high-rise condo district. Streets lined with crappy domestics gave way to Euro-functional Saabs, Volvos and Volkswagens (mostly Passats, the nuevo bugs gone out of favor as quickly as they fluttered back).
    “Could be anyone, really,” I said. “I’d only known him a few seconds before wanting him dead. There must be a daily tally running. Birch has got to be at the top of the supernatural dead pool.”
    “How’s your mother?” To Scott’s credit, he was just about the only one in my life who saw through Ethel’s bullshit.
    “Still a vampire.” I shifted in my seat, drawing one leg up under the other. “You know, she’s really twisted Gil around her finger. He’s blind to her batshit insaneness.”
    “Is that a word?” His eyes crinkled at the joke.
    “Shut up. You know what I mean.”
    “Things change.” Two words, and so much behind them I could barely stop