{"sf1_id":8406,"sf2_id":"Vm2RK7Zm","title":"Summer Vacation Of The Living Dead - book 1","author":"Alex Reynard","words":21668,"posted_at":"2005-12-15T18:05:00.000Z","tags":["Adventure","Bat","Cheetah","Coyote","Death","Mouse","Supernatural"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/8406-summer-vacation-of-the-living-dead-book-1","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/Vm2RK7Zm","image_url":"https://www.sofurryfiles.com/std/thumb?page=8406\u0026ext=.jpg","description":"#1 of Summer Vacation Of The Living Dead","content":"Summer Vacation Of The Living Dead  \na gruesome little screwball comedy by Alex Reynard  \n  \nFeaturing the voice talents of:  \nANTONIO BANDERAS (in Four Rooms) as Carlos Lopez  \nCAITLIN CLARKE as Martina Lopez  \nPAUL GIAMATI as Mr. Goldwood  \nANTONIO BANDERAS (in Shrek 2) as Javier  \nSTEVE BUSCEMI as Jeff  \nand  \nDAVID BOWIE as Thanatos  \n  \n  \nAUTHOR'S NOTE:  \nGet out your picks and shovels, folks. I have a feeling you're really gonna 'dig'  \nthis one...  \n  \n  \n-~\\*BOOK ONE\\*~-  \n  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER ONE-  \n  \nThunder, lightning, wind and rain crashed down from an angry sky like wild, pagan  \ngods fighting unrestrained against each other in a four-way duel to the death.  \n  \nTish Lopez considered it a good omen.  \n  \nHer brother had always liked thunderstorms. In contrast, and unusually so, she'd  \nalways hated them. Quite frankly, if she were to be honest, they'd scared the  \nliving shit out of her when she was little. Literally. She vividly remembered one  \nnight in particular when she was four. The earsplitting booms and heartstopping  \nflashes of light had seemed centered directly above the house, right on top of  \nher room. She'd clenched herself into a tiny little ball of fur, quaking with  \nprimal terror. And suddenly, fear was replaced with disgust as she realized that  \nthe last blast of thunder had frightened her so badly she'd shit her pajamas.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; She'd cried hard enough to wake up the entire house. Mom and Dad had come  \nthudding down the hall in their slippers to console her. They'd then spent a good  \ntwenty minutes hugging her and assuring her they weren't angry at her, that  \neveryone has accidents sometimes.  \n  \nBut what really calmed her down most was seeing Max standing there in the doorway  \nthrough her film of tears. There was no trace of malicious glee in his eyes. This  \nwas not something he'd even consider using as tease fodder. His expression was  \nwarm and understanding and told her, 'Hey, it's okay.'  \n  \nYears later, Max still remembered that moment. And when another vicious storm had  \npassed over their tall, creaking house, he had run unexpectedly into his sister's  \nroom and woke her up with a paw pressed over her mouth.  \n  \n\"Come with me.\"  \n  \nHe'd led her downstairs, holding both her paws in his. She fought him all the  \nway, trembling and jerking and pleading with him to let her go so she could run  \nback up to her room and hide under the covers. But he would not let go of her  \npaws.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Down to the kitchen the two little coyote pups went. Max stood her in front of  \ntheir immense kitchen window, the one that, even from the head of the table at  \ndinner, you could clearly see all the way out to the old town cemetery through.  \nIt was an amazing view, and one Tish had always considered pretty. Max held her  \ntight and told her to wait.  \n  \nThen, like a miracle, like magic, as if Max had somehow orchestrated it all, a  \ntree of lightning ripped apart the sky, illuminating the night like an electric  \nshock of daylight and casting a second's worth of eerie glow on the whole town  \nbelow.  \n  \nTish's jaw hung open.  \n  \n\"Now, wasn't that the coolest thing you've ever seen in your whole life?\" Max  \nwhispered to her. Totally casual, as if he'd planned the whole thing. As if the  \nlighting had been paid off in advance to put on a show.  \n  \nAnd after that, Tish wasn't afraid of thunderstorms anymore.  \n  \n\"Teresa!!\"  \n  \nTish turned around, scowling the same deep-set, impenetrable scowl she'd had on  \nall evening. She hated when her mother called her by her 'real' name. \"\\*What\\*?\"  \nshe snarled.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Martina was taken aback by the sheer anger of her daughter's gaze. She knew that  \nTish had been in a 'dark mood' for quite a long time now, but this type of  \nbehavior was even more troubling than usual. \"I- I'm sorry. It's just you've been  \nstanding there by yourself all this time, and people keep asking about you.\"  \n  \nThe little coyote lowered her head a bit, staring down at her nice new black  \nshoes and her nice new black dress and her nice new black everything. \"Tell 'em  \nto mind their own damn business.\"  \n  \nThe elder canine felt a surge of fury flash across her muzzle. She stalked over  \nto Teresa and grabbed her daughter's snout in her paw, forcing the girl to look  \nup. \"You...! What is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this? What has  \ngotten into you?!\"  \n  \nTish stared back at her mother. Her lower lip trembled the tiniest bit, a small  \ncrack in her otherwise perfectly solid facade. Her eyes said, with sadness, 'What  \na perfectly stupid question, Mom. You know exactly what's the matter with me'.  \n  \nAnd she did, too. Martina suddenly knelt down and embraced her cub, feeling like  \nthe most thickheaded parent on the planet. \"I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry. I've been  \nso worried and frantic over all the details, making sure everything's just right,  \nmaking sure we have enough money... I keep forgetting. I keep losing myself in  \nthe details so I'll forget. Do you understand, baby?\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Yes, Mom.\"  \n  \nShe sobbed once, and a tear fell on Tish's black shoulder, running down the  \nsynthetic fabric to her rusty grey fur. \"I will tell them to mind their own damn  \nbusiness. You're right. Even I can't know what you're feeling now, my sweetie.  \nBut it's \\*okay\\* to feel whatever you need to. Let it out any way you need to. If  \nyou want to stare out the window, you can stare all night and day.\" She smiled  \njust a little, and added, \"Although it might be hard, learning to sleep standing  \nup.\"  \n  \nTish gave no sign, but she smiled a little too.  \n  \nMartina stood up again and patted her daughter's long, dark hair. The hairspray  \nin it made it feel like tiny coils of plastic. \"If you don't want to socialize,  \nthat's alright. I'll tell everyone to leave you alone.\"  \n  \nTish nodded. \"Thanks, Mom.\"  \n  \n\"I love you, my little moon,\" the elegant, slender coyote said, almost silently.  \n  \nTish heard, and said nothing back, but her eyes let her mother know she was  \ngrateful. Then she turned back to the window, staring off again into the  \npremature night of the storm.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Martina walked back out of the kitchen, and her footsteps were swallowed up by  \nthe rest of the sounds from the livingroom. A sea of low, somber chatter. Fabric  \nrustling. Plastic forks scraping across tiny red plastic plates. The tick of the  \nhall clock. Another set of footsteps approaching.  \n  \nShe did not turn to face the approaching one. She did not react when a spotted  \nyellow paw softly cupped her arm.  \n  \n\"I'm sorry...\" he said, in the bewildered voice of someone who has just woken up  \nfrom a nice dream, only to realize they are lost in a strange land where nothing  \nmakes sense.  \n  \n\"Back off or I'll break your arm, Nick,\" Tish told her best friend.  \n  \nBeing her best friend, and understanding that when Tish wanted to be left alone,  \nshe Wanted To Be Left Alone, the spindly young cheetah took his paw off her with  \nall due haste. \"Sorry.\"  \n  \n\"I'm not mad at you,\" she said, eyes closed, nearly inaudible.  \n  \n\"I know,\" he said, as if it went without saying. \"I'll bug off. The snacks your  \nmom got aren't too bad. But this suit itches like a sonofabitch.\" He scratched  \noverdramatically at his collar, hoping to at least get a little smile out of her.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Her glare, reflected in the dark window, went even more rigid.  \n  \nNick took the hint, smiled weakly, and bugged off.  \n  \nAlthough when he was gone, Tish did allow herself a tiny smile. On a list of  \nimpossible things that could never happen, she would have thought seeing Nick in  \na suit would at least be in the top five.  \n  \nShe sighed, and went back to the important task of staring out the window.  \n  \nIt \\_was\\_ important. She didn't care if nobody else understood it. She had to  \nstand here, in the kitchen, paws on the sill, staring out into the storm. She had  \nto keep her focus. She had to keep staring, waiting for each successive lightning  \nflash so she could see the spot.  \n  \nShe had to keep her anger. She had to guard it like a precious jewel. She could  \nnot allow herself to feel sadness, or fall into grief. No. She wouldn't let that  \nhappen, because those feelings were unnecessary.  \n  \nThe tinkling glasses and hushed, sincere/insincere whispers from the living room  \nwere getting on her nerves. When the hell would they all just leave so she could  \nbe alone?  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Another lightning flash.  \n  \nHer suspicions were confirmed.  \n  \nShe \\*thought\\* she'd seen movement out there in the graveyard. And indeed she had.  \nThe lightning had clearly shown, just long enough, two fursons in grey jumpsuits,  \nsmoothing out the dirt.  \n  \nSmoothing out the dirt over her brother's new grave.  \n  \nHer anger, all of it, was directed at them.  \n  \n'It is gonna be such a fucking pain in the ass digging him back up again,' she  \nthought to herself.  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER TWO-  \n  \nLater that night, after all the refreshments were gone and the last guests had  \nleft, saying something consoling to Mom or Dad on their way out, Tish had gotten  \nsick of staring out the window and had abruptly decided to go up to her room  \ninstead.  \n  \nSo now here she was, lying on her back on her bed, ramrod straight, staring up at  \nthe shadows on the ceiling of the rain running down the window.  \n  \nShe thought about the funeral.  \n  \nThe Lopezes were not the wealthiest family in the world. And that smug bastard  \nlawyer Dad had talked with had said there was no feasible grounds they could use  \nto sue the engineer or the railroad corporation. So that left only one option to  \npay for Max's last big goodbye party; go downtown to the bank and empty the  \nsavings account, like tipping a piggy bank upside down.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Coffin shopping was about the least fun afternoon activity Tish could remember.  \nAlthough, admittedly, it was not as bad as the time she'd gotten the flu. But by  \na slim margin.  \n  \nShe'd wandered aimlessly around the funeral home showroom, looking at all the  \nbig, shiny new corpse-buckets.'Geeze, somebody is going to end up lying down  \nforever in every one of these things,' she thought to herself. 'Well, not exactly  \n\\_forever\\_,' she corrected. 'Hungry hungry earthworms, of course.'  \n  \nWhen her mom and dad came back to check on her after talking to the funeral  \ndirector about cost options, Mom had let out a thin, sharp shriek. Dad clutched  \nat his wife's shoulders to keep her from falling over sideways and asked his  \ndaughter what in the hell she was doing.  \n  \nTish was lying perfectly still in a small silver coffin that she thought looked  \nlike a refrigerator from the future. She hadn't even taken her shoes off.  \n  \n\"Get this one,\" she said flatly, without opening her eyes. \"Max would've liked it  \nbest.\"  \n  \nAnd they had gotten that very one.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The viewing was also not particularly pleasant. Standing around in the funeral  \nhome, her brother lying there in his Techno-Fridge, on display, like a new car  \nmodel or a selection of deli meats. Relatives she barely knew kept coming up and  \nsaying how sorry they were, and what a brave girl she was, and how awful it was  \nto lose someone so close. She refrained, with all the strength of her will, from  \ntelling each and every one of them to go blow a donkey. There was no way in H-E-  \ndouble-hockey-sticks they could \\_possibly\\_ know what she was going through right  \nnow.  \n  \nOne of them handed her a funeral home pamphlet about dealing with the loss of a  \nsibling. She'd glanced at it, and saw the title was written in simulated purple  \ncrayon. On the inside there were stick figure drawings which were obviously done  \nby an adult attempting feebly to draw like a kid. Tish skimmed the text and found  \nit to be an insult to her intelligence. She snuck downstairs to the men's  \nbathroom and stuffed it in the urinal. There. Max would have laughed his ass off  \nat that. She was dealing with her loss.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; She went back upstairs and finally did what she'd been avoiding for more than an  \nhour now. She went up to Max's coffin. The overpowering smell of all the flowers  \nnearly made her choke. Tish's tail hung limply between her legs as she put her  \npaws on the edge of the big silver bullet and gazed into the unmoving face of her  \nvery best, \\*best\\* friend in the entire universe.  \n  \nHe just looked like some kind of big doll. It was like those pictures she'd seen  \nof that famous wax museum with all the weird-looking celebrity mannequins in it.  \nWhatever this was in this ridiculously expensive padded box, it was not her  \nbrother. It was not Max. It was not fart jokes and a ten-speed bike and crunching  \ncereal and comic books and a cracked and taped old hockey stick and the porno mag  \nunder his sheets he didn't think she knew about.  \n  \nShe looked around cautiously, making sure no one was close enough to see her or  \noverhear.  \n  \nShe reached up and touched the dead body's nose. She honked it, like in a  \ncartoon. She poked his closed eyelid and it felt like cream cheese.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Wow, you're really dead, aren't you,\" she said conversationally.  \n  \nNo answer, of course.  \n  \nThe consistency of the flesh was like room-temperature rubber. The kind they make  \nfake sea creatures out of that you can throw at your friends and scare the piss  \nout of them. The nose felt like a fat little cherry tomato.  \n  \nTish swallowed. She wasn't about to cry. Not now. Not ever.  \n  \n\"You stupid asshole,\" she said in a loving, tender whisper. \"Why the fuck didn't  \nyou just run? Then it would be me lying here instead. Dumbass. My stupid fucking  \ndumbass brother.\"  \n  \nShe couldn't help it. A single tear managed to escape.  \n  \nDisgusted with herself, Tish went to go sit in the car.  \n  \nAnd then, just a few hours ago, an eternity ago...  \n  \nThe actual funeral. The big send-off-a-roonie. Back to the funeral home, in her  \nnice new black everything that had obviously not been designed by anyone who had  \never actually been a twelve-year-old girl. Admittedly though, she didn't hate it  \nentirely. It certainly did suit her mood this fine and muggy June morning.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Then she sat down in a big room full of flowers and people she mostly didn't  \nknow, in a tiny chair where, somewhere behind her, the oldest lady she'd ever  \nseen played religious tunes on an electric organ that sounded surreally like  \nvideo game music.  \n  \nThen some guy in a suit got up in front of a plastic podium and read from the  \nbible a lot. Tish found herself thinking that Max would be bored out of his mind  \nright now. He would be bored to a \\*second\\* death. Actually, if the guy kept this  \nup, maybe he'd miraculously bore her brother back to life again. That'd be  \nconvenient.  \n  \nAfter a dreamy, indeterminate length of time, during which she'd spaced out  \nlooking at the flower-print dress the lady in front of her was wearing, they all  \ngot up and the usher guy made them file past the coffin. She desperately hid a  \ngrin as she imagined 'accidentally' knocking the coffin over and having Max flop  \nout onto the floor like a giant lump of cookie dough. The screams would be  \ndelicious. And she'd get to find out once and for all if they really did send you  \noff to your eternal slumber in a jacket and pants with no back in them.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Of course, the real reason, the only real reason, for thinking such things was  \nsimply that she knew Max would have found them funny. His sense of humor had  \nalways been broad and sophomoric, never cruel, but with a little twisted edge to  \nit she loved so much. She wished she could just look over in the corner and see a  \nlittle white coyote ghost hangin' out, smiling back at her, daring her to do it.  \nThe corner was, of course, empty. But if she'd seen him, even just a little  \n'thumbs up' floating there, she'd have done it for real. Consequences be damned.  \n  \nThere was nothing worth more to her in the world than seeing her brother laugh  \nagain. The big dum goofball...  \n  \nThe look on the funeral director's face had been priceless when she'd asked him  \noh-so-innocently where they sold the souvenirs.  \n  \nThen they got back in the car (which had magically sprouted a little orange flag  \non top, she noticed) and drove at about negative fifty miles per hour to the  \ncemetery. She asked her dad if they could just floor it and let everyone else eat  \ntheir dust, and her father said gently that that wouldn't have been very polite  \nof them.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; She sat back and smiled a little bit. Dad understood. Dad knew she had to keep  \nacting like Little Miss Asshole or else she'd start crying again, and that was  \nthe last thing she wanted to do in front of a bunch of strangers.  \n  \n\"Oh look,\" he'd said brightly, \"we're running a red light now. And no one can  \nstop us! We're fugitives from justice!\"  \n  \nHer mother had chuckled weakly, but Tish came perilously close to giggling. He  \nwas trying, and that was cool. She was proud to say she had a cool dad.  \n  \nSo then they were at the gravesite. Just a square hole in the ground covered up  \nby some moldy old boards. The preacher guy started talking again, so naturally  \nTish zoned out. She looked around, reading the headstones, and noticed for the  \nfirst time that there was nothing but kids in this part of the cemetery. That  \nmade her a little sad. All these headstones. And underneath all of them was  \nsomeone's son or daughter. Someone's brother. Someone's sister.  \n  \nThen she noticed a small white sign off by the road, proclaiming this part of the  \ncemetery the 'Garden Of Babes'. She managed a little smile again. 'Max will be  \ndisappointed,' she thought. 'He'll see that and think he's gonna get to lie next  \nto hot chicks for all eternity.' That struck her so funny, and so true to her  \nbrother's nature, that she snorted out loud. Dad gave her an impressively casual  \n'knock it off' shoulder nudge, and she pretended to sneeze as a cover up.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Then they were lowering her brother's body into the ground. A whole bunch of  \ncemetery guys in grey jumpsuits (one of them with a cigarette dangling from his  \nlip, she noticed with righteous anger) lifted the big silver sucker up and let it  \ndown somewhat less than tenderly into the hole.  \n  \nA few people tossed roses on top of the coffin as the workers began shovelling  \ndirt onto it. Tish snuck closer and, hopefully without anyone seeing, flicked one  \nof Max's superhero cards down into the grave. He would have much preferred that  \nto some stupid ol' flower.  \n  \nAnd then they drove home, and then everyone was invited to their house for a  \n'remembrance get-together'. A slimy little euphemism, but you couldn't really  \ncall having a party after a kid's funeral a 'party'. Tish, of course, had snubbed  \neveryone and gone to stare out the window.  \n  \nAnd so it all led back to now: lying on her bed as the thunder rattled the  \nwindows and the rain made shadows like little round black bugs skittering across  \nthe ceiling.  \n  \nMax would have liked this weather.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Tish reached across to her dresser and picked up the little red plate she'd  \nsnatched when no one was looking. Staring out kitchen windows is hungry work,  \nafter all. She was glad for the little assortment of crackers and spreads and  \nfruit chunks she'd been able to hoard. There was no way she could eat a whole  \ndinner right now, but this was just perfect.  \n  \nSomeone knocked on her door, and she stopped herself in time before an irrational  \nimpulse made her hide her food. It wasn't like she'd stolen it or anything.  \n  \nThe door opened slowly, and a strong, square muzzle poked in through the crack.  \n\"Tish?\"  \n  \n\"I'm in here, Daddy,\" she admitted. That was another thing she liked about Dad;  \nhe never called her Teresa. Never.  \n  \nHer father ducked a little bit as he came in her room, as he always did. Usually  \nhe looked like a blacksmith, or a tough-as-nails police sergeant. Someone shaped  \nby hard work into a body of fur-covered steel, but still poised and dignified  \nenough to give off an air of effortless importance. Someone you \\_had\\_ to pay  \nattention to. Now, in his snazzy black suit, he looked like the quintessential  \nmafia hitman.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"You okay?\" he asked. Meaning; 'Do you want to talk about anything, or should I  \nleave you alone?'  \n  \nTish wasn't sure herself. \"I dunno.\"  \n  \nCarlos Lopez came closer and sat down gingerly at the foot of his daughter's bed,  \nalways afraid he was going to make the whole thing snap like a twig one of these  \ndays. He reached out a catcher's-mitt paw and stroked her hair with his almost  \nsupernatural gentleness.  \n  \nNeither of them said a word for a long time. Tish just sat there, crosslegged,  \nstaring down at her socks, feeling her dad's big paw caress her rigid, itchy  \nhair. While she appreciated the gesture, she wished she'd been able to convince  \nher mom not to use so much damn hairspray on her this morning.  \n  \nEventually, he gave her two small pats and stood up. \"Whenever you want to talk,  \nI'll always be here for you. Always, my darling. My girl. Always.\"  \n  \nShe loved his voice. Deep and gravelly, with that little bit of accent he'd never  \nbothered to shake. He had a good dangerous-sounding voice. He could have done  \nmovie trailers. As it was, he'd talked himself out of traffic tickets on two  \nseparate occasions before; his soft, intimidating tone subtly hinting that he was  \nnot a man whose time should be wasted by something so trifling. Tish totally  \nadmired the balls that took.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; And yet, when he wanted to sound caring and soft, he did so with equal ease. Like  \nnow.  \n  \nShe looked up to him, her green eyes catching the reflection of lightning from  \nthe window. \"I don't know when I'll be ready. Or what I wanna say,\" she told him,  \nas truthfully as she could. Omitting certain parts. For now.  \n  \nHe nodded. \"That's okay. Take all the time you need. I'll be here.\"  \n  \nHe turned to leave, then stopped, his hand on the doorknob. \"You know, your  \nbrother loved you more than anything else in the world.\"  \n  \nShe nodded, and smiled sadly. \"Well, duh.\"  \n  \nHe chuckled, a low rumble, like falling rocks in the desert. \"Of course you know.  \nHow stupid of me. Goodnight, my sweetheart.\"  \n  \n\"Goodnight, Daddy.\"  \n  \nThe door clicked as it shut.  \n  \nTish gazed up at the ceiling again. She popped a grape in her mouth and wondered  \nif her brilliant plan wasn't the most insane thing she'd ever come up with.  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER THREE-  \n  \nDespite the fact that there were only five days of school left until summer  \nvacation, Tish's parents had insisted that she still had to go. She laid out a  \nfairly solid case that not only was she much too traumatized to attend classes,  \nbut that nothing important ever happened during the last week anyway. Mom kissed  \nher on the head and said cheerfully that if she didn't go, they'd lock her in the  \nattic all summer with no food or water. Tish rolled her eyes and said allright.  \nMom was always teasing her like that.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; So, Monday morning found her trudging up the steps of the local elementary school  \nwith a severely grumpy look on her face. Her black, stringy hair hung down in her  \neyes, making her look somewhat drowned. She hadn't slept well last night, but at  \nleast she had not dreamed.  \n  \nShe stomped along through the hall like a furry hurricane. But she couldn't  \nmanage to be too pissed off. After all, in just five more days, she'd never have  \nto set foot in this den of stupidity ever again. She'd be off to middle school  \nnext September. Which, she knew, would probably be even worse.  \n  \nNick caught up to her when she turned a corner. \"Hey, Tish,\" he said with a weak  \nsmile.  \n  \n\"Get bent,\" Tish growled.  \n  \n\"I just wanted you to know, I'm here if you wanna talk about stuff.\"  \n  \n\"Drop dead,\" she spat.  \n  \n\"He was my best friend too...\"  \n  \n\"Fuck off,\" she snarled.  \n  \n\"You know, you're being a total bitch this morning,\" he snapped.  \n  \nHer expression softened. \"Thanks for coming yesterday.\"  \n  \n\"No problem.\" The lithe little cheetah didn't even bother addressing her other  \ncomments. Tish was just Tish. If you were brave enough to be her friend, you had  \nto learn when she was serious and when she wasn't. When she wanted to be coaxed  \nout of a bad mood and when she didn't. Nick thought that, after nearly eight  \nyears of being her and Max's best friend, he'd \\*almost\\* gotten the hang of it.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The pair entered the classroom, and conversation stopped dead. Everyone stared at  \nthem, especially at Tish. It was a bizarre situation. Here was the spooky dark  \ngirl who hated everyone and who they all made fun of. But what had happened to  \nher, had happened to her brother, made nearly all of them feel a little sorry for  \nher too. The moment was made even more awkward by the fact that Tish was still  \nwearing her rumpled, wrinkled black funeral dress, which she'd also slept in.  \n  \n\"Anyone says anything about my brother today and they get punched in the mouth,\"  \nTish stated with calm, inflexible firmness.  \n  \nThe other kids all looked somewhere else and started talking amongst themselves  \nagain, coming to a silent consensus that the best thing to do would be to just  \nignore her.  \n  \nBefore she took her seat, Nick gave her tail a tug. She looked up, a little  \nannoyed, and saw his eyes. His deep brown eyes, giving her a perfect 'It's gonna  \nbe okay, and I'll always be your friend' look.  \n  \nShe gave one back to him gratefully.  \n  \nHe nodded and sat down.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Hey, Chainsaw!\" someone shouted.  \n  \nNick turned around and soon he and his other friends were caught up in a heated  \nconversation about the newest series of trading cards with pictures of little  \nJapanese critters on them.  \n  \nNick's last name wasn't actually Chainsaw, but it might as well have been. In  \nreality, it was some fiendishly long and complicated eastern European name with  \nway too many consonants and not nearly enough vowels. All anyone could really  \nseem to remember of it was that it started with a 'Cz' and ended with an 'owski'.  \nAt some point in second grade, one of his friends had looked at the little  \ncheetah's nametag and, struggling with all his might, mispronounced it  \n'chainsaw'. The rest was history.  \n  \nEveryone called him Chainsaw. Even Nick himself. Even the \\*teachers\\*.  \n  \nHe'd even found a way to make the nickname make some sort of sense. He said that  \nif he were ever in a horror movie, being chased by some psycho wielding a  \nchainsaw, he'd be the one to outrun him. And it was probably true. Some cheetahs  \nwere indeed fat and lazy. Nick, however, was about as perfect an archetype as you  \ncould imagine. Lean as an Olympic sprinter, slick as butter and with fur color to  \nmatch. 95% of his life was spent in running shorts and sports jerseys.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Tish silently watched him talking animatedly with his other guy friends. Talking  \nabout some dumb boy stuff, probably, but the image made her sad nonetheless.  \nBefore class, she and Max had always talked together. It didn't matter that they  \nwere different as night and day (which was why Mom and Dad called them,  \nrespectively, 'my little moon' and 'my little sun'), they were twins. They were a  \nteam. Forever. \\_Forever\\_, dammit.  \n  \nBut not now.  \n  \nShe forced herself to glance over at the empty desk beside her. That band logo  \nsticker was still mostly stuck to the side, despite Mr. Goldwood's attempts to  \nscrape it off. There was still little pencil scribbles on the top surface. She  \ndidn't even want to guess how much of her brother's stuff was still inside. He'd  \nprobably left part of his lunch in there over the weekend, and by Friday it'd  \nstink like hell. She grinned thinly. His final, parting prank.  \n  \nNo. She mentally slapped herself. Not final. Not final \\_anything\\_. Because she  \nwould not accept his death. She simply would not allow herself to believe he was  \nreally gone. Not until she'd done everything possible to bring him back. To see  \nhis face one more time. And then they could be brother and sister again. The team  \nreunited.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Miss Lopez?\"  \n  \nHer head snapped up. Class had started and she hadn't even realized it. Several  \npeople tried to hide giggles, but she heard them anyway. And she'd be paying them  \nall a visit during recess.  \n  \n\"Miss Lopez. Eyes up front, please,\" Mr. Goldwood said testily.  \n  \nShe glared daggers at the bespectacled possum. \"My brother's in the ground right  \nnow being eaten by bugs, so leave me the hell alone, okay?\"  \n  \nNormally, she never would have had the guts to say that, but today she thought  \nshe really had a chance at getting away with it. She and her sixth grade teacher  \nshared an adversarial relationship, but one with mutual respect. He put up with a  \nwhole lot of her weirdness that another teacher would have had her expelled over,  \nand he also saw the potential in her dark and angry, but extremely creative and  \nintelligent mind.  \n  \nHe stared at her for a bit. They locked eyes, and no one else in the classroom  \nsaid a word.  \n  \nHer eyes said, 'Come on, you know I'm not gonna be able to concentrate anyway.  \nGive me a break.'  \n  \nHe sighed theatrically. \"Fine, but you watch it, Miss Lopez. And I \\_am\\_ very  \nsorry for what happened.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; 'Thank you,' she mouthed silently to him.  \n  \nHe went on with his lesson, and Tish went on with her remembering.  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER FOUR-  \n  \nLast Tuesday hadn't been one of the hottest their little southwestern town had  \never faced, but it had been mean enough to force you to notice it. Tish had been  \nlaying spread-eagle on her bed, all the windows open, fan going full blast,  \ntongue lolling out of the side of her mouth.  \n  \nMax had popped in, cheerful as ever. \"Wanna go bike over to the Frostee Freez?\"  \n  \nShe turned her head to him. \"Bike? In this weather? Are you \\_trying\\_ to give me  \nheat stroke?\"  \n  \nMax was one of the few people in the world bold enough to not put up with Tish's  \nmelodramatics (Mom, Dad, and the school principal were the others. And Grandma,  \nof course. But Grandma was gone now too). He grabbed her by the arm and pulled  \nher off the bed like dragging a sandbag. \"Come on, ya big crybaby. I'll pay.  \nWe'll get those big giant milkshakes the size of bowling balls.\"  \n  \nShe perked up a bit. Superman's weakness was Kryptonite. Tish's weakness was  \nthose bigass milkshakes. \"Oh, allright.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Cool, let's go!\"  \n  \nHe ran off in his gangly way out of her room and down the stairs, and Tish  \nwondered again why he'd apparently gotten all the energy when they were born.  \n  \nTish and Max were the rare case of twins who were nearly complete opposites in  \nalmost every way. While some twins looked alike, talked alike and shared the same  \nactivities, with Tish and Max, if one of them had claimed to have been adopted,  \nthe whole town would have gone 'Ohhhh, so THAT explains it!'  \n  \nTish was scrawny, to put it politely. She was a little gloomy skeleton, dressed  \nalways in black ever since she was seven. Her hair was black too, limp and  \nuncombable, looking sometimes like a raven had passed out and melted on top of  \nher skull.  \n  \nMax was slender too, but in a more wiry way. He was a tad gangly, with a big  \nhead, big tail and big paws. He was almost always in motion; riding his bike as  \nfast as possible, riding his roller skates as fast as possible, gleefully  \nengaging in the rough and tumble sports. He liked things loud and energetic,  \nwhile Tish preferred things quiet and nuanced.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; While Tish was brilliant (the 'brains of the operation', as he called her  \nsometimes), Max was no dummy either. He was just so much like a goofy little  \npuppy that people tended to overlook his low-key, sharp and perceptive side.  \nSometimes he came up with ideas out of the blue that were so clever, Tish was  \nleft speechless. Her brother was like a cunning tornado on wheels brandishing a  \nhockey stick.  \n  \nAbout the only things they really shared were their grey \u0026 tan streaked fur and  \ntheir sparkling green eyes. That, and the fact that they loved each other more  \nthan anything else in all existence. They'd walk along together holding hands,  \ncompletely unselfconsciously. The charmingly obnoxious grinder and the creepy,  \ndangerous stormcloud. They made quite a bizarre pair.  \n  \nEspecially on those rare occasions when they'd be having a conversation, and  \nwould suddenly stop speaking in words for a few moments, then continue on as if  \nnothing had happened. Tish had read news articles about how twins sometimes  \nshared a low-level telepathic link. Her reaction: 'Well, duh.'  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; So, because even more than milkshakes, she liked seeing her dum brother happy,  \nTish got up and went downstairs to get her bike.  \n  \nHad her mind not been elsewhere, she might have realized that her jet black,  \nfaux-silk long pants (found at a thrift store for five bucks; they were her  \nfavorite pair) were not the best thing to wear when going out bike riding. Had  \nher mind not been elsewhere, she would have taken a moment to change into a pair  \nof shorts.  \n  \nHad her mind not been elsewhere, Max might still be alive.  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER FIVE-  \n  \nIt was only about a dozen blocks to the Frostee Freeze, but Tish was about ready  \nto collapse from exhaustion two thirds of the way there.  \n  \nTheir town was not exactly small in terms of area, as it spread out like a calm  \nfungus over the desert in a wide, thin oval, but it was small enough in  \npopulation that just abut everybody knew where just about everything was. Hardly  \nanyone ever needed to ask for directions. But they would have been given out  \nhappily, because if you chose a random person to ask, you'd probably know them  \nanyway.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; It was a city spared from some of the more extreme weather that most of the rest  \nof the state often had to deal with, but while still retaining the charm and  \npeace of a quiet little desert town. They had all the amenities of any other  \nsuburban city, including a bustling downtown full of fun little shops, but you'd  \nstill see tumbleweeds rolling lazily about down the street every now and then,  \nand some people grew cacti in their backyards that were taller than their houses.  \nAnd on some nights, you could hear the coyotes howl from any point in town.  \n  \n\"Come \\*on\\*!!\" Max grumbled back at her. He was trying to stay upbeat, but he was  \nalso mildly annoyed at his sister's lagging pace.  \n  \n\"I'm trying! I'm sorry, but I'm hot and sweaty and tired!\" she called back. And,  \nto make things worse, she hadn't had anything to drink since breakfast, and all  \nher black clothes were trapping heat energy like a magnet. Tish was dripping  \nsweat all over her shirt. She was pumping her legs as hard as she could, but was  \nstill only able to force her bike along at a crawl.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Most of downtown was behind them now. All they had to do now was get past the  \nrailroad tracks, past the barber shop, and they'd arrive at their destination.  \nMilkshakes ahoy, Cap'n.  \n  \nIt was hot, but dirty grey clouds were also hanging overhead. Possibly heralding  \nrain later.  \n  \nA growing rumble to the west sparked Tish's notice. She glanced down the street  \nand could see a train chugging along steadily towards the crossing. \"Oh shit!  \nMax, stop! There's a train!\"  \n  \nHe laughed nonchalantly. \"Look how far away it is! We can make it! Hurry up!\" He  \nput on an extra burst of speed and shot towards the tracks.  \n  \nShe knew he could make it, but she didn't know if there was enough time for her  \nto do it alongside Max. The last thing she wanted was for them to be stuck on  \nopposite sides of the train, waiting with annoyance for it to pass. \"Dammit...\"  \nshe grumbled. She stood up on the pedals and tried her best to speed up. It  \ndidn't help that the road sloped upward to meet the tracks.  \n  \nBetween the railroad ties were wooden planks, laid out so cars wouldn't snap  \ntheir axles driving over exposed track. However, after decades of wear, the wood  \nhad shriveled treacherously. If you were in a car you'd just get bobbled around a  \nbit. If you were on a bike however, it made for a truly ass-shattering  \nexperience. Your tail would hurt like hell after going over all those dips.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Max took the crossing easily, standing up on the pedals to absorb most of the  \nshock in his arms and legs. \"Woohoo!\" he shouted, mostly to hear his voice  \nvibrate.  \n  \nThe train was coming along faster than Tish had thought at first. She pushed  \nherself harder, stomping down fiercely on the pedals. Looking ahead, she saw she  \nhad plenty of room to spare between her and the train. Grinning at her  \naccomplishment, she sped out over the tracks.  \n  \nAnd then, the worst bad luck of Tish Lopez's life all fell into her lap at once.  \n  \nHer flapping pants leg got caught in the chain. The back wheel stopped with a  \nsudden, vicious jerk that pulled her leg out straight and made her open her mouth  \nto cry out silently in panic. The bike skidded. She lost her balance on the  \nhandlebars and the front wheel turned ninety degrees and wedged itself hard in a  \ncrack between metal and wood.  \n  \nTish went flying forward in a one hundred and eighty degree arc, still unable to  \nscream, and smashed her nose directly into a solid metal railroad tie.  \n  \nMax stopped his bike instantly as a sharp pain stabbed him right in the nose.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; He turned around and saw Tish, saw her bike, saw the train coming closer by the  \nsecond. The big silver engine let out a whistle scream that vibrated Max's skin  \nfrom a half a block away.  \n  \nHe picked up his bike, turned around, and pedaled faster than he ever had in his  \nentire life.  \n  \nTish was crying and in so much pain she couldn't think straight. Bright red  \ncircles of blood were dripping from her nostrils onto the gnarled, worn-down  \nwooden planks. Her elbows hurt, and one of her ankles felt like it wasn't even  \nattached anymore.  \n  \nShe tried to get up, but her pants leg had been pulled up into the chain past the  \nankle. She pulled on it, hard, but the artificial fabric was nearly impossible to  \ntear. She pulled anyway, tugging with all her strength and finally starting to  \nscream and cry and wail and oh god the train was so close now it was making  \neverything jitter and shake and rumble like the Wrath of God.  \n  \nLike a superhero flying in to save the day, Max leaped straight off his bike and  \nwas suddenly at his sister's side in a flash. He looked down and saw there was no  \nway in hell she was going to tear her pants leg, and her bike wheel looked  \nequally immovable. He looked up, and the train was so close now there seemed to  \nbe no hope at all.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Max! Save me!!\" Tish cried, tears and snot and blood streaming down her face.  \n  \nAnd then, right when he needed it most, Max got one of his really, really good  \nideas.  \n  \nIgnoring her shriek of shock, he bent down and unbuttoned her pants. Moving with  \nall the speed and strength he'd honed over the years, in one single, impossible  \nmotion, he grabbed Tish by her waist and yanked her straight up out of her pants.  \nHe stood up, lifting her over his head like a strongman's barbell. The train was  \nso loud, it had ceased to be making any perceptible sound at all.  \n  \nHis last thought was, 'This is why. This is why I love sports and running and  \nplaying outside so much. So I'd be strong enough to save Tish today.'  \n  \nHis last words were, \"Nice undies.\"  \n  \nThen he hurled his sister across the tracks with all the strength in his body. He  \nhad just enough time left to watch her land safely, if not elegantly, in the  \nreeds by the side of the road.  \n  \nJust enough time to know he'd saved her life. But not enough time to jump away  \nand save his own.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; A second later, the train picked up Max and hurled him even farther.  \n  \nTish looked up dizzily, just in time to watch helplessly as her brother went  \nflying through the air and smashed wetly into a telephone pole. He broke in half  \nlike a rubber bag of chicken bones.  \n  \nTish screamed and screamed and screamed until her voice could work no more.  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER SIX-  \n  \nThey didn't even have to tell her he was dead. That hideous crunch when he'd hit  \nthe pole, smacking into it sideways across his stomach, bending like a hamburger  \npatty, then falling all the way back to earth and hitting the dirt with a  \nsplat... That had told her everything already.  \n  \nThat night, at the hospital, she had not been able to make a single intelligible  \nsound. The little coyote shrieked and cried and ranted and raved until the nurses  \nwere forced to strap her down in her bed. Still she thrashed and howled, like a  \ndemon had gotten inside of her. And her parents were honestly worried she'd gone  \npermanently mad.  \n  \nBut then the next morning, she came downstairs and ate breakfast and was okay  \nagain. She had decided. It was because of her own stupid, stupid, stupid mistake  \nthat Max had gotten killed. He had saved her life. Her injuries didn't even hurt  \nanymore. They glowed with a soft ache that only reminded her of her brother's  \nheroism. It seemed impossible that he'd really done what he'd done.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; But he had, and now that meant she had to save his life too. She had to find him  \nand bring him back, because without him, she did not want to live. She didn't  \neven think she could.  \n  \nAnd then, she got one of \\_her\\_ really, really good ideas.  \n  \nUp in the attic. Grandma's journals.  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER SEVEN-  \n  \nThe recess bell rung and everyone else got up from their seats. Except Tish. She  \nstill sat motionless at her desk, head wrapped up in her arms, looking like a  \nlittle black blob.  \n  \nMr. Goldwood came over and poked her shoulder gently. \"Hey... You awake?\"  \n  \nShe lifted up her head and her eyes were red as radishes. \"Yeah. I just didn't  \nwant anyone else to see me crying,\" she admitted, and sniffled a bit. It was hard  \nfor her to show weakness, to let anyone peek under her mask, but she thought Mr.  \nGoldwood deserved it for respecting her wishes earlier.  \n  \nThe possum patted her shoulder softly. \"It's okay to cry, Tish. I remember when  \nmy uncle Darren died. I was even younger than you. I had bad dreams about the  \nfuneral for months.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"I haven't been dreaming anything since Max died,\" Tish said softly. It was true,  \nand it actually scared her more than any nightmare. Usually, her dreams were  \ndisorientingly detailed and storylike. Nightmares would at least seem normal  \ncompared to having her whole night be a total blank from midnight to morning.  \n  \nMr. Goldwood knelt down by her desk and looked into the small, sad young coyote's  \neyes. \"Max was a great kid. I loved having him in class. He was funny and kind  \nand you just couldn't help liking him. Even when he screwed up.\"  \n  \nThey both chuckled a little. Max was, admittedly, a bit of a klutz indoors. Like  \na duck in water, he really only attained grace outside in the open air.  \n  \n\"I'll miss him, Tish. I'm sure a lot of us, teachers and students, are all going  \nto miss him. But I know no one's going to miss him more than you will. So, if you  \nneed to spend the rest of the week with your head on your desk, it's okay. And  \nI'm sorry that I snapped at you earlier.\"  \n  \nShe nodded. A warm new line of tears came to her eyes and she stood up and hugged  \nhim. She'd never hugged him before. Usually they were at each other's throats.  \nAnd yet, she'd always known that, secretly, they were friends. It just seemed  \nmore fun to be each other's nemeses. But it was also good to know that he really  \ndid like her and respect her.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Mr. Goldwood joined her embrace, patting her on the back, and feeling little  \ndroplets of moisture touch his cheek. \"There there, Tish. It's okay.\"  \n  \nShe nodded. \"Thanks, Mr. Goldwood. I needed this.\"  \n  \n\"I know,\" he said as he stood up. \"Now run along. I've got papers to grade,\" he  \nsaid gently, making it clear that he really rather would have stayed here,  \ncomforting her.  \n  \nShe got the message. \"Okay.\" She picked up her backpack and padded out of the  \nclassroom, shutting the door quietly behind her. She hurried off down the hall  \ntowards the playground.  \n  \nBut as soon as she stepped out of the doors into the sunshine, she saw Eddie  \nSchwartzman waiting for her.  \n  \nTish cringed furiously with her entire body.  \n  \nDespite being saddled with a name that would get most kids pummeled daily on the  \nplayground (or, more likely, as compensation for it), Eddie Schwartzman had  \nbecome the single biggest asshole Tish had ever encountered. He was the perfect  \nbully. He was a vain, preening, strutting young white mouse. Squat and fat, but a  \nlot of his weight was muscle. If the repulsive little rodent ever wanted to  \nbecome a professional bad-guy wrestler when he grew up, he could probably name  \nhis own salary.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Eddie was a psychologist's nightmare. All those mewling, wimpy, touchy-feely  \n'experts' who said bullies were just troubled kids with low self-esteem had never  \nmet Eddie. His self-esteem was through the roof. He didn't beat up on other kids  \nto make himself feel better about himself, he did it because he found it  \nabsolutely hilarious.  \n  \nWorst of all, his parents were assholes too. Mommy and Daddy Schwartzman were  \nwell-to-do, and doted on their precious little hellspawn like he was royalty.  \nWhatever Eddie wanted, Eddie got. And what Eddie usually wanted to to see how  \nterrified of him he could make other kids his age.  \n  \nAnd those he couldn't terrify, he found other ways of hurting. Eddie was smarter  \nthan anyone realized, and his great gift was in finding someone's worst, most  \nsecret weakness, and then jabbing them in the heart with it until they bled. He  \nhated Tish, but he'd hated Max more. Max was too damned carefree to be affected  \nby Eddie's punches and insults. They bounced off him like he'd been wearing a  \nbullyproof vest. And Tish was too rock solid to take any of his shit either.  \nObviously he couldn't beat her up, 'cause she was a girl, but he delighted in  \nmocking her endlessly, wondering when that stony, spooky glare of hers would  \nfinally crack.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"What the hell do YOU want?\" she spat at him as she came down the steps. After  \nher quiet, touching moment with her teacher, an encounter with the King of Jerks  \nwas the last thing on earth she wanted.  \n  \nHe grinned at her. A slimy, malicious, sociopathic grin of utter delight. \"I just  \nwanted to tell you how sad I am your brother's dead,\" he said innocently.  \n  \nHe didn't fool her for a second. Tish walked right up and stood nose-to-nose with  \nhim. \"Oh really,\" she deadpanned.  \n  \nEddie smiled sweetly. \"Yeah, I was looking forward to shoving his head in the  \ntoilet all weekend!!\" He roared with laughter, right in her face, treating her to  \na miniature rain shower of spittle.  \n  \nTish glared at him, showing no response whatsoever.  \n  \nHis expression turned smug, cocky. 'What, nothing to say back?'  \n  \nTish sighed. \"You didn't listen to a word of what I said this morning, did you?\"  \n  \nAnd before he had time to react, her clenched fish shot out quick as a bullet and  \nplowed straight into his mouth.  \n  \nEddie fell on the ground flailing and screaming and clawing at his muzzle. Blood  \nwent flying everywhere. Tish looked down on him emotionlessly, like a stone  \ngargoyle. Other kids were running over to see the school bully, who all of them  \nfeared without exception, crying and rolling around like a baby.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Predictably, one of the recess monitors came over and roughly escorted Tish to  \nthe principal's office. Her eyes never left Eddie as she was dragged away. Her  \nexpression never changed either. She wasn't a bit sorry for what she'd done, and  \nno one was going to make her feel any different, no matter what.  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER EIGHT-  \n  \nOf course, she was disciplined for her unladylike conduct. The principal roared  \nat her that she was the most antisocial little troublemaker he'd ever met in all  \nhis years of school administration, and that she should give him one good reason  \nnot to hold her back a year for her unspeakable behavior.  \n  \nTish had merely stared at him without a trace of fear and repeated, word for  \nword, what Eddie Schwartzman had said about her brother.  \n  \nThat had shut him up \\_real\\_ good.  \n  \nFor a moment, Mr. Monta¤o just stuttered a bit. Then, rearranging his angry,  \nintimidating appearance like putting a jigsaw puzzle back together, he shook his  \nfinger in her face and kept on scolding her, but with just enough of a humbled  \nedge to it that Tish knew she'd won. He told her that that was still no excuse  \nfor hitting Mister Schwartzman (although she could tell he didn't actually mean  \nthat), and that he was well aware of her brother's untimely passing (also untrue.  \nShe could tell he'd forgotten momentarily up until she mentioned it), and so he  \nwas going to be lenient on her by calling her parents and sending her home for  \nthe rest of the day ('Gee, thanks. You could've suspended me the whole week.  \nJerk').  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; So, she had waited in the sticky, faux-leather chair in the outer office,  \nlistening to Mrs. Livonia typing away merrily, not a thought in her dear old  \nhead. Tish thought she disliked the secretary even more than the principal. The  \nhuge black panther who'd just been yelling at her was at least someone you could  \nreason with on occasion. Someone whose intelligence she (sorta) respected. Mrs.  \nLivonia was either so old or so heavily medicated that she floated blissfully  \nthrough life, eternally grinning, as if her skull was as empty as an old jelly  \njar. She spoke to everyone who came in as if they were a kindergardener. Even Mr.  \nMonta¤o. Creepy.  \n  \nFinally, Dad showed up. He didn't say a word to her, but the set of his jaw  \nindicated that he was Not Pleased.  \n  \nTish got up and went with him without protest, but she also avoided his gaze.  \n  \nThey passed by Mr. Goldwood's class, still not having spoken a word to each  \nother, and Tish's teacher cast a sympathetic glance to her through the open door.  \nShe smiled back, appreciating the gesture.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; While her family was a little on the 'lower middle class' side of the economic  \nspectrum, they did at least have a nice car. All Tish knew for sure was that Dad  \nhad a friend in the used car business who owed him a \\*massive\\* favor from their  \ncollege days. Something on the level of saving his life or taking the guy's  \nmidterms for him; that kinda massive. And so, Carlos Lopez ended up driving a  \nsleek black European sedan that looked like it ate pedestrians for lunch.  \nHonestly, the car looked evil. But stylishly evil. Like a charming serial killer.  \nTish loved it.  \n  \nShe hopped up into the cushy passenger seat and buckled up. Dad sat down beside  \nher and put the key in the ignition. He kept his eyes straight ahead, never  \nlooking at her. He pulled out of the parking lot and began the long drive home.  \n  \n\"You're lucky I had the day off,\" he said quietly, but the smooth hardness in his  \nvoice suggested she was not actually lucky at all.  \n  \nTish gulped. \"Yes, Daddy.\"  \n  \nHe was silent for a block or so, letting her simmer. The car's engine made no  \nmore noise than a purring cat. He stopped at a red light, and then made a right  \nturn. They were going down a quiet, residential side street now. No distractions.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"You hit someone today,\" he said. Not a question. A statement of fact.  \n  \n\"Yes, Daddy,\" Tish conceded meekly.  \n  \nHe paused, as if considering her answer. \"Was it that Schwartzman boy?\" he asked,  \nas if he were only mildly curious.  \n  \n\"Yes, Daddy,\" she whimpered.  \n  \nBut then she frowned. \\_No\\_. He wasn't going to make her feel bad about this. \"But  \nDaddy!! He said he-\"  \n  \nHe reached across and silently, effortlessly, closed his huge hand over her  \nmuzzle.  \n  \nTish went silent, even if she really didn't have much choice in the matter.  \n  \nHer father slowly released his gentle grip, then reached up and patted Tish on  \nthe head. \"Good girl.\"  \n  \nShe was impossibly confused for a second, and then she realized. She didn't have  \nto tell Daddy what Eddie had said, because Daddy already knew. He knew that his  \ndaughter never hit anyone unless they really, truly deserved it. Unless they were  \nbegging on their knees for it. And he knew all about Eddie Schwartzman, too.  \n  \nHe looked down at her, his eyes stern, but calmly so. \"Would I be making a  \nmistake if I let you off the hook on this one?\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; She shook her head firmly, no.  \n  \nHe nodded. \"Good. It's settled then. We'll tell Mama your ankle was hurting and  \nyou had to come home because of that. And if you get in any more trouble this  \nweek, you will be grounded for the entire summer,\" he added placidly.  \n  \n\"Okay,\" she said gratefully. She leaned over and rubbed her cheek on his soft,  \ndark shirt.  \n  \nHe patted her on the head again. \"How hard did you hit him?\"  \n  \n\"Pretty hard. He was yelling a lot, and blood was coming out of his nose.\"  \n  \nHe smiled. \"That's my girl,\" he said proudly, patting her leg.  \n  \nTish wagged her tail and grinned.  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER NINE-  \n  \nFour more days of school now, and Saturday night was a full moon. When Tish saw  \nthat in the paper the next morning, she just about pissed herself. How impossibly  \nfucking perfect!  \n  \nThe night before, after a quiet dinner, Tish had stolen upstairs to the attic.  \nShe was glad to be out of the dining room. Mom had believed Dad's cover story  \nabout her ankle (and it did still hurt, a little), but sitting there and eating,  \nand looking across the table all the time at Max's empty chair... Brrrrr. It had  \nsent a sad chill down her spine. That, more than anything, that empty chair, made  \nher seriously doubt she would ever see her brother again.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; But no, she had to shake those thoughts out of her head. Blast them out hard and  \nmercilessly. Those were loser thoughts. Tish was fully invested in forcing  \nherself to believe that her plan \\*must\\* work. She \\*knew\\* it was going to work.  \nShe knew it like she knew her ABCs. Even 'hope' was too weak a word to use. Hope  \nimplied that you had faith that things would work out right. Tish didn't need  \nfaith; she would \\_make\\_ everything work out. She set her brain into one single,  \nrigid, immovable track: there was not one single acceptable outcome other than  \nsuccess. Failure would not even be acknowledged. Failure was a scientific  \nimpossibility, an unproven and weak hypothetical concept. Failure was as real as  \nthe fucking tooth fairy.  \n  \nThe young coyote kit scrambled up the rickety stairs to the drafty old attic,  \ntrying hard to remember that day five years ago when she had stumbled across the  \nbox of journals.  \n  \nLike every other room in the tall, dark house up on the hill, the Lopez's attic  \nwas furnished in bare, naked grey wood and, to most people, gave off an air of  \nforeboding. Not to Tish though, or to Max either. Even as toddlers, the house had  \nnot scared them. Not even with all its oddly constructed rooms (some too thin,  \nsome too wide), or all its bizarre little nooks and crannies (who knew what some  \nof \\*those\\* were intended for). Tish viewed her house as a great big slobbery dog  \nwith black fur and yellow eyes. It would scare the pants off anyone else, but the  \ntwo young coyotes had always known that it was there to protect them and keep  \nthem warm and safe.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Unlike the rest of the house though, the attic had a more... she searched for the  \nright word... \\*unfinished\\* feel to it. Sometimes Tish did indeed feel a little  \ntingle on the back of her neck when she came up here. Especially at night, when  \nthe black sky peeked in through the cracks in the boards.  \n  \nTish had never seen a spiderweb up here. Never. No spiders, no beetles, no  \nbookworms, no flies, no mice. Not one. Not in all the years she'd lived here. It  \nwas as if some force was telling all the pesty little critters of the world that  \nthis was not a place they would find sanctuary.  \n  \nUp here there were so many boxes it was a miracle the floor didn't just cave in  \nsomeday and kill them all. Boxes of every size, shape, color and description  \nimaginable. Most of them full of treasures, buried for years or even longer. Some  \nof it was their stuff; Christmas decorations, dusty unread paperbacks, photo  \nalbums, old toys and whatnot, but most of it was Grandma's. Tish's dad had never  \ngotten up the nerve to throw out his dear departed mother's possessions. Although  \nMom had nagged him to intermittently over the years.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; There. Right in the corner. She remembered now. She'd come up here when she was  \nseven, bored and hoping she might find something neat to rustle through. She had  \nindeed found something 'neat'. A box way off in the corner, looking like all the  \nothers. It had somehow piqued her interest though. It had drawn her, like soft,  \nhaunting music.  \n  \nShe'd squatted down and opened up the box to find a whole lot of musty notebooks  \ninside. Big ones with thick leather covers. They smelled funny. Inside every  \nsingle one of them, every single page was engulfed in a swarm of her  \ngrandmother's scrawling, clawed handwriting.  \n  \nLists. Recipes. Instructions.  \n  \nSpells.  \n  \nGrandma had always been weird. Everyone in the family knew that. She'd been born  \nin Mexico and lived there most of her life before the family moved, and she had  \nonly spent three years in this house before she died. Tish and Max were just  \nyoung pups when she passed, but they still remembered her vividly. A hearty  \nlaugh, a home-cooked meal and an abundance of presents (She'd spoiled the twins  \nterribly and had loved every second of it). A plump, nearly round, old woman with  \nan omnipresent smile and crafty eyes.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Her eyes had orange irises, Tish would swear to it. When you looked into them,  \nyou saw that they gleefully concealed worlds upon worlds of secrets. Some of them  \nwondrous, some of them sinister, but all held safely inside this unassuming,  \nquiet old woman's head. Whatever those secrets were, there was now only one place  \nthey existed in this world: her journals.  \n  \nYoung Tish's eyes had skimmed shiveringly through those brittle pages, the wind  \nwhistling and swooping outside. Spells of love and spells of revenge. Most, in  \nfact nearly all, were healing spells. For infections, for sicknesses, for broken  \nbones. Some for ailments that were decidedly unnatural in character. But Tish  \nneeded no one to tell her that all these spells \\*worked\\*. Something about the  \nstrange, arcane words made the paper they were written on nearly thrum with  \nenergy.  \n  \nIt was on that day that Tish finally discovered the truth; that her smiling,  \ngenerous, wise, roly-poly old grandma was a witch.  \n  \nA white witch. A healer. A \\*bruja\\*. She'd learned that word from her Daddy one  \nhalloween; the Spanish word for 'witch'. He had given no sign he was talking  \nabout his own mother.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; That was just about when Little Tish's creep-out-o-meter had reached its limit.  \nShe'd hastily boxed up all the old books and run ungracefully back down the  \nstairs, believing she would never go back up to that spooky old attic ever  \nagain...  \n  \nNow, a half-decade later, Tish eased herself down before the box of books once  \nmore. Sure, she'd been back up to the attic many times since then, but never any  \nlonger than she had to, and never with the intent she had now. You see, there was  \nsomething else she remembered from that long-ago day. It was one word, written in  \nbold, solemn letters at the top of one of the last entries in the very last book  \nat the bottom of the stack.  \n  \nThat word was RESURRECTION.  \n  \nThat word had given her nightmares when she was seven. She had not known what it  \nmeant, only that it felt \\*wrong\\*.  \n  \nBut now, that same long, scary word brought with it an entirely different  \nemotion. One of relieved joy. This word was the foundation of her certainty, the  \nonly reason she had not given up and allowed herself to fall into grief over her  \nbeloved brother, who had been trapped under six feet of earth for over 24 hours  \nnow.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Tish opened the box, and to her astonishment, found that her younger self, in her  \nhaste, had replaced the old books in reverse order. The book she wanted was right  \nthere on top.  \n  \n\"Thanks, me,\" she whispered to her own ghost.  \n  \nShe flipped to a page at random.  \n  \nThe word gazed eagerly, patiently up at her again. As if it had known all along  \nshe would come back to it one day.  \n  \nRESURRECTION.  \n  \nTish drew in a deep breath. \"I really hope I haven't gone completely batshit  \ninsane,\" she fretted.  \n  \nShe began to read.  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER TEN-  \n  \nAmong the list of ingredients for Granny's Old-Fashioned Dead-Raisin' Potion  \n(obviously, it wasn't really called that, but Tish was trying to use humor to  \nkeep her nerves steady), was a full moon. That seemed pretty standard for such  \nthings.  \n  \nBut then it went on to list all sorts of freaky stuff. Herbs she'd never heard  \nof. The body of a small, dead animal. Certain clothing she would need to wear.  \nCertain metals, certain minerals. And the most important component of all, it  \nsaid, was seven drops of blood from a living relative of the deceased. All things  \nconsidered, that would probably be the easiest item to procure.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; So, Tish was forced to become an amateur science detective. The next day at  \nschool, she found out which common household items were made of pure copper, and  \nthat quartz was abundant and easily available at any place that sold gems and  \nminerals. There wasn't actually any such place like that in town, but Mr.  \nGoldwood said there was a bunch of quartz in the science lab. And if she really  \nneeded it as much as she claimed (although she absolutely would not tell him what  \nfor), he'd let her take home a small chunk of it, free of charge. She had given  \nhim another big hug for that.  \n  \nThe spell also said she needed turquoise, silver and amethyst. Tish knew exactly  \nwhere she could get those: her mom's jewelry drawer. She hated the thought of  \nstealing from her parents more than just about anything she could think of. She'd  \nrather lick the inside of a hot metal dumpster than betray them like that. But,  \nif she had been able to ask her mom and dad which meant more to them, a few rings  \nand a necklace, or their son, she had no doubt as to what their answer would be.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; As she pored over a botany book in the school library on Wednesday, Tish was  \nutterly delighted to find that most of the herbal items on her list were just a  \ntrip to the supermarket away. While the spell had given most of the herbs spooky,  \nmystical names, most of the plants in question turned out to be fairly common,  \neveryday stuff. That afternoon, she had extracted about half of her secret put-  \naway money from her underwear drawer and biked on down to the local grocer's. The  \nspice rack turned out to be a goldmine. There was fennel and saffron and basil  \nright there (although the saffron cost a hell of a lot more than she expected).  \nAnd fresh celery was abundant in the produce section. Though, as the cashier rung  \nup all the stuff, Tish had to admit she never in a million years would have  \nthought plain ol' celery would be a major component in zombie-juice.  \n  \nA trip to the nearby drugstore knocked all her other green 'n leafy ingredients  \noff the list. Many of them were discovered on the herbal supplement shelf. One  \nwas found in a hand lotion, another in cough syrup, and still another in a  \nthoroughly unappetizing-sounding dark green 'power drink'. The only one that  \nreally gave her trouble was something called 'Leechbane'. Figuring there was no  \nharm in asking, she sought out the jolly pharmacist and sweetly inquired if he'd  \never heard of the stuff. To her joy, he had, and it turned out to be an active  \ningredient in, of all things, hemorrhoid creme. For his help, the pharmacist got  \na big, grateful hug as well. Startled but happy, he had thanked the normally  \nquiet little coyote girl for her patronage.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; In a plastic grocery bag hidden in her closet, Tish had accumulated almost  \neverything she needed for her spell. Clothing wouldn't be an issue, since what  \nthe spell required was the sort of stuff she always wore anyway; black, black and  \nmore black. She didn't have a black veil, but she thought one of her mom's  \nstockings would make an acceptable substitute. The jewelry she would snatch  \nSaturday night, and the blood, of course, was always on tap. Quite frankly, she  \nhad been dumbfounded at how easy it had all been. None of the ingredients were  \ndangerous or narcotic, nothing she'd have no hope of getting her paws on. And  \nnone of them were rare and exotic flora, growing only out of a goat's ass on a  \nmountain in Brazil. She was honestly dumbfounded at how straightforward this  \nbusiness of raising the dead was turning out to be.  \n  \nFriday came, and the day was more emotional than she was almost willing to admit.  \nThe last day of the school year, the last day of sixth grade and the last day of  \nelementary school all in one. Pretty heavy stuff.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Mr. Goldwood held a day-long party in a nearby park. There was lots of free food  \nfor everyone. Slightly cold pizza and slightly warm soda and cupcakes with most  \nof the frosting stuck to the clingwrap. But it all tasted wonderful nonetheless.  \nThey kids all played games and ran around like idiots. There was a massive water  \nballoon fight, and Tish was actually quite impressed with how her teacher had  \nscored a direct hit on the back of her head to get her to join in. She, of  \ncourse, got him back with a line drive right to the seat of his pants. And Nick  \nhad been the only one in the whole class nimble enough to avoid a single hit.  \nThat is, until Tish ambushed him an hour later and stuffed a pink one down his  \nshorts.  \n  \nAltogether, it was a bittersweet afternoon. This had been, Tish realized on the  \nwalk back to school (which seemed much, much longer than the walk to the park had  \nbeen), the last real moment of her childhood. Her last chance to goof off like a  \nlittle kid. Once summer was over, she'd be a middle-schooler. A Young Adult. And  \nafter her birthday in October, she'd be, appropriate gasp of horror, a  \n\\_Teenager\\_.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; But Max hadn't been there to share it with her, and he should have been. That  \nwater balloon fight would have been right up his alley. He would have dominated.  \nHe would have wiped out the entire class, her included. And he would have been  \nlaughing the whole time. That warm, deep, bellowing laugh of his. A guileless  \nlaugh of an eternal child.  \n  \nShe realized also that this October, if her plan didn't go through just right,  \nshe would be celebrating her birthday, THEIR birthday, alone for the very first  \ntime. That was almost too sad to think about. It added that much more  \ndetermination to her already towering resolve to rescue her brother from the  \ncold, cold ground.  \n  \nOn the bike ride home, she found her final ingredient. Since it had technically  \nstarted being Summer a few weeks ago (although in a town like this, summer was  \npretty much March through October), her last spell component had started popping  \nup all over the place like daffodils.  \n  \nRoadkill.  \n  \nTish found a nice, fresh, plump dead squirrel smack in the middle of Celebration  \nStreet. The poor little guy looked as though he hadn't been dead for more than a  \nfew hours of so. One of his eyes had popped completely out of his skull from the  \nsheer force of the tire rolling over his stomach. And even stoic, unflappable  \nTish Lopez had to hold back a clench of nausea at the sight of the bright pink  \nand blue entrails attached to the perfectly round black eyeball.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; She'd been carrying an extra-large ziploc baggie in her backpack all day for just  \nsuch an occasion. She whipped it out and flinchingly picked up the scuzzy grey  \nsquirrel by its tail, dropping it in the bag just as quick as she could. It came  \noff the pavement with a sound like peeling duct tape, and it was a lot heavier  \nthan she'd imagined it would be.  \n  \nTish glanced all around, \\*praying\\* nobody had seen her do that. Like she really  \nneeded to give her schoolyard tormentors any more ammo than necessary. Of course,  \nshe'd probably never see most of those people again now. And that thought made  \nher much sadder than she expected. She felt a bit of disappointment for not  \nhaving tried harder to make friends while she had the chance. True, most of  \nschool had always treated her like dog crap. But there had to be at least one  \nother cub here besides Nick and Max she could have connected with. Someone she'd  \npassed in the hall a dozen times and never noticed. Someone who might have made  \nher six years there that much more bearable.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; On the other hand though, never having to set eyes on Eddie Schwartzman again  \nwould be just glorious. He'd been carefully avoiding her all week, and she  \nthought that had been very intelligent of him. To hell with what Mr. Monta¤o or  \neven her dad had threatened. If that fat mouse bastard had said one more word  \nabout Max, she would have reopened every single wound she'd given him Monday, and  \nwould probably have kept him from having any children later on in life with one  \nswift kick, too.  \n  \nWith her precious dead cargo now tucked safely and secretly away in her backpack,  \nTish set off for home again, pedaling quietly through the calm neighborhoods as  \nshe thought.  \n  \nThough not normally a spiritual person, she said a little prayer for the dead  \nsquirrel. She told him she hoped he was happy up in heaven, and that she was  \nvery, very grateful to him for helping her bring her brother back.  \n  \nThere was no answer of course, but she amused herself by trying to imagine her  \nreaction if a little voice from her backpack had suddenly said, 'Yeah, whatever.'  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp;  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER ELEVEN-  \n  \nSomething had been nagging at Tish for almost two weeks now.  \n  \nEver since she'd come up with her brilliant/demented plan, a plan that would  \nfinally see completion this very night, some tiny little timid thought had been  \nflitting around in the back corners of her brain. Too cowardly to just come right  \nout and let her look at it. No, it had just sort of been hovering there, always  \njust beyond the edge of her grasp.  \n  \nBut now, as she sat down to a nutritious breakfast (composed of a bowl of Sugar  \nBonks, some leftover fish sticks and a glass of root beer), the thought finally  \nsurrendered to her awareness. More than that, it leapt straight out at her like a  \ntiger springing forth from the bush.  \n  \n'I am going... to be messing around... with a ZOMBIE!!!' it said.  \n  \nAn actual zombie. The undead; the living dead; the walking dead. An Actual  \nFucking \\_Zombie\\_.  \n  \nAnd what did zombies in movies do the second they got out of the ground? They  \nburied their rotten teeth right in some hapless victim's skull and sucked their  \nbrains out for supper, that's what!!  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; That mental image struck Tish as forcefully as a lightning bolt. She shuddered in  \nher chair so hard it looked as if some unseen force had shoved her. She was glad  \nshe was eating alone, otherwise both of her parents would have cast worried looks  \nat her and asked her just what in the world was going on.  \n  \nShe saw herself later this evening, standing over the body, mixing the potion,  \npouring it, chanting the words, hoping with all her heart... and then Max sitting  \nbolt upright, eyes glowing with Hellish light and ripping her to shreds in a  \nmatter of seconds.  \n  \nNO! She held her head in her paws and shook it angrily back and forth. No, no,  \nno... Not Max. He was her brother. Her twin. He would never hurt her. The very  \nthought of it was akin to pigs taking wing and Hades dipping below zero.  \n  \nBut... What if what she brought back to life wasn't Max at all? What if all she  \nreanimated was a bag of blood and guts without a soul?  \n  \nShe was angry with herself for having overlooked such a monumental detail. She'd  \nbeen so focused on the mechanics of her plan that she'd completely forgotten to  \nponder the repercussions.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; But wasn't that, to some degree at least, forgivable? She wanted Max back so  \nbadly that it was almost an insult to him to even consider that he'd end up a  \nmindless, hungry hunk of meat after her spell was cast.  \n  \nNo, she believed in their bond. Max would not disappoint her.  \n  \nJust in case he did however, it would not be a bad idea to take out some  \ninsurance...  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER TWELVE-  \n  \nTish scudded her bike to a stop in the sandy driveway, sending up a knee-high  \ncloud of dust behind her. She'd come here so many afternoons before, she didn't  \neven think twice about casually tossing her bike aside on the patchy brown lawn.  \nNick's house wasn't the prettiest in the whole town, but his parents did a good  \njob of keeping the place homey and welcoming.  \n  \nTish trotted up the front steps and leaned on the doorbell. Her face was cast in  \na troubled frown. She still wasn't sure what she was going to say to Nick when  \nshe saw him, and figured she probably wouldn't until he finally asked why she'd  \ncome.  \n  \nA moment later, footsteps approached and a vivacious blond cheetah's face  \nappeared. \"Oh, Tish! Come on in, Honey!\" she greeted warmly. She was wearing an  \nocean-blue housedress that went wonderfully with her spotted, lemony fur. \"I was  \njust about to start vacuuming. Good thing you showed up when you did or I might  \nnot have heard you,\" she told Tish as she held the screen door open for her.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Thanks, Mrs. Chainsaw,\" Tish said politely. Both of Nick's parents had assured  \nher long ago that they didn't mind adopting their son's school nickname. His  \nmother especially enjoyed it, just because it was so comically ill-fitting.  \nC'mon; 'Bonnie Chainsaw'?  \n  \nTish kicked off her sandals into the little pile of footwear by the door. \"Is  \nNick home?\"  \n  \nBonnie nodded. \"Mm hmm. He's out back, in the treehouse. Did you already eat  \nbreakfast? I have a few leftover waffles, if you're hungry,\" she offered.  \n  \n\"That's okay, but thanks very much anyway.\" Tish smiled openly. Mrs. Chainsaw was  \none of the nicest fursons she knew. Eternally giving, never without a smile. The  \nperfect cheer-up cheetah.  \n  \n\"Allright then.\" Mrs. Chainsaw looked for a moment like she was about to go back  \nto her chores, then stopped abruptly and turned back around. She kneeled in front  \nof Tish, putting a paw on the young coyote's shoulder. \"I haven't had the chance  \nto tell you yet, but it's a terrible, terrible shame what happened to Max.\"  \n  \nTish looked down at the floor. \"I know...\" She appreciated Mrs. C's compassion,  \nbut it was starting to aggravate her how absolutely everybody she met had to give  \nher a little speech like this. Couldn't she go fifteen minutes without someone  \nelse reminding her that her brother was wormfood now?  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The shapely cheetahfemme picked up on her young guest's emotion, and cut off the  \ntopic quickly. \"You haven't been by all week, and I didn't see you after the  \nfuneral, but I just had to say it. You know you're always welcome here, Tish. If  \nyou ever have a problem, our door is always open. Just like it was for Max.\"  \n  \nTish nodded. \"Thanks.\" She gave Mrs. Chainsaw a brief, appreciative hug. \"And  \nyeah, I shoulda come by sooner. But I've got something really important to talk  \nabout with Nick today, so I guess I'll see you later.\"  \n  \nBonnie stood up. \"Okay then, sugarpie. And I'll have the vacuum going, so you  \ndon't have to worry about me overhearing any of your secret meeting,\" she said  \nwith a motherly smirk.  \n  \nTish gave her a lopsided smile and scurried off through the kitchen to the side  \ndoor into the yard. Nick's mom could be just a tad patronizing at times, but her  \nkindness more than made up for the occasional cutesy pet name or treating her  \nlike her age was still in single digits.  \n  \nTish looked up into the branches of the grand, graceful tree in the Chainsaws'  \nbackyard. A single foot and the tip of a yellow tail were draped over the edge of  \nthe treehouse's planks. She and Max had helped Nick and his dad build this little  \nhideout many years ago, back when they didn't have to duck to get in through the  \ndoor at the top. It wasn't much bigger inside than a piano crate, really, but it  \nmade for a nice place to sit and read comics. Or to hatch devious schemes in.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Nick tossed his 'graphic novel' aside when he heard someone coming up the wooden  \nladder. He poked his head out with an eager smile. \"Max?\"  \n  \nHis eyes met Tish's, and he realized his mistake with the abruptness of a car  \ncrash. His ears flattened back and his eyes filled with horror. \"Oh my... Oh,  \nGeeze. I'm sorry. Shit, that was dumb!\"  \n  \nHe backed up to let Tish inside. She plopped down on the worn-out snatch of  \ncarpet beside him. \"Hi Nick.\"  \n  \nNick was obviously flustered and somewhat shaken by his gaffe. \"Uh, Hi Tish.  \nReally, I'm sorry. I just thought for a second-\"  \n  \nTish rolled her eyes and leaned over to hug him comfortingly. \"Aw, shut up, Nick.  \nIt's okay. Don't be sorry. I've been doing stuff like that for a week now.\" She  \nhadn't actually. No, Tish had been acutely aware at all times of the gaping hole  \nin her life where Max had been torn out. But she did want Nick to feel better.  \nShe had realized she'd been treating him like a scratching post even more than  \nusual these days.  \n  \nNick accepted the hug, a little bewildered by Tish's open niceness. She'd been a  \nveritable walking cactus all week at school, always with her mind set  \nimperturbably in some secret project she wouldn't tell him anything about. \"Uh,  \nthanks. You, uh, haven't been over in a while. Not since...\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; She nodded. \"Since,\" she agreed. Both of them knowing exactly since what.  \n  \nThe young cheetah leaned back against the wooden wall. He popped a cookie from  \nhis private stash into his mouth and offered Tish another one. She politely  \ndeclined. (Her appetite was in shambles after her little realization this  \nmorning) \"So, what's up? I'm not doing anything today. Did you wanna go  \nsomewhere? It is the first day of summer vacation after all.\"  \n  \nShe cocked an eyebrow. \"No it's not. I always thought the first real day of  \nvacation was the first Monday after school lets out.\"  \n  \nHe looked puzzled with cookie crumbs in his whiskers. \"But yesterday was the last  \nday of school, and we won't be back till September.\"  \n  \n\"Yes, but today's a Saturday. We woulda been off today anyway. Sunday too. On  \nMonday, it'll be the first day we \\*would\\* have been in school otherwise, but  \naren't,\" she elucidated.  \n  \nHe made a small 'I'm impressed' noise. \"Okay, yeah, you've got a point. So, where  \nyou wanna go? I got a little bit of money. We could go up to the dollar theater  \nand see some big, dumb piece of crap where things blow up.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; He sounded really eager, and it only made telling him the truth even harder. Tish  \nwhimpered solemnly. \"No, Nick. I didn't come over here for that. And I'm sorry,  \n'cuz I know we haven't done anything together in a while and I shouldn't be  \nignoring you like this.\"  \n  \n\"You're not,\" he assured softly, his eyes adding, 'It hasn't even been two weeks.  \nI know this is still tough for you.'  \n  \nShe gave him a smile, thinking for the thousandth time that Nick was about the  \nbest best friend she could ever hope for. It was like he saw right through her to  \na little sign taped to her brain, telling him just how she was feeling at any  \ngiven moment. \"If you say so, but I still wish I wasn't so busy. You see...  \nthere's this 'project' I've been working on this whole last week...\"  \n  \n\"An end-of-year prank?\" he asked eagerly, whiskers bouncing. \"Kinda late for it,  \nbut we could still-\"  \n  \n\"No, no! Nothing like that,\" she said flatly. She stared right into him with her  \nglass-green eyes, forcing him to understand that this was Serious Business she  \nwas talking about here. \"It's... Well, crap, I can't really tell you anything  \nabout it right now, only that it's mega-important, and... kinda dangerous.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; He gulped. \"How dangerous? Like, 'Maple Syrup Monday' dangerous?\"  \n  \nShe scowled. \"A billion times worse. There was no chance we might end up \\_dead\\_  \nover 'Maple Syrup Monday'.\"  \n  \nHe stared at her, disbelieving, suddenly chilled to the bone. \"Tish, what the  \nhell are you asking me to do?\" he asked, unable to keep a small waver out of his  \nvoice.  \n  \nShe winced. \"No, I'm sorry. \\*You're\\* not in any danger. Just me. And I don't need  \nany help either. Well, maybe I could use some help, but I wouldn't accept any  \neven if you put a bazooka up my butt. This is just something I \\_have\\_ to do. And  \nNick... all I want you to do is...\" She deeply didn't want to have to tell him,  \nbut she knew better.  \n  \n\"What?\" His voice was small and frightened, fearful for his best friend's safety.  \n  \nShe took a deep breath, and then let it all tumble out without thinking. \"If  \nsomething goes wrong and I get hurt, or if I don't ever come back home again... I  \nwant you to tell Mom and Dad I knew what I was getting into and that I'm sorry. I  \nwant you to be my insurance policy, Nick.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Her words floated there in the still summer air, turning the afternoon sun frigid  \ncold. The only sounds for an awkward and uncomfortable length of time were  \nseveral lawn sprinklers and the twitter of birds.  \n  \nNick stared at Tish, a million and one questions helicoptering around inside his  \nbrain. What 'project' could possibly be so dangerous? What was worth risking her  \nlife over? What was he supposed to tell her parents if something really DID  \nhappen? And how could he live if \\*both\\* his best friends were suddenly gone  \nforever?  \n  \nIn the end, the one question the young cheetah finally asked was, \"Is it about  \nMax?\"  \n  \nTish slowly and determinedly nodded.  \n  \n\"Okay then,\" said Nick.  \n  \n\"You will?\"  \n  \n\"Uh huh,\" He looked almost on the edge of tears. \"Don't do anything stupid, Tish.  \nDon't go try to beat up the train conductor or something, like a revenge plot.  \nDon't get hurt. I don't want you to get hurt.\"  \n  \nShe hated herself for doing this to him. She felt like a monster. She was making  \nher best friend pretend he wasn't a second away from crying, worried about her  \nand whatever crazy scheme she had cooked up. \"Nick, I'm so sorry. I promise you,  \nI wouldn't be doing this unless it was more important than, like, anything I've  \never done before in my whole life. And I can't really tell you any specifics. But  \nyes, it's about Max. It's something I have to do for Max.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"And you might get ki- hurt real bad?\"  \n  \nAnother nod. \"Yeah. I don't think I will, but just in case, I wanted you to know,  \nso you could let everyone else know.\"  \n  \n\"Is there anything else I can do? Like, some kinda signal I should watch for if  \nyou're in trouble?\" he asked hopefully, not wanting to be left so in the dark  \nabout this.  \n  \nShe gave him a hard gaze. \"No.\" It was a 'no' that meant not only that he  \nshouldn't look for a signal, but that she would not dare call for help even if  \nthings did go wrong. If this was all a colossal mistake, she would accept  \nresponsibility for it alone.  \n  \nNick pulled himself into a little ball of fur, hugging his knees to his chest and  \nlaying his chin upon them. \"So what... Um, how likely is it everything'll work  \nout okay?\" he asked softly.  \n  \n\"I think it's pretty high,\" she said sincerely, making sure he knew this wasn't  \nsome Quixotically hopeless suicide mission. \"Probably, everything'll work out  \nfine. And if it does, eveything's gonna be great. It'll be just like before  \nagain.\"  \n  \nHe had no idea what to make of that. There could be no 'like before'. Not ever.  \nMax would always be absent from their lives. What reward was so great that Tish  \nwould take a risk so horrible she didn't even dare tell him about it?  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; But Tish was his best friend. And when a best friend asks for your help, you give  \nit. That was just obvious.  \n  \nNick suddenly reached out to hug her again. \"Don't do anything stupid,\" he  \nrepeated.  \n  \n\"That kinda depends on what your definition of stupid is,\" Tish said with a weak  \ngrin.  \n  \nNick grinned a little too, and they were able, ultimately, to turn them both into  \ntrue smiles.  \n  \n\"I gotta go now. I got stuff to prepare for,\" Tish said sadly. \"Tell your dad I  \nsaid hi when he comes home.\"  \n  \n\"Okay.\" Nick watched her back out of the treehouse, \\*their\\* treehouse, and ease  \nherself down the steps. How many times had the three of them climbed up here when  \nthey were little? Or even recently? Would this little haven ever hold the same  \nmagic ever again?  \n  \nNick looked down into his best friend's face as her paws touched the grass. \"Good  \nluck,\" he said bravely.  \n  \nTish gave him a calm, resigned smile in return. \"Don't worry too much. I'll call  \nyou tomorrow morning if everything works out okay.\"  \n  \n\"Okay, Tish. I'll see you soon.\"  \n  \n\"Yeah, you will,\" she said, trying to sound reassuring. She only wished she could  \nhave made that a promise.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp;  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER THIRTEEN-  \n  \nSaturday night. The eleventh hour. Full moon above, tombstone below.  \n  \nShe was barefoot, and she could feel the cool, damp cemetery grass between her  \ntoes.  \n  \nThe shovel's handle was rough and wooden in her grip.  \n  \nTime to dig.  \n  \nHer first thrust met with much less resistance than she'd imagined, and the young  \ncoyote nearly lost her balance and toppled over. The earth was still fluffy and  \nloose here. The grave had only been dug a short while ago, and the dirt hadn't  \nyet had time to fully settle.  \n  \nTish grunted quietly as she tossed the first shovelful over her shoulder. 'One  \ndown, about a thousand or so to go...' she thought with annoyance.  \n  \nThere was only one place in town you could clearly see the whole breadth of the  \nold cemetery from, and that was her own kitchen window. The Lopez's house and the  \nboneyard were both slightly elevated, with several blocks of their small hometown  \nresting below in a shallow valley. Dinner had been over with for hours, and Tish  \nhoped desperately that if Mom or Dad came downstairs for a midnight snack tonight  \nthey wouldn't sit down at the table to eat it. The sight of their daughter  \nrelentlessly digging up her brother's grave would not be something most parents  \nwould be happy to see.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Tish knew they probably wouldn't peek into her bedroom to check up on her during  \nthe night (she thought they'd stopped doing that sometime after she turned  \neight), but she had thought this through as meticulously as possible and wasn't  \nabout to risk a thing. She had delved into realms of anal retention she hadn't  \neven known she had and came up with a surprisingly clever way to simulate her  \nsleeping self.  \n  \nAn old inflatable bunny rabbit they'd gotten two Easters ago was just about the  \nsame size and shape of her own body. With a cheap wig she'd snagged from the  \nlocal thrift store for a quarter and some bad lighting, it made a passable enough  \ndoppelganger. Especially given her habit of sleeping back-to-the-door, curled up  \nin a protective fetal clench.  \n  \nBut that alone would not seal the deal. The capper was Tish's idea to tape-record  \nherself Wednesday night as she slept. The following day after school, she had  \nmade a loop of the results that was playing at a realistic volume right this very  \nsecond. She'd been a little embarrassed to realize that, occasionally, she would  \nlet out a snore like a horse. But if she was going for realism, she couldn't  \nafford vanity.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \\*fwump\\*, another clump of dirt sailed past her. Her pile was starting to show.  \n  \nShe had no idea how long it would take to dig all the way down to Max's coffin.  \nShe'd figured eleven o clock was a good time to get started. Normally she would  \nhave been in bed for an hour by now, but she didn't feel the least bit tired. The  \nsheer necessity of her late-nite excursion was keeping her wide awake and alert.  \nHer ears were standing straight up, alert to the softest approaching footstep.  \nHer adrenaline levels were well above normal.  \n  \nOddly enough, she hoped that the funeral guys had cut some corners and buried Max  \nonly four or five feet deep instead of six. It wasn't like it mattered anyway,  \napart from some superstitious reason she didn't understand. Why was six feet the  \nstandard depth for coffins anyway? And really, who would have ever checked up on  \nsuch a thing? Aside from her, of course.  \n  \nHer hole didn't have to be elegant, just deep enough for her to get the top half  \nof the lid open. She centered most of her effort on the middle strip of the  \ngrassless patch in front of the headstone. One good thing she realized was that  \nher brother's coffin wasn't a full-size adult one. That'd save her a lot of time  \non length.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Jeeze, she couldn't believe she was thinking stuff like this. She felt like Igor  \nin the old black-and-white Frankenstein movie. \"Yes Master, Yes Master. Must get  \nbrains!\" she muttered diabolically to herself, and chortled.  \n  \nHer hole was now deep enough to stand in.  \n  \nShe looked up from her work to read the headstone again, for probably the  \nhundredth time:  \n  \nMaximillian Ricardo Lopez  \n  \nBeloved son and brother  \n  \n\"Prncipe De La Risa\"  \n  \n'Maximillian', she thought with an annoyed sneer. Her brother had hated the last  \nfour syllables of his name as much as she hated being called Teresa. Maybe even  \nmore so. Tish wondered why the heck her parents had even told the gravestone guys  \nto inscribe it like that.  \n  \nDad had come up with the last line, however. It meant 'Prince of Laughter'. And  \nshe thought Max probably \\*would\\* have liked that a lot. That, and having been  \nburied in the 'Garden Of Babes'.  \n  \nThat joke didn't seem quite so funny anymore, not when she was standing right  \nhere in the middle of the place at midnight. She looked all around her. Dozens  \nand dozens of little dead kids all around her. Some of them just babies. Their  \ncoffins musta been the size of breadboxes.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; During the day, this part of the cemetery had had a peaceful, pastoral air to it.  \nBy moonlight, it just felt sad.  \n  \nTish was not creeped out though. Sure, she was surrounded on all sides by a  \nhundred different kinds of death, but that thought didn't scare her. She  \nremembered back when she was a little, little girl. One day she had asked Mommy  \nwhat all those little stone nametags were in the big field she saw from the  \nwindow. Mommy told her that was where they put all the dead people, so they could  \nhave a nice, quiet place to sleep.  \n  \nEver since then, Tish had held onto that idea. Despite gory monster movies and  \nbloody TV shoot-em-up shows, she'd never really been afraid of death. Curious  \nabout it, yes. Worried about her own, yes. But never frightened of death  \n\\*itself\\*. A corpse wouldn't want to rise up and clamp their bony hand around her  \nankle if she went walking in a graveyard. Why would they? All these people hidden  \nin the ground below her were just sleeping. Peacefully. Tish was sad for them,  \nbut not afraid of them. In fact, if the dead were aware of the people walking  \naround above them, wouldn't they be glad to get some visitors every now and then?  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Tish made small, thoughtful puppy-sounds as she dug. No, she wasn't afraid of  \ndeath. She'd even mused once that she felt sorry for the Grim Reaper, if there  \neven was such a furson. He was probably a nice guy. And it probably made him  \nreally sad when people would cry and scream and fight to get away from him. He  \nwas only doing his job, after all.  \n  \nHer hole was now up past her knees. She was really having to work to toss the  \ndirt up and back behind her. Sometimes it would fall down on her, feeling moist  \nand smelling fresh and heady. Heck, she hoped her black dress wouldn't end up  \nbeing brown by the time this was all over.  \n  \nAny worms Tish saw, she carefully picked up and set aside outside the hole. She  \nliked worms; they were cute. She liked how they would wriggle around her finger  \nwhen she picked them up. She liked the tickly ickiness of their clear, gooey  \nslime. And also, she liked the feeling she got when she encountered a small  \ncreature and chose to spare its life, rather than destroy it.  \n  \nMax was like that too. One day at recess, he'd smacked another kid in the guts  \nwith his hockey stick when he caught him stomping on pillbugs. Max had always  \nbeen disgusted with how most other boys his age derived sick glee from snuffing  \nout the lives of tiny creatures. All the playground kids soon learned not to fry  \nants with a magnifying glass or squoosh sidewalk worms when Max was around.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Tish smiled fondly. She was so proud of her brother. In a lot of ways. Everyone's  \nfirst impression of him was always that of an essentially nice but ultimately  \ndumb and destructive average young boy. But he wasn't like that at all. Sure, he  \nmight step on your face if you were playing touch football with him, but deep  \ninside, Max had been one of the kindest boys she had ever known. Mom and Dad had  \nbrought them both up right: respect for all forms of life was a value to be  \nprized above all in the Lopez household.  \n  \nShe remembered once, when they'd been biking to school one chilly September  \nmorning, Max had spotted something moving in a pile of leaves by the side of the  \nroad. They stopped, and it turned out to be a tiny brown bat, a nonev, who had  \nbroken his wing somehow. The unfortunate fellow had squeaked in fright when the  \ntwo siblings approached, but Max had spoken low and soothing, seeming to  \nhypnotize the little animal, and the bat had not squirmed when Max took off his  \nshirt and wrapped him up in it.  \n  \nThat day, Max had biked halfway across town to the vet, telling Tish that nothing  \nthey could teach him in school that day could ever be more important than saving  \nan animal's life.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; When he'd finally gotten to class, hours later and twenty minutes before the  \nlunch bell, Mrs. Halberd had chewed him out, and Max had chewed her out right  \nback. He said she could punish him all she wanted, but he would \\_never\\_ feel  \nsorry for what he'd done.  \n  \nAnd at lunch, Tish had asked him what had become of the bat.  \n  \nMax had looked up from his milk carton and told her that the whole way to the  \nvet's office, he had steeled himself to be told there was nothing they could do,  \nthat the little bat would have to be destroyed. He knew this, but he could not  \nlet himself stop pedaling.  \n  \nOnce he'd gotten there and told the doctor what had happened, the vet had taken  \nthe little cloth bundle from the shivering, shirtless boy and looked inside to  \nsee a tiny bright-eyed face looking back at him. He told Max that he had set  \nsmall birds' broken wings before, but never a bat's. The young coyote looked up  \nat him with aching sadness.  \n  \nHowever, the vet continued, unable to resist the desperation in those eyes, he  \nwas willing to accept the challenge. Max had laughed out loud, hugged him like a  \npython and thanked him about six million times.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Max got detention for three days for his tardiness and insubordination.  \n  \nA month later, the vet called the family to his office, and they all watched him  \nopen a small cardboard box in the parking lot outside. A tiny dark form flew out,  \ncircled them all twice, and flitted off into the wind, free and healthy.  \n  \nMom and Dad told Max that they could not possibly have been more proud of him,  \nand Tish had heartily agreed.  \n  \nHer shovel made a hard \\*clunk\\*.  \n  \n\"Holy shit! So soon?\" she muttered.  \n  \nTish looked around, as if coming out of a daze, and was flabbergasted twice.  \nFirst by how deep her excavation was, and second by how tall the dirt pile behind  \nher had gotten. The full moon had very obviously shifted position in the sky  \nsince she'd last looked up. She'd been out here digging for nearly an hour.  \n  \nHer muscles pulsed dully, but they had not yet reached the point of aching. Her  \naccomplishment bewildered her. Apparently, she'd zoned out almost totally, half  \nof her brain reminiscing and the other half tirelessly and mechanically  \nshovelling soil over her shoulder. Tish tapped the shovel down again, and got a  \ndull, metallic \\*ping\\* in response.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Cool.\"  \n  \nThe coyote girl got down on all fours and started pushing away as much dirt as  \nshe could from the face of the big Techno-Fridge. Not for the first time, she  \nthanked fate for her parents' choice not to buy a grave liner. Those heavy cement  \nvaults were just too fucking expensive, her Dad had grumbled in frustration once  \n(when he thought she was out of earshot). Aside from keeping the body inside from  \ndecomposing for a few decades or so, they also tended to cut down on grave  \nrobberies. Tish couldn't imagine herself prying the lid off one of those big  \nsuckers.  \n  \nAs Tish sifted through the dirt, her paw brushed over something small and  \nrectangular. It was the superhero card she'd thrown in the hole after the  \nfuneral. It wasn't in the best condition, considering, but you could still tell  \nit was The Blue Flame on the front. Grinning at such a good omen, she pocketed it  \nfor later.  \n  \nSilver metal finally flashed in the moonlight. Before long, Tish was staring down  \nat an elongated reflection of herself. Just like one of those carnival fun house  \nmirrors.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; She paused, panting and more tired than she'd yet realized. Here it was. The  \nresult of all her hard work. One slightly-used, child-size coffin. Ingredients;  \none pillow, one cheap suit and one dead coyote.  \n  \nCould she really open this thing up?  \n  \nDid she actually think she had the cojones to look down into the rotting, flaking  \nface of her beloved sibling and not lose her mind and start running around,  \nscreaming and puking?  \n  \nTish hesitated for nearly five minutes. Leaves fluttered in the trees, tickled by  \na cool night breeze. Scents of earth and desert air filled her nostrils. Her  \nfingerclaws were gritty with soil, and her palms had sprouted a small crop of  \nblisters.  \n  \n\"Fuck it.\" Before she could stop herself, doubt herself, or even think about it a  \nsecond longer, Tish slammed back the coffin lid.  \n  \nThe smell knocked her back on her ass. A fetid, gassy, rancid odor, like the  \nDevil taking a shit right in her nose. Tish winced hard and clamped her paws over  \nher stinging muzzle.  \n  \nShe crept closer to see her brother again for the first time since two Tuesdays  \nago.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; He looked better than she'd thought he would. He was still in pretty decent  \nshape. Not all rotting and gross like movie zombies. He looked skinnier, sure.  \nHis eyes were a bit sunken-in. His stomach was round and firm, storing up the  \ngasses of decomposition. He was still in his little black suit, looking like a  \ndead midget lawyer. And his smile was gone too, of course.  \n  \nBut when she looked closer, she saw that some of the mortician's makeup and  \nreconstruction had begun to peel and break down. There was a definite seam  \nappearing on his left cheek. His shoulder hung at a weird angle. His chest looked  \nfunny, especially around his ribcage where he'd said hello to that telephone  \npole. Tish hadn't even thought about it until now. Max had been hit by a train  \nand somehow, someone had gotten him looking fairly normal again. She had to  \nadmit, she admired the skill of whoever it had been.  \n  \nReaching out a trembling paw, the young coyote touched her silent brother's  \ncheek. \"Max...\" The flesh was stiff and papery now. It felt like it would only  \ntake one small, hard push to cave his whole head in.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Tish shuddered, and began to sob. Her brother didn't deserve this. He didn't  \ndeserve this! It wasn't fair, dammit!!  \n  \nShe held her face in her paws and her tears ran down her blisters, cooling and  \nsoothing them.  \n  \nWhen she was finally able to pull herself back together again, Tish took in a  \ndeep breath and wiped her eyes off on her sleeve. She swore a bit when she got  \ndirt in them. But she reminded herself that her work here wasn't even close to  \nbeing done, and there were only so many hours of darkness left. Time to get her  \nfurry little ass moving again.  \n  \nShe crawled up out of the hole and over to her bulging plastic sack of  \ningredients. She tumbled them all out onto the ground. Among them was her  \nGrandma's last journal. She opened it to the spell she needed, and read  \ncarefully.  \n  \nThe literary world was full of stories of careless young dolts attempting  \nsomething supernatural and not paying enough attention to the instructions.  \nGrisly consequences invariably followed. Tish was not about to do anything that  \ndumb. She scrutinized the journal entry with all her powers of concentration. She  \nadded everything in the correct order, and waited the exact length of time  \nspecified between each component, timing it with her stopwatch. She made a mental  \nnote to thank her mom for teaching her the fundamentals of cooking. She could  \nmake pretty good spaghetti and meatballs, and she hoped that also meant she'd  \nmake good zombie-juice.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The first task was to get the fire going under the cauldron. She didn't actually  \nhave a cauldron, but she thought Mom's biggest saucepan would suffice. Tish  \nrigged up a can of Sterno and felt briefly like a Girl Scout. The spell called  \nfor a pot of purest water to be set to a boil. So, for the first time in her  \nlife, Tish had bought four two-dollar bottles of that pretentious 'mountain  \nstream' stuff, which she had previously considered the most useless fake  \ninnovation in the history of furkind. Wonders never cease.  \n  \nWhen the formerly-bottled water was at a nice rolling boil, it was time for the  \nfirst ingredient to be added. Blushing despite the fact that no one was around to  \nsee her for miles, Tish got up, pulled down her panties, and managed to land a  \nfew teaspoons' worth of wee-wee in the pot. After wiping herself and sitting back  \ndown, Tish grumbled a bit, wondering what the hell mystical powers pee added to  \nthe stuff anyway.  \n  \nNext in were the minerals. Tish tossed in Mr. Goldwood's chunk of science-lab  \nquartz, along with a pure copper 'healing bracelet' one of her weird aunts had  \ngiven her for her birthday a bunch of years ago. She'd been just about to ask Dad  \nif she knew where she could get some really old pennies, when she remembered the  \nbracelet. She'd packratted it away in the very back of one of her bureau drawers  \nand was overjoyed to find it still there. She supposed an extremely late thank-  \nyou note was in order.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Feeling like a total asshole, Tish then lowered her mother's amethyst pendant,  \nsilver rings and turquoise necklace into the boiling brew. She'd filched them  \neasily this afternoon, with her mother never suspecting a thing. She knew Mom  \nwould discover the stuff missing sooner or later, and she promised herself she'd  \nadmit to it right away. She would take her punishment without complaint, no  \nmatter what, and do anything at all she could think of to make amends. \"I'm  \nsorry, Mom,\" she said sorrowfully as she heard the necklace tinkle when it hit  \nthe bottom of the pot.  \n  \nNow came the trickiest part. The spell called for very specific quantities of  \neach herbal ingredient. One pinch of fennel between the thumb and forefinger. Six  \ndrops of Leechbane. Two dashes of Asmodellious. Since more than half of the  \ningredients were already ingredients in other things (cough syrup, hand lotion,  \netc.), she knew she'd have to wing it and just guess. She knew this might very  \nwell upset the whole mixture, but there was nothing she could do about it. Some  \nof the stuff on the list was just impossible to find in their raw forms. At  \nleast, for a twelve-year-old kid in a small town they were. She felt like she was  \nstepping into Not Following Instructions territory, and could only hope Grandma's  \nspirit was watching over her tonight, steadying her hand and helping her make the  \nright choices.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The mixture was now bubbling up over the sides of her makeshift cauldron.  \nSomehow, it had turned a discomforting orange color, like a carrot smoothie, or  \nliquid rust. It smelled exotic and vile, like some horrible poison that would  \ndrive a man mad before it finally putrefied his intestines. Tish was really,  \nreally glad she wasn't the one who'd have to drink this stuff.  \n  \nShe rested for a few moments, then got back to work. The full moon was almost  \nperfectly overhead now, shining down into the grave like the all-seeing eye of a  \nlong-forgotten tribal god.  \n  \nTish eased back into the grave, seating herself on the closed bottom half of the  \ncoffin lid. With oven mitts, she pulled down her witches' brew and the book and  \nset them in front of her. She pulled out the box cutter from her back pocket.  \n  \nThere were words she had to read as she poured the steaming mixture down her  \nbrother's throat. Old words. Forbidden words. Words Tish thought no living tongue  \ncould pronounce.  \n  \nBut when she looked down at the first word (a monstrous, seven-syllable  \nnightmare), her mouth formed it almost without thinking. Similarly, the rest of  \nthe sentence flowed as naturally as reciting the alphabet. The words were  \nslithering out of her mouth like willful snakes. Tish had no idea what the hell  \nhad come over her. She was reciting the spell without even having to look at the  \npage now. Her voice had gone all funny, and she didn't think she'd be able to  \nstop talking even if she wanted to. Swiftly, she sat up and held out the  \nscorching hot pot over her brother's body, the heat of it so intense it cut  \nthrough her oven mitts like they were made out of Kleenex.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The thick, viscous potion spilled like snot over the lip of the pot, down into  \nMax's pried-open mouth. It slithered down his throat with a mind of its own.  \n  \nWild, unholy words spilled out of Tish's terrified throat. Words no living soul  \nhad whispered in decades, words that could drive weak minds mad simply from  \nhearing them spoken aloud, words that had unquestionably not been written by any  \nresident of this mortal plane.  \n  \nShe had worried the zombie-juice would spill out over the sides of Max's muzzle,  \nbut instead, every single drop went straight down inside of him, as if eager to  \nclaim its new home. The orange ooze nestled deep within him, spreading itself out  \nto all points within the small corpse. Going about its job.  \n  \nTish was now crying from the pain in her paws and the horrific words that came  \nscreaming unceasingly from her lips. When the very last of the weird elixir  \ndrooled out of the pot, Tish hurled it aside and snatched up the boxcutter.  \nWithout a second's hesitation, as if unseen hands were manipulating her own, she  \nslashed open a wide, red 'X' in her left palm. Stiffly, she held it out before  \nher over her brother's mouth. She watched as seven fat drops of her own crimson  \nblood dripped down and into that black, dead throat.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Then, it was done.  \n  \nGibbering and sweating, Tish sprang up out of the hole as fast as she possibly  \ncould. She panted and shivered and twitched and felt somehow violated. Something  \nhad worked through her. Something had gotten inside her and helped her along on  \nher little task. She felt sticky and used.  \n  \nBut now, thankfully, whatever-it-was was gone. She had control of her voice and  \nher paws again. She looked down at her palms. They were puffy and red from the  \nheat, and she knew she'd probably have that 'X' scar for the rest of her life.  \nWouldn't that be fun to explain to prospective boyfriends?  \n  \nTish looked back at the grave. She could not see into the coffin now, so she had  \nno idea what was happening.  \n  \nThen, the ground began to slightly tremble.  \n  \nGreat energies were at work. Unknown forces were reaching into the beyond to  \nretrieve the soul of a young boy and force it back into its former container.  \nTish began to worry that she might have made the worst mistake ever in the  \nhistory of people making mistakes.  \n  \nShe cried out and rolled over, shielding her eyes, as an ungodly bright white  \nlight suddenly erupted out from the grave.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; For the next hour or so, for miles around, the police phone lines were jammed  \nwith reports of some kind of silent explosion. Many blamed UFOs.  \n  \nThe light ended as abruptly as it had begun, shutting off just like a giant  \nflashlight.  \n  \nWhen Tish dared to look up again, blue-green afterimages swam all over her  \nvision.  \n  \nSmoke, or some kind of mist, was rising up out of the hole now. Burbling up and  \nout like dry ice. Tish could feel the heat from it.  \n  \nJust when she thought it was all over and was about to risk peeking over the edge  \nto behold the results of her arcane experiment, Max's corpse suddenly shot  \nstraight up out of the grave into the night sky. Hurled by some unseen force as  \nhard as if he'd been in the bowl of a catapult. Tish shrieked and stared up at  \nthe small dark form ascending up and up towards the moon and...  \n  \nOh shit, it was coming back down again.  \n  \nThe dead boy's body hit the ground with a sound like a laundry sack being dropped  \nout of a small aircraft onto a freeway overpass. It made a shallow but noticeable  \nindentation in the earth below it, just like in a cartoon.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Tish sat frozen, her paws over her muzzle, nearly in tears. Did this mean the  \npotion was a failure? That something had rejected Max's application for a second  \nchance at life?  \n  \nThen it moved.  \n  \nTish forced back a squeak of sheer fright as the body flinched. Its limbs flailed  \nabout a bit, then it seemed to get the hang of things, like a newborn calf taking  \ntheir first steps. The corpse lifted itself up by its arms, then slowly,  \nachingly, sat up. After two wobbly failed attempts, the scraggly form managed to  \nstand.  \n  \nTish's eyes were so wide she could have served hors o'doeuvres off of them.  \n  \nThe corpse looked very unsteady, like most of its inner workings had been crushed  \nto goo by the fall. It grunted. It made another sound, like it was trying to take  \na shit.  \n  \nIlluminated by the moonlight, Tish could see the dead thing's form begin to  \nsolidify again. Her ears picked up muffled crunching, squishing sounds as the  \ncreature she had conjured somehow healed itself internally.  \n  \nOnce it was back to a relatively normal state, the corpse stood there, stonelike,  \nfor quite some time.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Tish was equally motionless, if not more. Her heartbeat sounded like a set of  \ntom-toms to her.  \n  \nThen, as if coming to the end of a long, profound thought, the newborn zombie  \nspoke. \"Okay, what the fuck just happened to me?\"  \n  \nTish's jaw trembled. Tears clouded her vision. That voice... It was \\_his\\_. It was  \nnot mindless, or evil, it was \\*him\\*!  \n  \nBracing herself against the possibility of being chased down and unwillingly  \ndonating her brains for a midnight snack, Tish let down her paws and said,  \nsoftly, \"...Max?\"  \n  \nThe zombie turned.  \n  \nShe stiffened in fright.  \n  \n\"Tish? What're you doing here?\"  \n  \n\"Max!?!\"  \n  \n\"Yeah... What's going on?\"  \n  \nShe leaped up and ran to him. Tears poured down her cheeks, her heart pounded  \ntriumphantly, her smile eclipsed the moon and her greatest hopes were fulfilled.  \n  \nShe stopped in front of him.  \n  \nHe looked confused, and rather shabby, but still as she remembered him. His skin  \nwas peeling in a few places. He was standing at an awkward angle, as if he hadn't  \nbeen able to completely rearrange himself. One of his eyes was slightly puffy,  \nand the iris had gone a thin, milky blue. And he smelled terrible.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; She hugged him anyway.  \n  \nLaughing, crying, sputtering nonsense, Tish Lopez hugged her beloved brother. His  \nribs poked her and his stench hurt her nose, but she could not have cared less.  \nAnd when she felt his arms wrap gently around her too, every last bit of tension  \nsaved up over nearly two weeks' worth of scheming and planning disappeared in an  \ninstant.  \n  \nHis voice, gravelly and unsteady, but still tender, whispered in her ear. \"How?\"  \n  \n\"Shut up, Max,\" she said with tears in her eyes. \"I wanna hug you some more.\"  \n  \nHe shrugged, and chuckled. \"Okay, sis.\"  \n  \nTish murred in delight. She gave him an extra big squeeze. He was squishier than  \nbefore, but it hardly mattered.  \n  \nShe took a step back and looked up into his questioning gaze. Still the same  \neyes. Nothing dulled or demonic. Just the same old Max. Though he'd definitely be  \nneeding lots more deodorant now.  \n  \n\"Does it hurt?\" she asked sympathetically.  \n  \nHe wiggled a bit, giving his newly reanimated body a once-over. \"Naw, not really.  \nFeels weird though. Like I'm operating a me-shaped bunch of skin and sticks.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Her ears drooped. \"I'm sorry...\"  \n  \nHe grinned. \"Don't be. I'm all together, aren't I?\"  \n  \nShe nodded, smiling. \"Uh huh. Do you remember anything? Like, after it happened?  \nA big bright light or heaven or devils or anything?\"  \n  \nMax thought a bit, racking his moldy mind for any new memories. \"Nope. There was  \nthe train, and I said 'Nice undies', and I saw you were safe, and I was happy.  \nThen it was just like a long, dark dream. Actually, I think I might remember a  \nvoice, but I don't know what it said and I'm not even sure it was real.\"  \n  \n\"Okay. I was kinda hoping you could tell me what it's like. Y'know, afterwards.\"  \n  \nHe shrugged. \"Sorry, no messages from Satan.\" A goofy grin. \"Come on, like I  \nwoulda ended up anywhere else.\"  \n  \nThey both giggled.  \n  \n\"You don't wanna eat my brain, do you?\" Tish asked cautiously, but while still  \ngrinning.  \n  \nMax stroked his chinfur thoughtfully. \"Can't say that I do. Your pancreas maybe.  \nOr a nice duodenum. With a side of fries and a Coke, perhaps.\"  \n  \nTish flat-out burst into laughter. She stepped up to hug him again. \"Max, I'm  \njust so freakin' glad to see you again, I'd totally let you eat my brains if you  \nwanted to.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; \"Aw, thanks,\" he said, and nuzzled her ear. \"How long was I, you know...?\"  \n  \n\"Takin' a dirt nap?\"  \n  \n\"Yup.\"  \n  \n\"About two weeks.\"  \n  \nMax let out a relieved breath (realizing as he did so that he didn't think that  \nwas actually necessary anymore). \"Cool. I was worried it was, like, a year or  \nsomething. Do Mom 'n Dad know anything about this?\" he asked, knowing the answer  \nalready.  \n  \nTish shook her head. \"I don't even know how we're gonna tell them. Mom'll  \nprobably faint. Dad... Well, he might-\"  \n  \nOut of nowhere, Max cut her off with a blunt, throaty grunt. He suddenly got a  \nwild, frightened look on his face and he pushed his sister away hard. His eyes  \nbulged. He looked like he was in terrible pain.  \n  \n\"Max! What is it?!\" Tish cried. \"What hurts? Are you freaking out, or changing?\"  \nA horrid thought hit her out of nowhere. \"Is something telling you to hurt me?\"  \n  \nHe shook his head strenuously, then inadvertently answered her. He staggered, his  \nmouth opened, and out came the most disgusting belch either of them had ever  \nexperienced.  \n  \nIt went on for at least a minute. It was so loud and so rank, it actually made  \nthe air vibrate, like a heat mirage. All the decomposing gasses that had built up  \nin Max's stomach and intestines since his death were all expelled at once. He  \ncould actually feel his belly shrink. The smell was unspeakable. Tish dry-heaved  \ninto her hands and thought that initial whiff from his coffin smelled like  \ndaisies in comparison.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; When it was over, Max fell suddenly to his knees and vomited spectacularly. A  \nthin clear-green liquid with a repulsive chemical-stench poured out of his mouth  \nand nose like he was doing an impersonation of a fire hydrant. Embalming fluid.  \nSome of it was even spraying from his eye sockets. His body was ridding itself of  \nas much of the noxious substance as it could.  \n  \nWhen he was finished, Max stared disorientedly down at the hissing, steaming pool  \nhe'd produced. He looked like a man who'd just escaped being hit by a subway  \ntrain by a matter of inches.  \n  \nTish was frozen, silent, wondering if anything else was about to come out of him.  \n  \nThen Max started coughing. Horrible, gummy hacking sounds came from deep in his  \nthroat. Tish finally ran over to help him. He sounded like he was choking on  \nsomething. She slapped him hard on the back, and a copper bracelet shot out of  \nhis mouth. Tish jumped back. Max gagged a bit more and brought up another half-  \ngallon or so of mucus and assorted stomach contents, along with a chunk of quartz  \nand his mother's jewelry.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Tish grinned in astonishment. \"Oh \\*cool\\*!!\" She reached into the puddle of corpse  \npuke and fished out one of the rings. Max's residual stomach acid had actually  \npolished the silver up quite nicely. \"Sweet! Mom won't hafta ground me after  \nall!\"  \n  \n\"What the \\_FUCK\\_!?\" Max belched breathlessly.  \n  \n\"Um, never mind,\" Tish said sheepishly.  \n  \n\"You never did tell me how you... you ... \\*zombified\\* me.\"  \n  \n\"I'll get to that,\" she promised. \"You okay now?\"  \n  \nMax wiped his mouth off on his jacket sleeve. \"Uh-huh. Pretty sure.\"  \n  \nShe took his arm and helped him to his feet, then bent down and handed him the  \nextra shovel she'd brought along. \"Okay, now help me dig. We gotta fill in your  \ngrave before someone thinks vandals were at it and it ends up on the news.\"  \n  \n\"Whatever,\" said Max. He stuck his tongue out and grimaced, hacking a few times.  \n\"You didn't happen to bring any mouthwash with you by any chance, huh?\"  \n  \nShe shrugged. \"No, but I did find this.\" She reached into her pocket and handed  \nhim the superhero card. \"I threw it on top of your coffin at the funeral.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; He took the little cardboard square with a smirk. \"Better than flowers,\" he  \nquipped. \"And at least I've got doubles of this guy. Though I do have one more  \nquestion before we start digging.\"  \n  \n\"What?\" she asked.  \n  \n\"Why the hell are you wearing Mom's pantyhose on your head?\"  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER FOURTEEN-  \n  \nAlmost a thousand miles away, in a seedy south-of-the-border tavern, a dark,  \nheavily muscled man in a trenchcoat was beating the living shit out of six  \ndifferent people at once.  \n  \nPatrons screamed and spilled their beer as chairs went flying through the air  \nover their heads. Playing cards rained down like snowflakes. A cheekbone  \ncrunched. Four fingers shattered. The dark man rendered one of his assailants  \nunconscious with a whiskey bottle.  \n  \nAnother one came at him from the left, and the dark man easily sidestepped,  \nsending his attacker facefirst into a wooden table. The dark man grabbed him by  \nthe neck and smashed his face into the well-stained wall a few more times for  \ngood measure.  \n  \nA sudden impact of glass on skull. Beer and blood and broken bottle shards  \nmatting his jet-black hair, the dark man turned and plowed his fist into the  \ncowardly bastard who had snuck up on him from behind.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; With a drunken primal scream, the fourth antagonist aimed a sweaty fist at the  \ndark man's nose. He caught it easily in his clawed hand, and broke the stunned  \nman's arm with a simple twist.  \n  \nHe turned just in time to block a table leg that was a half-second away from  \npermanently deafening him. He kicked out like a battering ram and damn near  \nobliterated the fifth man's ribs. A wail of unholy pain and a thump on the floor  \nsoon followed.  \n  \nSilence now, but for the clink of broken glass and the terrified whimpers of the  \nremaining customers who hadn't already bolted for the exits.  \n  \nBeneath the brow of his wide leather hat, the dark man stared down his last  \nopponent.  \n  \nThe sixth man's hands shook visibly. His eyes skittered back and forth across the  \nshambles of the bar, desperately searching for a weapon or a plan of escape.  \n  \nSomewhere, a woman screamed.  \n  \nBoth men ignored it.  \n  \nAnd suddenly, the dark man stiffened, as if shot by a silent gun. The sixth man  \ndared to hope he'd had a heart attack.  \n  \nThe dark man's eyes peeled open obscenely, his pupils had shrunk to slivers. His  \nmouth hung open, soundless. His ears were tall and erect, listening to something  \nno one else could hear.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Everyone who could, watched. The six-and-a-half-foot-tall stranger in the  \nbloodstained brown leather coat and hat twitched and shook and jittered as if  \nreceiving the holy spirit.  \n  \nAnd then, just as suddenly, he snapped out of it. He shook his head as if  \nclearing away cobwebs and was back to his normal self again.  \n  \nHe strode towards the sixth man and stood before him, scowling.  \n  \nThe sixth man cowered.  \n  \n\"Something has come up,\" the dark man said. His voice was musky and grim.  \nSwarthy. \"I must go now.\"  \n  \nThe sixth man looked up hopefully. Was he to be spared?  \n  \nQuicker than lightning, the dark man reached out and grabbed his adversary's  \nshirt, lifting him straight up off the ground with as little effort as plucking a  \nrose.  \n  \nThe sixth man pissed his pants.  \n  \n\"When they wake up,\" the dark man said, uncaring of his prey's shameful loss of  \ncontrol, \"you will tell your friends that it is not polite to grab young  \nse¤oritas' asses and make disgusting, filthy comments like a pack of wild  \nsavages. You need to learn some manners. Behave like gentlemen.\"  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; The sixth man grinned, promising to do just that.  \n  \n\"Okay?\"  \n  \nThe sixth man nodded eagerly and silently.  \n  \n\"Good boy.\" With that, the dark man threw him across the room into the huge  \nassemblage of alcoholic beverages behind the bar. The crash was ear-splittingly  \nloud. Glass and liquor flew everywhere. The dark man's foe slumped to the floor  \nin a heap, having dislocated both shoulders, broken one finger and twisted an  \nankle in the impact.  \n  \nThe dark man sneered in disgust. \"Hijo de puta...\" he spat.  \n  \nHe walked over to the young female feline who had been the cause of it all. He  \nleaned down and took her fragile hand, helping her to her feet. She was quaking  \nwith fright.  \n  \nThe dark man lifted her paw to his lips and kissed it tenderly. \"I apologize if  \nyour evening has been spoiled. I am deeply sorry for those foul, degenerate  \nbastards' behavior. They do not deserve even to lick the used toilet paper of a  \nbeautiful young woman such as yourself. I beg your forgiveness.\"  \n  \n\"Uh, sure,\" she said timidly.  \n  \nHe cast a dashing smile at her, and turned away.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; Just before leaving, he paused at the door. Without even having to look at him,  \nthe dark man addressed the bartender. \"Sorry for the inconvenience. Next time,  \nmake more of an effort to keep the primitive, unwashed swine outside.\" The dark  \nman reached deeply into one of his numerous pockets and came up with a tiny,  \nsmudged and sticky copper coin. He flipped it disgustedly towards the bartender  \nand it landed precisely in the center of the stricken man's forehead. A perfect  \nBullseye. \"Restitution. Keep the change.\"  \n  \nThen the dark man ran off into the night. Running not from fear of capture or  \npersecution, but from knowledge of a new purpose. He ran with long, bounding  \nstrides, taking lengthy stretches of the desert night in single steps. As if he  \nweighed no more than his clothes.  \n  \nHis trenchcoat fluttered open, and the dark man took to the sky. Dust billowed as  \nhe left the earth like a phantom. His leathery wings cast an enormous black  \nshadow on the land below.  \n  \nThe dark man flew all night without stopping to rest or eat. He flew until his  \npain-wracked wings could not stand a single flap more. When he could no longer  \nfly, he ran. When he could no longer run, he walked. He never stopped.  \n  \n\n\u0026nbsp; He was being called. He had been given a message. There was something he must do,  \nin a land far away. Something he must kill. The dark man could not allow himself  \nto waste a single second more. He had to run. Onward, relentlessly onward...  \n  \n...to America.  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \n-CHAPTER FIFTEEN-  \n  \nMeanwhile, in a trainyard somewhere in the heartland, something stirred.  \n  \nSomething metal made a scraping sound, as if yawning.  \n  \nSomething large began coming to life.  \n  \n  \n~\\*\\*\\*~  \n  \n  \nEND OF BOOK ONE  \n  \n  \n  \n  \n\n","series":{"name":"Summer Vacation Of The Living Dead","next":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/8407-summer-vacation-of-the-living-dead-book-2.json"}}