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

myself from jumping out of the car.
    I shut down the chatter with a stare.
    It didn’t matter that I’d just had to fend off an attack from the chicken-skinned beast of morbid obesity, or that my car had been repoed, or that I had to put up with my mother’s mind-fucks, or even that I was forced to take a job with the seediest wood nymph in reality TV—Scott was clearly moving into an “us” talk.
    “Your timing is for shit.”
    He slouched in the seat, dashboard glow bluing his disappointment like an exclamation point.
    “I really like you, Scott. What I’m not too fond of is the insecurity and this clinging to some antiquated idea of commitment. You’d think you’d learn that all this…” I waved my hands around (possibly too frantically to appear serious) “…is transient, by now. What are you expecting to do? Settle down? Get me pregnant? Have a couple of kids in the suburbs? A fucking Plymouth Voyager?”
    “I expect you to warm up a bit. Give a little. Just one tiny thing that shows that you actually care. You spend so much time and effort putting this bitch face forward to everyone you meet, you forget that you don’t have to do it with me.”
    He sighed, turned his head to gaze out the window. Leaning forward, I caught the droop of his lids, the corners of his mouth slack with discontent.
    God. I’m an asshole. 19
    Of course he doesn’t think we’re going to ever be normal. Scott was no idiot. He may have been a pretty boy—and pretty he was. Even then with his blue eyes sullen and him chewing the inside of his cheek, he was gorgeous.
    The problem was…he was just as beautiful inside, like actually nice, a constant reminder of how much I wasn’t.
    But was I cold? I supposed, certainly in that dead room temperature way, but was I emotionally flat? Distant? Frigid?
    Instead of answering, and fucking the situation up even more, I slipped my hand into his. We drove the rest of the way to my condo in silence. Occasionally, he’d squeeze, to let me know we were okay.
    I hoped that’s what it meant.
     
    There was a boy on the couch next to Honey, who was sitting far too properly, with her knees pinioned and hands crossed in her lap, to be after anything other than trouble. Her dead brother, the ghost of my dear Mr. Kim, hovered nearby, awash in a disapproving purple aura, his nearly opaque arms crossed vehemently. I didn’t have to hear a word to know what was going on.
    Both Honey and Mr. Kim lived in the condo, though the ghost had begun wandering farther from me in the past few months, spending time haunting bookstores and movie theaters. Ever since I’d turned Honey zombie, the girl focused almost entirely on boys and relationships and not just for food. Occasionally she’d get the idea she’d found “The One” and bring him home for me to set his lungs with virus. I’ve never actually given in to her requests, but that didn’t stop her from trying.
    I really was going to have to sit her down and discuss the whole sexual aspect of having a zombie guy around. Unless they could afford penile implants, unsatisfying doesn’t begin to cover that part of a zombie couple’s relationship.
    This boy was certainly attractive, though, a little emo-banged skater type, younger than Honey by a year, maybe, with a thin nose and zipper-covered parachute pants. They were a striking pair, especially considering Honey’s Versace slip dress and blond extensions. The whole scene sprang from a tragically ironic high-fashion editorial spread. I wondered if it were intentional, to throw me off. Honey knew how I loved intentionally posed candids.
    The boy eyed me and stood up awkwardly, nearly bowing. “Hello, Ms. Feral. I’m Stoney.”
    “Stoney?” I glanced at Honey, raising my eyebrow. “Is he a Jonas Brother?”
    She smirked, yet held back on her regular witty comeback.
    “Honey said you were gorgeous.” His eyes were saucers, as though in shock. “But I guess I didn’t know what that meant until