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Summer Vacation Of The Living Dead

a gruesome little screwball comedy by Alex Reynard

-~*BOOK TWO*~-

~***~

-CHAPTER SIXTEEN-

Early the next morning, as dawn was breaking, Old Simon Farrington was making his

daily rounds. He was a porcupine, and he was pushing sixty-five. His walruslike

mustache was dishwater-grey. He had been working at the old town cemetery for

over four decades.

Every morning he got up at five A.M. And walked to work. It was only a mile, and

it was good exercise. He said hello to Tony at the desk, then he went out to

unlock the shed. Then he would climb into the driver's seat of his little green

golf cart and make a complete circuit of the cemetery grounds. Over the years he

had honed his route to an efficiency so sharp it could give you a paper cut, as

he was fond of saying.

This particular morning, as he was passing by the Garden of Babes, he braked

briefly. Near the grave of a young boy named Max Lopez.

Something seemed wrong about it.

The dirt seemed... disturbed. The boy's funeral had been quite a while ago, and

this dirt looked freshly trampled.

Then the smell hit his nose. He recoiled in utter disgust.

It all became clear now. As such things sometimes happened, some drunk had gone

for a stroll in here last night, fell down over the grave (slept on it, possibly)

and threw up in the grass before he left. A little parting present.

Old Simon's fluffy grey eyebrows drew down in consternation. Shame on him. Shame

on whatever heartless sinner would befoul a child's grave like that. He wished

the man was still here, so he could run him over a few times in his golf cart.

He sighed. Not much you can do about puke outdoors. Indoors, you can use a mop,

as he had done more times than he cared to think about. Outside, you just had to

hope the wind would blow the smell off after a while.

Old Simon scratched his backside for a moment, and then drove off.

~***~

-CHAPTER SEVENTEEN-

That Saturday night (which was technically Sunday morning by the time her head

finally hit the pillow), the power of dreaming finally returned to Tish Lopez.

She was in a coffin, an extra-wide one, and Max was right there next to her. Not

a zombie, but the same Max he'd always been. Neither of them were scared. The

coffin was lined with a coral-pink plush interior and lit by a dim, cozy, unseen

light source. They were smiling at each other, their noses nearly touching in the

tight space, like sharing the same sleeping bag. They were doing crossword

puzzles. Apparently they had been doing them for quite some time, since the lower

half of the coffin was almost completely full of them by now. Then the lid opened

abruptly. It was not the Grim Reaper, but only their fourth grade teacher. And

they were not underground, but outside. As their teacher helped them both step

out of the coffin, Tish saw it was lying smack dab in the middle of the

playground at recess. As soon as she and her brother exited, the coffin sprouted

tank treads and drove off cartoonishly. Tish and Max waved bye-bye as it

vamoosed, leaving flame trails behind it. The teacher led them inside, and there

they saw that everyone in class was wearing plastic halloween masks of Nick

Chainsaw. The real Nick looked a trifle embarrassed. It was his birthday, and he

had brought too many cupcakes; they were piled in a heap in the corner of the

room, literally up to the ceiling. The next thing Tish knew, she and Max and Mom

& Dad were all invited over to the Chainsaws' house for dinner. 'Dinner' turned

out to be a very large live octopus (who did not seem at all cooperative)

sprawled out in the middle of the table. But everyone else was laughing and

having a good time, trying to carve off hunks of tentacles as they writhed past.

Then Tish was watching a movie about boats and...

She blinked.

Sunlight on her muzzle. It was morning already.

The little coyote smiled an uncharacteristically bright smile and sat up in bed,

stretching and yawning. She'd only gotten about three hours' worth of sleep last

night, but somehow she felt incredibly refreshed nonetheless. She thought about

her dream as she sat there in her pajamas. It hadn't made that much sense, but

there had been an overall happy, carefree feeling to it. As if everything was

gonna be okay again. And, of course, just dreaming at ALL was cause for

celebration. It struck her that maybe she was simply *unable* to dream unless Max

was with her...

Actually, Max was not technically with her at the moment. Tish had decided on the

fly that it would be way too dangerous and risky to sneak Max back into the

house. At least for now. At least until they knew more about his present

condition, and more about what Mom and Dad would think of it. Max had

wholeheartedly agreed. The last thing he wanted was to give Mom a heart attack

when she saw him, or have Dad fearfully come after him with a blunt instrument.

He said he was fine with staying in the toolshed for the night, and they could

talk more the following day. Tish felt sorry for him nonetheless. Out there in

that drafty, dusty shed all alone... At least it had been a warm night.

Still, she wanted to be with him again right away. She was like a little pup on

Christmas morning; she knew there were presents downstairs, and she couldn't bear

to stay in bed a second longer.

Down in the kitchen, Carlos and Martina were just sitting down to breakfast when

they heard a loud thumping sound descending towards them, similar to a herd of

thundering elephants. Of course, it was only Tish bounding energetically down the

stairs. She ran up to the table, grabbed her plate and started bulldozing

ridiculous amounts of breakfast foods onto it immediately. "Good morning Mom!

Good morning, Dad!" she sang out cheerfully.

Martina's eyebrows went up. "My goodness! You're looking chipper this morning.

Get a good night's sleep? I heard you snoring like a moose all night."

Tish chortled, realizing she may have put her tape player up too loud. "Um, yeah!

And I had a really good dream, too!" She dashed to the cupboard and selected the

biggest tumbler in the house. Darting back to the table, she filled it almost to

the top with orange juice.

Mom looked somewhat astonished. "Um... Hungry?"

"Yup!" she said with a sunny grin. "I'm gonna take all this stuff outside and eat

it since it's such a nice morning and I'm just so damn happy! Okay, bye!!"

As the miniature tornado fled the scene with over half their food, the two grown-

ups turned to each other with astonished and mildly concerned gazes.

"What in the world was that about?" Martina asked her husband. "She's been lost

in her own little world for a week, and all of a sudden she snaps out of it, just

like that?"

Carlos shrugged. "Kids are strange. They are like rubber bands in many ways."

She nodded, sighing. "I guess. I wonder if this means she's finally getting over

Max..." she said, sounding almost sad at the idea.

The broad-shouldered coyote shook his head firmly. "No. She will never get over

him, and neither will we. You shouldn't 'get over' the loss of someone you love

that much. ...But maybe she has begun to realize her own life isn't over now

too."

Martina smiled at him and took a sip of milk. "My husband, the child

psychologist," she teased lightly.

He grinned. "Ah, yes. Beauty and brains all in one package. I am the perfect man,

and you shall worship me," he said, the zenith of suaveness.

His wife giggled out loud. "Oooooh... I just might take you up on that later..."

Meanwhile, Tish was dashing across the lawn to the big stinky toolshed out back.

It was very likely it had been created by the same furson who had designed the

house, since it shared the same characteristic bizarre dimensions, as if the

architect had been either slightly crazy or burdened with poor depth perception.

It was too big to be only a toolshed, and yet it was also obviously not meant as

a garage either, since there was only the one small side door. There had already

been tons of rusty, useless gardening and farming equipment lying around in there

when they'd moved in. It was possible it had all been there since long before the

previous owners. Dad kept his lawnmower in the shed and otherwise ignored it as

much as possible. Somehow, it managed to be even spookier than the attic in its

own lopsided way.

Balancing the juice glass between her forearm and chin, Tish carefully eased the

door open, unsure as to what she'd find inside. She really hoped she hadn't

screwed up the spell somehow, like merely creating a temporary effect, and Max

wouldn't be lying in here dead again.

He was lying down allright, but from his snores he was very much still animate.

He was flopped down in the bucket of an old green wheelbarrow in a position so

uncomfortable it made Tish cringe.

A musty smell hit her nose as she entered; rust and rot and cobwebs. She padded

over and nudged her brother's shoulder with her foot. "Max? Um, wakey-wakey..."

Max snored on.

Tish gave the wheelbarrow a short kick and that seemed to get the job done. The

bleary-eyed zombie boy came out of sleep with a long yawn and a cloud of

unspeakably disgusting morning breath. It could have peeled the paint off

battleships. Tish politely gagged into her shirtsleeve.

Max sniffed around and noticed there was breakfast nearby. He turned to his

sister with a smile. "G'morning."

"Good morning, Max. Sorry you had to sleep in here. I wish we could've brought

your coffin with us, but then the grave would have sunken in."

Max shrugged unconcernedly. "Eh. I'm sure it was nice and soft, but would you

really wanna sleep in one all the time? Wouldn't it creep you out?"

She considered that. "Good point. Still, I have no idea how you managed to fall

asleep in that thing."

Max glanced down at the wheelbarrow. He clumsily tipped himself out onto the

floor and stood up. He stretched, producing a bone-clattering cacophony, as if

half his skeleton had come unglued during the night. Afterwards, he grinned

blithely and shook his tail, seemingly unaffected. "It was pretty comfy actually.

Better than the beds at Uncle Ernesto's house."

Having slept in them herself, Tish thought that was probably a fair estimate.

"Your neck doesn't hurt or anything? It looked like it was bent straight back

when I came in."

Max turned his head from side to side, making loud clicking sounds. He put his

paws to his cheeks and stretched his neck a bit. To Tish's horror and Max's

delight, he found he could twist his head around almost 180 degrees now. "Aw,

sweet! And it doesn't hurt a bit!"

"Good for you, I guess..." she said with a wince. "Hungry?"

"Starving!"

She held out the tray to him. He glanced over the selection, then took the glass

of OJ first, chugging from it with a satisfied sigh. "I hope you don't mind

sharing the one glass," Tish said. "I didn't want Mom 'n Dad getting overly

suspicious. And I guess I'm not worried about zombie cooties."

He grinned. "I'll try not to infect you." He looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Geeze, I wonder if I even *can*?"

"Bite me and find out," she teased.

Max was about to answer back with a witty retort when he suddenly bent over and

violently upchucked his orange juice onto the dusty concrete floor.

Tish squeaked in surprise. "Shit!"

Looking woozy, Max wiped off his mouth on his shirt sleeve (he'd already

dispensed of the hot and sweaty formal jacket he'd been buried in). "Uh..."

Whimpering sympathetically, Tish set her plate down on a workbench and gave Max a

hug. "You okay now?"

He nodded. "That was weird. It was like, the second it hit my stomach, it came

right back up. I'm still hungry though."

"Maybe the juice was too much for you. Like when we both got the flu and we

couldn't hold down anything but soup." She looked over at the plate. "Here, try

some toast. That oughtta be mild enough."

He accepted the little triangular slice. "Thanks. Here goes," he said, and took a

bite.

Tish watched eagerly as he swallowed. They both waited nervously, and felt bitter

disappointment when the toast came right back up too, totally undigested. Max

tried to catch it in his paw but instead it escaped to mingle with the orange

juice.

Tish's ears drooped sadly. "Oh Max, I'm so sorry. I guess you'll just have to

wait until your stomach settles down."

"Yeah, you're probably right. You go ahead and eat though. Don't let me stop

you." He looked around and spotted an old rag hanging on a nail. He bent down to

sop up the juice and toast, then threw the rag in the corner.

Tish sat down on a rickety wooden stool and sipped some juice (making sure to

drink from the opposite side of the glass Max had; there was still a bit of

mucousy, lip-shaped residue there). She picked up a piece of bacon and was about

to bite down when she noticed Max staring at her. "What?"

"Gimme that bacon," he said dully.

"Come on, if you couldn't keep *toast* down, there's no way- Hey!" She jerked

back, a little scared, as Max rudely whipped out a paw and snatched the strip

away from her. He crammed it in his mouth like a pet dog. "You don't have to act

like a dickhead! And you're probly just gonna puke it back up again."

But to her surprise, he didn't. Max licked his lips contentedly. He blinked, and

seemed to be coming out of a daze. "I- I'm sorry, Tish. I just smelled the meat

and went nuts. I think it's staying down though."

Tish arched an eyebrow and went 'hmmm'. "Okay... You're a zombie, so maybe you

can only eat meat."

That seemed to jibe with what his body was already telling him. His stomach was

happily digesting the bacon, and wanted more. "I think you're right."

"Let's try a little experiment." Tish scooped up a forkful of scrambled eggs.

"Try some eggs. They're sort of like meat. They're an animal product, anyway."

She held it out to him, and realized she was about to feed him like a baby. "Here

comes the airplane!"

"Nummy-nums!" said Max, chuckling. He slurped down the little bit of eggs and

held his belly in both paws, waiting to see what it would think of them. His

stomach seemed confused by the eggs for a second, then it grumbled a bit,

debating whether or not to urk them back up. Then finally it said 'what the hell'

and let them stay. "Cool! So, I can eat bacon and eggs. But not bread or fruit

type stuff."

"No vegetables either," she reasoned, trying to look on the bright side.

He grinned. "Yeah, good point!"

Conversation wound down for the moment as the two siblings sat down to breakfast.

Max climbed back into the wheelbarrow and lounged in it like a beanbag chair.

Tish split the eggs down the middle and let Max have all the bacon. She took the

toast and juice, and said she'd bring him back some milk later on to see if he

could drink that instead. Max commended her on her deductive thinking.

Max polished off the last strip of bacon with a contented smile. That had really

hit the spot. His stomach was full of eggs and meat and was just about going

bananas with joy. This felt much, much better than being full of gas and

formaldehyde. "So, when're we gonna tell Mom and Dad about me?" he asked

casually.

Tish froze up for a second. Her tail drooped. "Um... I don't know. Maybe we

shouldn't. At all, I mean."

Max sat straight up. "Come on! I wanna see them again! And I'll bet a trillion

dollars they've been missing me all this time too!"

"I know," Tish whined sadly, "but think of how bad it could go! I'm totally cool

with you being a zombie, but I know it'll be a shock for them. They might..." She

sighed. "Max, they might try to kill you the second you show yourself. I think we

should just chill out for a few days, try to learn as much as we can about what

you are now, then I'll try to ease them into it, if it's safe."

Max looked a little suspicious. "What do you mean, 'safe'...?"

Tish bit her lip.

Looking like his sister had just slapped him across the face, Max asked quietly,

"Don't you trust me?"

He'd asked so pitifully, Tish couldn't help hopping down off the stool into the

wheelbarrow to give him another hug. "Of course, you dummy! Of course I trust

*you*! You're my brother and my best friend in the universe. You know I love you

more than anything. I just... Well, I've never raised the dead before and I have

no idea if I did everything right. You might..."

He finished for her. "...I might change into something else without warning.

Okay, I understand now." He remembered seeing her pick up the bacon, and how,

just for a second, his mind had seemed to get blanker and focus solely on getting

that little bit of meat in his mouth as soon as possible. It might be nothing at

all. But Tish was right; it was a good idea to keep him under observation for a

little while nonetheless.

Tish nuzzled his shoulder. "I know you won't do anything bad, Max. I know you're

stronger than that. I know you love me 'n Mom 'n Dad and you won't hurt us. But

you've seen just as many zombie movies as I have. We have to be careful. Just for

a little while until we're sure."

"You're totally right. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just think of it like you're sick and you're in the hospital and

they need to make sure you're not contagious or something."

Max nodded and gave her paw a gentle squeeze. "That sounds about right." He

frowned a little in frustration. "But I really wanna tell *somebody* else... I

mean, I can't help thinking of all the people who must've gone to my funeral, all

my friends, how sad they must've been, and they still think I'm dead. I don't

want them to be sad over me anymore."

His compassion had always impressed her. It came so much more naturally to him

than it did for her, and she envied him sometimes because of it. "I know. And a

lot of people did come. Most of the guys you sit with in class, I think, and Mr.

Goldwood and Mrs. Germaine."

He smiled. Mrs. Germaine had been their fourth grade teacher, and she'd narrowly

beat out Mr. Goldwood for being Max's favorite. He liked knowing she had cared

about him enough to come. "There's gotta be someone we can tell," he persisted.

Tish felt awful, having to disappoint him like this. "Max, think about it: if one

of your friends died, wouldn't you be a little freaked out if they just suddenly

showed up at our house a few weeks later and wanted to go play hockey again like

nothing happened?"

She had a point, and he hated it. "Fuck. Dammit, I don't wanna have to spend the

whole summer out here in this shed all by myself..."

Tish opened her mouth to speak...

"Sorry! You know I didn't mean that. I know you'll be here too." He gave her paw

a reassuring pat.

Tish took his paw in hers and gave it a squeeze. Max looked so sad, and she could

only guess what he might be thinking right now. She felt suddenly ashamed of

herself. All this time, through all her planning to bring Max back from the dead,

and she had never once thought about how hard it might be for him. She should

have anticipated this loneliness, and that his 'condition' would surely cause him

physical problems. She felt incredibly selfish.

And even worse, Nick was still probably worried about what-

A lightbulb snapped on above her head. "Nick!" she shouted joyfully.

"Huh?"

"We can tell Nick! I told him yesterday I was gonna do something really

dangerous, and that it had to do with you, and that I wanted him to tell Mom 'n

Dad if anything bad happened to me. He'll be able to deal with you like this! I

know he will! I'm gonna go call him right now!"

Tish's idea brought smiles to both their faces. "That's a great idea! How 'bout

you ask him to come over sometime tomorrow, like noon-ish?"

"Why wait till then?" she asked, puzzled.

"I wanna try out my new body a bit. Go runnin' around, see if I fall apart, stuff

like that," he replied.

"Ohhhh. Good thinking." Tish jumped nimbly up and out of the wheelbarrow. "I'll

call him and let him know everything's okay. I'll tell him there's a big surprise

waiting for him tomorrow!"

Max nodded. "And bring me some milk. And any other meat-things you can find! I'm

still hungry!"

Tish saluted. "Aye-aye, dead guy!" Max laughed as she snatched up the dishes and

went tearing out of the toolshed.

~***~

-CHAPTER EIGHTEEN-

A few hours later, Martina paused in confusion by her bedroom window. She could

have sworn she'd seen someone running past in the backyard. And for a second, she

had been absolutely certain it was Max.

She shook her head. Just an optical illusion. Had to be.

She set her mind back on the matter at hand. Looking down at her dresser drawers,

she called out, "Honey? Did you polish up some of my jewelry last night?"

~***~

-CHAPTER NINETEEN-

After running around for a while like a wild dog and thoroughly testing out his

new-and-improved undead body, Max was hungry again.

Tish sat up in a tree in the vast yellow field of their backyard, watching her

brother wistfully. She didn't feel quite so selfish now. Max had been running and

jumping and yelling and laughing his tail off for an hour now. He looked really

happy. And yeah, his condition would carry both pros and cons, and yeah, they'd

have to keep him hidden until they came up with some way of breaking the news

gently to everyone, but those didn't seem like such awful problems anymore. Max

was _alive_ again, and that was what really mattered most. As he'd told her when

she came back from the house, he never, *ever* wanted her to think he wasn't

grateful for the second chance at life she'd given him. He praised her bravery

and her brilliance, and hugged her so hard she thought she'd pop. It was just

what she'd needed. For a second there, it was like the past two weeks had never

even happened at all.

She'd brought with her a big glass of milk and two leftover fishcakes from the

house. Max had tentatively sipped the milk until he was sure his stomach wasn't

minding it being there, then drained the glass dry in less than a minute and

asked for more. He munched fishcakes while she trotted out for another glass. She

returned with a tumbler of milk and a can of air freshener. He did kinda stink,

she explained tactfully. He was not offended, and let her give him a good spray-

down.

Then she asked him to take off his shirt and pants and hold still while she gave

him a complete diagnostic. He felt a little silly, standing there in his

underpants, arms held out stiff at his sides, while Tish carefully scanned his

whole body for irregularities. She told him his cheek had been split and some of

his bones looked broken last night, but now they seemed to be okay again.

However, some of his other body parts looked torn or lumpy now. And the milkiness

of his left eye hadn't gone away at all.

He tried to explain as best as he could what being a zombie felt like. He said

again that he felt slightly less in control of himself now, like his soul was

inhabiting a second-rate body and it was a poor fit. He said it was like trying

to ride a bike he'd never been on before, or trying to walk in clothes that were

way too big for him.

He also described a truly bizarre sensation that he'd felt continuously ever

since his rebirth. It wasn't obtrusive and, like his heartbeat (at least, back

when he'd HAD one), it was easy to ignore. But he said it felt kinda like his

body was constantly breaking down, rotting, decomposing, yet at the same time it

was also working tirelessly to keep him in one piece. Like townspeople scrambling

to repair a dam while floodwaters constantly battered it. He said he didn't think

he was in any real danger of total decomposition, but that it might not be a such

bad idea for him to keep up a steady diet of as much protein as possible. He had

a hunch that his whole digestive system had been altered, that its purpose now

was to convert as much food as it could directly into building materials. His

chief evidence for this theory was that he hadn't felt a need to pee since

yesterday, not even a little bit, and he bet Tish he wouldn't be taking a dump

any time soon either.

Tish was impressed at his calm reasoning. All in all, he was taking this so

smoothly it astounded her. Like resurrection was a perfectly normal everyday

occurrence. Max just shrugged and said he'd always had a feeling something like

this would happen to him sooner or later. As he said, he'd always felt 'destined

for weirdness'.

After his physical and their biology chat, Max set about seeing how much his new

body had changed on a practical level. Their backyard was enormous, stretched out

across dozens of hilly, uneven acres that no developer would ever consider

purchasing. But it made a gnarly playground for two imaginative young coyotes.

Max ran free through the high golden grass. Somehow, subconsciously, his body

knew it had spent a hell of a long time cooped up in a tiny underground box, and

now it was reveling in motion and exercise.

An hour or so later, panting gleefully, Max loped up to Tish's tree and gave her

a full status report. He said all those zombie movies where the dead dudes just

shambled around like snails with their arms stuck out in front of them were pure

bullshit. He felt surreally limber and agile today, as if he could run for hours

without stopping. He didn't feel the least bit tired, and his muscles weren't

sore at all. In fact, he didn't even seem to feel any pain anymore.

Tish leaned over, curiously, as he gave her a demonstration. Grinning like a

magician about to perform a fantastic trick, he put his paw flat up against the

tree trunk. With his other paw, he pulled out a nice smooth rock he'd found in

the field. It was just about the size of a baseball. Without a moment's

hesitation, he smashed the rock into the back of his hand with all his strength.

Tish shrieked and nearly toppled off her branch.

Max gave her a nonchalant smile and told her to watch closely. He held up his

wounded paw. It looked like a crumpled bouquet of twigs. It oozed with nearly-

black blood.

Then slowly, the fingers started to move on their own. One by one, the bones all

knitted and the muscles repaired themselves. The blood was slurped back up

inside. With skin-crawling pops and squishes, his fingers all untwisted

themselves. Max gave them a little wiggle when it was all done. His paw looked

perfect again. Just like new.

Tish gaped dumbly, torn between thinking that that was impossibly cool, and

wanting to go throw up somewhere. Finally, she hopped down from the tree and

cradled Max's rejuvenated paw in her own. She caressed the flesh. It felt

slightly strange, more loose and brittle than normal, but otherwise everything

was where it should have been. She could not believe it hadn't hurt at least a

little bit to do that. Max assured her it hadn't, and cheerfully offered to

perform another demonstration on his other paw if she didn't believe him. She

decided to believe him.

Around then was when his tummy started growling again. Tish checked her watch and

saw that it was lunchtime. She was about to go back to the house and root through

the fridge some more, when she suddenly got an even better idea. She told Max to

meet her back at the toolshed in a few minutes.

When he did, she was carrying an armload of loose clothing and grinning

deviously.

~***~

-CHAPTER TWENTY-

"You're insane," said Max.

Tish giggled.

"This is never gonna work."

"Too bad, we're already almost there, ya big baby. Just keep quiet and no one

will notice."

Max rolled his eyes. He had a bad feeling about this.

He was currently wearing the biggest T-shirt he owned, a pair of winter gloves, a

black jacket with the hood pulled way up over his face, and an incredibly baggy

pair of his Dad's jeans that he'd been stepping on the ends of constantly.

Finally he snarled at Tish to wait up as he sat down on the sidewalk to roll up

the hems. That was better, though now anyone who cared to look could also get a

better look at his big clunky snowboots.

"I feel like the biggest retard in the entire history of retardedness," he

grumbled.

Tish giggled and reached out to hold his paw. "It'll be okay, Max. I won't tell

you you don't look stupid, but think of all the yummy, juicy meat you'll be

eating when we get there! Dad was in a good mood when I asked for cash and he

gave me a twenty! You can get whatever you want!"

That did cheer him up a little bit. Two bigass double cheeseburgers, loaded down

with cheese and bacon, did sound almost erotically appealing right now. Max's

mouth was watering just thinking about it. He'd just have to remember to leave

off the buns and tell them to hold the sauce. And no french fries, unfortunately.

Though maybe he'd try one of Tish's. Heck, they cooked 'em in so much grease,

they practically counted as meat.

Their destination was Dooley's, a small, statewide hamburger franchise that

advertized 'The Biggest, Most Beautiful Burgers You Will Ever See In Your Life'.

Truth be told, they were usually about average in the looks and size department.

But still, they tasted a hell of a lot better than the usual fast-food slop. The

extra few cents you spent at Dooley's were always well worth it.

It was Max's favorite restaurant. He could eat there every day for eternity and

never get sick of it. And as far as he was concerned, their barbecue sauce must

have been concocted by angels on high.

The extra clothes he was wearing served two purposes. First and foremost, they

would hopefully obscure his identity enough if someone they knew happened to spot

them. At least from a distance. Probably. He even had his tail tucked down the

back of his pants.

Secondly, Tish had hoped they might keep the smell in. She was rapidly getting

used to it herself, but there was no denying that Max _literally_ reeked of the

grave. He smelled rotten, and no amount of air freshener would make it totally go

away. Although she'd emptied half the can on him by now already.

When they eventually reached Dooley's, Tish could see through the glass doors

that the place was packed. Good. They could try to lose themselves unobtrusively

in the crowd. "Now try not to puke on or eat anybody," she chided playfully.

"Ha ha ha," said Max.

They both realized as soon as they entered that luck was with them today. They'd

forgotten that Dooley's was always, *always*, redolent with the dizzying,

mouthwatering aroma of fire-grilled dead cow. After a long meal at Dooley's, you

went home smelling like the place. Guaranteed. No one was gonna notice a little

carcass-stink in here.

Tish and Max quietly took their place in line. After a fat guy ahead of them had

finished ordering a #3 combo with two chocolate milkshakes, Tish approached the

register.

"Welcome to dooleys would you like to try our new mesquite chicken breast combo

today," the haggard-looking employee chanted mindlessly at them. He was a

college-age fox, and he looked like he was in dire need of some sleep. He was

also wearing a lovely and fashionable little white paper hat.

Feeling empathy for the poor bastard, Tish spoke slowly and clearly. "Hello. I

would like two double bacon cheeseburgers; hold the sauce, a large chicken

strips, a medium fry, a medium cola and three little things of milk."

The employee rang everything up, casting an uncomfortable glance at Max as he did

so.

"He just got out of the hospital, where he spent a month recovering from a

horrible skin infection," Tish said reproachfully. "How'd you like being stared

at if over seventy percent of your fur had fallen out?"

The employee looked utterly abashed. "Oh, geeze, sorry! Really, I wasn't staring!

I was just thinkin' it's kinda hot to be wearing all that. My bad."

"S'allright," mumbled Max.

The coyote twins waited around for a few minutes for the food to show up. When it

did, Tish's sense of misanthropy was dealt a small blow when she looked at the

receipt and noticed the employee had 'forgotten' to charge for her drink. She

tossed him a thankful smile as she walked off to find a seat.

Way in the back, next to the restrooms, there was a booth with nobody around.

'Perfect,' thought Tish. Max clumped along behind her (his boots sounding even

more ridiculous than they looked) as she went over and sat down.

Max whipped off his gloves in a heartbeat. "Finally! The smell is driving me

nuts!" He unwrapped one of the burgers and just gazed lovingly at it. "Hello,

gorgeous..."

Tish giggled and sipped her soda.

Tail wagging even though it was trapped between his leg and denim, Max tore the

buns in half (keeping enough on the burger to hold it without getting his paws

greasy) and took a huge bite. He murred orgasmically with his mouth full.

Tish had to put down her drink for fear of shooting cola out her nose. Max was

eating his burger in the most obscene manner she had ever seen. He was making

love to it. He was making really, really perverted noises too. "We're trying to

keep a low profile, remember?" she said, giggling.

"Sorry. Can't. Meat too good," he grunted, and took another bite. He got a little

bit of bun in his mouth this time and nearly gagged, but was able to force it to

stay down. He supposed it might be possible to 'train' his stomach to accept

plant matter eventually, but for now it was being pretty stubborn. "Hey," he

realized as he polished off burger number one, "I've turned into an anti-

vegetarian."

"Uh oh, I guess I have to protest you now," Tish quipped. She was, among other

things, a champion of nonev-rights. Yet at the same time, she was also perfectly

happy with eating them. Her position was that, being a coyote, eating meat was

natural for her. She was a realist; more than half of all furry species on the

planet were carnivorous or omnivorous, so meat-eating wasn't gonna go away any

time soon. But just because she ate nonevs didn't mean she thought they didn't

deserve to be treated as civilly as possible. Half of her birthday money every

year went to a radical nonev-rights group that liberated fur farms, torched

unscrupulous medical testing labs and generally made life hell for anyone in

congress who voted against bans of cruel killing or hunting practices. Tish was

more of a believer in direct action than protests and pamphlets.

"Lemme try a french fry," Max asked.

She was wary. "Okay, but have a napkin ready in case you yak again."

"Roger wilco," he said with a nod. Tentatively, he chewed and swallowed the

little potato sliver. All was silent for a second. Tish and Max both waited

eagerly. The fry seemed to be staying down.

But... "Aw, not agai-" Max clenched his eyes shut and gagged as the mashed up wad

of fry shot straight out of his throat and missed the napkin by a mile.

"Ewwww! Son of a bitch!!" Tish screeched. It had landed perilously close to her

chicken strips.

Max wiped his mouth and then grinned at her. "I'll gave you a buck if you eat

it."

She glared at him, grinning too. "Fuck you and die, Max."

A little old woodchuck lady in the booth opposite them (who was so short neither

of them had noticed her yet) gasped indignantly. "You horrid children! Where on

earth did you learn such language, young lady?!" she demanded.

Tish turned to her with an angelic smile. "In church," she lied cheerfully. "Our

pastor drinks a lot before sermons."

Horrified, the woodchuck snatched up her tray and left to go sit somewhere else.

She scowled with righteous fury at the two evil children as she passed.

Tish and Max burst into unrestrained guffaws.

"That was awesome," Max praised.

Tish smiled breezily. "I like to think I elevate pissing people off to an art

form."

Max snorted. He took a drink of milk and blew bubbles in it with his straw. "So,

what're we doing after we get home? Like, dinner and sleeping and stuff? I really

don't mind sleeping out in the toolshed again, if you're worried about that."

"Are you sure? It just seems so mean of me. I'm sleeping in my nice cozy bed, and

you're in a wheelbarrow out in the yard like a pet dog or something."

He brushed her concern away. "Tish, cool it. I don't mind. It's summer; it's warm

enough outside. And I told you I don't feel pain anymore. Watch this..."

"Please don't."

He ignored her and scooted over to the side of the booth so she could see his

legs. He got a firm grip on his ankle, then bent his right leg up in a circle,

bending it at a sickening 180 degree backwards angle. "Neat, huh?"

She stared, revolted, like passing by a bad bus accident on the highway. "That is

*nasty*, Max. Don't do that again."

Now that he knew it grossed her out, he'd be doing it every chance he got,

naturally.

Tish actually thought it was severely cool. She'd acted like it grossed her out

so he'd keep on doing it all the time. Naturally.

Max started in on his second burger after draining milk carton number one. Like

all good little anarchists, he'd opened the 'Open Other End' side out of sheer

malevolence.

Tish nibbled a fry. "As far as dinner goes, I can either sneak you leftovers

every night when Mom 'n Dad aren't looking, or I can use some of my allowance to

get stuff delivered, or we can do a combination of both. Nick might be able to

help out too, once we tell him."

Max nodded. "Those are all good ideas." Although another had occurred to him that

he wasn't about to say aloud. When she wasn't around, he might have to go out

back at night and hunt. He loathed the idea. The thought of taking another living

being's life was anathema to him. But he was, after all, a predatory species. And

he could already tell that his undead metabolism was gonna need a lot more meat

than just what a plateful of occasional leftovers would be able to provide. Maybe

he could try eating bugs, he considered.

He had another thought. "Oh, hey, could you bring me some of my stuff out of my

room? Like, books and video games and stuff?"

"Sure! You can make a list when we get home." She puzzled for a moment on how to

get it all out of the house unobtrusively, then smiled. "I could get a big

garbage bag and fill it up with stuff. Trash day's tomorrow, so I could just act

like I was taking it to the curb. Then I'd sneak around back and drop it off at

the shed."

He was impressed by her cleverness. "You would totally make a good undercover

agent, all this sneakin' around stuff you're coming up with."

"Why thank you! You want one of my chicken things? I'm still a little full from

this morning."

"Thanks!" Max eagerly took one and started peeling the breading off, figuring it

might cause him problems. When he was done, he realized just how little chicken

was actually in these things. He was left with a little white droopy thing that

looked like a tampon. He ate it up anyway. No use wasting protein.

Tish picked at her fries while she watched Max finish up his other burger and

another half-pint of milk. She drained her drink as well. She got up for a

refill, and when she came back she noticed a familiar odor was becoming

noticeable. "Max, you're gettin' stinky again," she whispered.

His cheeks flushed. "Aw, shit."

"Pocket your last milk and let's split," she suggested. He nodded and obeyed. He

followed her up to the front, carrying their tray and their garbage.

As they passed by the easily-offended old woodchuck again, Tish got a wild smirk

on her face. "Say," she remarked loudly, "what's long and hard and full of

seamen?"

The woman just about choked on her cola.

"A submarine!" Max replied with exaggerated enunciation. "Do you know what word

starts with 'F' and ends with 'uck'?" he queried.

"Firetruck!!" they said in harmony. They passed by their elderly nemesis,

snickering shamelessly. She ranted threateningly at them as they got rid of their

trash and left, but they were both laughing so hard they only caught snatches of

it. 'You kids!' and 'disgraceful!' and 'a good spanking!'.

"Maybe she'll be there next time," Tish said hopefully.

~***~

-CHAPTER TWENTY ONE-

Nearly two thousand miles away, a man who'd been taking a piss by the side of the

road at dusk decided *not* to tell the police, or anyone else for that matter,

that he could have sworn he'd seen a big, dark something-or-other the size of a

boxcar zoom right past him, at top speed, *through a corn field*...

~***~

-CHAPTER TWENTY TWO-

Nick had a blindfold on, just in case.

Tish and Max hoped they were ready for anything, but this was an impossibly

touchy situation. How exactly do you go about introducing someone to a walking

corpse without them going berserk and pissing their pants and running away

screaming? (Now *there* was a question you weren't likely to see popping up in

'Miss Manners'.)

The night before, Tish had successfully smuggled all of Max's requested

possessions out of the house and into the shed. He'd been especially happy to get

his paws on his comic book collection, since he knew he'd be spending a lot of

time over the next few months cooped up with nothing else to do but read. He'd

also suggested that maybe Tish could get him some books from the local library.

She instantly agreed, and pledged to do anything at all to make him comfortable

until they could figure out a better place for him to stay. Grinning, Max asked

if that included hourly foot massages. Tish playfully punched him in the head.

Max giggled.

That night she dreamed again, but she did not remember what she had seen. She

chatted casually with Mom and Dad at breakfast, the epitome of guilelessness,

then ran off to the shed. She and Max plotted and brainstormed and just generally

shot the shit all morning long. And they both agreed that, even though the

situation was pretty darn fucked up, it was all worth it just to be able to sit

and talk with each other again. Max told Tish he wouldn't mind if he was just a

disembodied head, so long as they could still be brother and sister. Tish was so

touched by the sentiment, she actually cried a little. Though, of course, she

flatly denied having done so.

They both heard the scrape of Nick's bike braking in the driveway around eleven

thirty. They hadn't counted on him being early, but this wasn't like a surprise

party with streamers and balloons and cake. This was just him and them. And

hopefully, luck would put in an appearance too.

Tish came running up from the side of the house. "Nick!" she greeted cheerfully

as the cheetah boy walked his bike over to the front porch. "You're kinda early."

Nick looked up, a little worried. "Is that okay? Am I gonna have to wait? You

just sounded so excited on the phone..."

She trotted over to give him a small hug. "Nah, it's okay. Everything's ready.

And it's gonna be one hell of a surprise, I promise you." She pulled one of her

long black socks out of her pocket. "I'm gonna put this on you like a blindfold,

okay? Just so the surprise will be perfect. Don't worry; it's clean."

"Um, allright..." It would be an understatement to say that Nick was intrigued.

He trembled slightly as she wrapped her sock around his head, her fur brushing

against his. Then blackness encompassed his vision. He could see a tiny bit of

daylight around the edges of the sock, but that was all. He held his arms out in

front of him. "So, where is it?"

Tish took his paws in hers. "In the toolshed, remember? Come on, just follow me.

I'll go slow."

Nick's cheeks flushed as his best friend led him across her lawn. His nerves were

on edge. The suspense had been killing him since yesterday, trying to imagine

what Tish's incredible secret could be. From the sheer volume of her voice the

day before, it was *huge*, whatever it was. And she was smiling more than he'd

seen her in months.

Abruptly, he had a revelation. What if she was taking him out to the toolshed to

make out with him?

Nick stumbled and nearly tripped. His seeing-eye coyote steadied him and told him

he was only a few feet away now.

His idea suddenly seemed very plausible indeed. He felt almost foolish for not

realizing it before. The grinning, the giggling, the excited lilt to her voice...

She was hot for his bod. Had to be. It was the only thing that made sense. And

worst of all, Nick had absolutely no idea what to think of the idea. Sure, he

loved Tish, but strictly as a best friend. He'd always thought she was pretty,

but it had never even occurred to him to look at her *that* way.

Now she was dragging him out to the shed to have her way with him. She was gonna

whip off the blindfold and kiss him right on the mouth, he just knew it. Oh god,

if she put his hand up under her shirt, he'd pass out. He was sure of it.

He heard the toolshed door creak open.

The anxious young cheetah shivered and gulped. His mind was getting soupy. 'Okay,

here it comes. I'll just back away real quick and tell her I don't think I'm

ready for this kind of-

"Nick?" Tish spoke up.

"H-Wha?" His head whipped around, trying to pinpoint her, trying to figure out

where to run. His nose wrinkled as he caught a whiff of something rotten. Why the

hell would she wanna come out _here_ to fool around anyway? It smelled like

something had died in here...

"Nick, are you ready?" she asked, sounding uncertain. Her cheetah friend looked

like he was on the verge of seriously freaking out.

"Uh, uh, uh... I guess," he stuttered, feeling hot sweat pour down his forehead.

Tish reached up to untie the blindfold.

Nick closed his eyes and puckered up.

Max laughed. "Geez, I didn't think you'd be *that* glad to see me!"

The voice sent an electric shock straight through Nick Chainsaw to the concrete

floor he was standing on. His brain did a somersault inside his skull. He did not

dare open his eyes. In a heartbeat, he'd gone from worrying about love to

worrying he was going insane. It couldn't be. He could not possibly have heard

that voice. His eyes seemed to be glued shut. His heart jackhammered. He couldn't

move.

"Nick!?" Tish yelped, frightened for him. "Please, it's okay! Everything's okay!"

Somehow, Nick opened his eyes.

A corpse was standing there across the room from him. Max's dead body was

standing there *looking* at him. *Smiling* at him.

So that's what that smell was.

Nick uttered a throaty burble and backed up faster than a cornered rat, trying to

reach the door and run as far away as fucking possible. Instead, he slammed up

against the side of the shed and the whole thing creaked and shook. The young

cheetah's eyes glistened with fear. His mouth was open and in his mind he was

screaming, but his throat could not produce a single sound.

Max's smile died. He and Tish had tried to think of all the possible outcomes of

this meeting, and unfortunately they both knew that this one was probably the

most likely. It was also the one Max had hoped to happen least of all. Nick had

been his best friend since forever. He didn't want that to change. He didn't want

his best friend to fear him. 'I'm the same guy I always was, Nick. My body's just

different now. Please, try to understand that...'

Tish watched Nick's reaction. And then she watched Max's. And then she looked

back at Nick.

And then she hauled off and belted the young cheetah across the mouth.

"Jesus Tapdancing Christ, Tish!!" Max hollered. "What the fuck was that for!?"

Tish was already kneeling on the floor beside Nick. She put an arm around his

shoulders and turned his face towards her. Good; his lip wasn't bleeding. She

hadn't meant to hurt him, only to snap him out of it. "Nick? Come on. I'm sorry.

Say something. Please, Nick?"

Nick turned his eyes to her, looking like a bewildered goldfish. "D-dead," he

husked.

"Yeah. No shit, Sherlock."

Mind boggling from her indifferent response, Nick stared up into her face. She

certainly didn't seem scared. In fact, she was giving him a severe 'don't be a

baby' look. "But... What the..."

"Look at him, Nick. Look at Max right now. Do it!" Tish took her friend's head in

her paws and firmly but gently forced it in the right direction.

Max stood there, slouching, looking sheepish. He gave Nick a weak little wave.

"Hi, bro..."

Nick blinked. The fuzziness started clearing off of his mind. His panic was

starting to ebb. He was regaining the ability to think clearly again. "Max?"

The young coyote nodded. "Uh huh. Sorry if I stink a bit. I've only been back

above ground a couple days now."

Despite himself, Nick laughed. More of a hiccup, really.

Tish helped the dazed feline to his feet. "You're not gonna go all 'eek-a-zombie'

on me again, are you?" she asked carefully.

He shook his head. "I g-guess not..." And here he'd been thinking all this was

about smooching! Damn his hormones!

Tish softly patted his cheek, smoothing out his fur with a pained look in her

eyes. "I'm really sorry I hit you, Nick. I just didn't want you to start

screaming, or do something stupid. Mom and Dad have no idea he's out here. And

yes, he's the same old Max. Nothing's changed but his appearance. Just think of

it like he's got some kinda weird medical condition or something."

Nick weakly nodded. He looked over at Max, who was still smiling shyly at him.

Those eyes were not blank and mindless, not a stare of dumb monstrosity. Those

eyes said, 'We used to be best friends, Nick. And that's how I want it to be

again'.

"You're... You're really okay, Max?"

He nodded. "Mostly."

"And you're not gonna eat my brain, right?"

Max scoffed. "Naw. It'd take me hours just to find it!"

Finally, Nick was convinced. He grinned. He'd seen a lot of movie zombies too,

but never one with a sense of humor.

To Max, seeing Nick smile was just about the best feeling in the world at that

moment. He put out his paw for a handshake.

Nick ran over, his fear forgotten, his joy at seeing his best friend alive again

finally leaping to the front of his heart. The sadness was over. He didn't have

to miss him anymore. He didn't have to cry anymore. He slammed his paw into Max's

and gave a hearty pump.

Something went *crunch*.

Both Max and Nick looked stricken. They stared into each other's eyes for an

eternal moment, knowing something had just gone very, very wrong, and neither one

wanted to be the first to realize it.

Tish solved the dilemma for them by shouting, "Oh, GROSS!!!"

Max finally looked down, and just about lost his grip on reality. He felt

seasick. In his enthusiasm, Nick had shook his hand so hard it had snapped almost

completely off. It had split right along the wrist. Max could see bones hanging

out of one end amid the torn fringes of fur. A thin band of skin like a wet

noodle was all that was keeping the two parts held together.

Nick looked down and immediately let go of the dead thing in his paw. He made a

choking, gurgling noise. Eyes bulging, he clamped his paws over his mouth and

desperately forced back vomit.

Upon Nick letting go, gravity took hold of Max's right paw and finished the job.

The dead appendage swung down and tore off easily, landing with a muffled clatter

on the floor below.

"I'm gonna be sick!!" Nick wailed, backing up rapidly.

Despite wanting to burst out yowling at the top of his lungs, Max put forth an

extraordinary effort to keep his cool. Slowly, slowly, he bent down and picked up

his paw. It felt like a dead pigeon. He held it up, side by side with his new

stump, and stared at them both. There was no pain, and that only made everything

seem more unreal.

"Oh crap, oh crap, oh Max I am so _sorry_!" sputtered Nick. "Please don't kill

me!"

"Just cool down, man," Max said, his voice wavering like an echo, his mind

floating a hundred miles away.

Still partly stunned, Tish walked closer and stood by her brother. "It doesn't

hurt, right?"

Max shook his head. "Uh uh."

"Do you think you could, y'know, put it back on?" she suggested.

Max brightened slightly, feeling a bit of hope. That actually sounded quite

possible. "Good idea, sis." He carefully placed both halves of his ripped wrist

together and pressed.

But when he loosened his fingers, the hand slipped out of his grip and went

skidding across the floor again. It was like trying to balance an egg on an

apple. Whimpering, Max stared at his stump. "This sucks..."

Looking heartbreakingly pitiful, Nick stepped closer. "Max, I-"

Max put his remaining paw on his best friend's shoulder. "Dude, don't worry. It's

not your fault. No hard feelings. It probably woulda happened sooner or later

anyway."

Nick mewled. "Still, your hand..."

"I know," Max shrugged. He grinned. "And that was the one I jerked off with too,

darnit."

Feeling a whirlpool of emotions, Nick reached out and hugged his best friend.

"I'm still sorry," he said softly.

Max patted him on the back. "I'd rather have a friend like you than two hands

anyway."

Tish was about to tell Max what a sweet sentiment that was, when *something*

started happening to her brother's stump. Aghast, she shouted, "Max! Look! What

IS that?!"

Startled, Max held up his wrist for all to see. He grimaced in confusion and

disgust.

Something green was oozing out of his exposed flesh. This was nothing like blood,

not even the sluggish black stuff that had come out of him the day before. This

stuff was like foam. A sick yellow-green, like contaminated snot. It smelled like

decay.

"Pus!" exclaimed Nick.

But Max didn't think it was pus. For one thing, it sure as hell wasn't acting

like pus. This stuff was growing, pouring out of his wrist like whipped cream.

And as more of it hit the air, it started to solidify.

"What's happening, Max?" Tish asked fearfully.

"I have no idea," Max stated truthfully. "It doesn't hurt though. Just kinda

tingles. Like my shampoo." Then he noticed the ragged edges of his skin where his

paw had been torn from; they were starting to curl forward again and stick to the

green stuff. Max dared to hope he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

The foam was swelling, spreading out into a small, ovoid blob. The surface of the

mass was starting to thicken, like the skin of a balloon.

Tish gaped in wonder. "Max, I think it's..."

"Shh!" He didn't want to jinx it.

Nick didn't say a word.

The smell got worse. Like rotten eggs and maggots. The blob on the end of Max's

wrist puffed up to the size of a baseball. Then it started to grow lumps. Five

lumps. The lumps grew and lengthened. The skin tightened and hardened, looking

now like a half-inflated latex glove. Fur began to sprout near the bottom, then

it slowly spread upwards and around. Inside the mass, the foam started

solidifying, growing dense and hard in some places, stretchy and strong in

others. Its color changed from green to a pale red.

Max was grinning like mad, in relief and amazement.

Within a minute, he had a brand new paw.

He gave the fingers a wiggle. They smarted a bit, and they were still tender. But

at least he could move them. The fur was getting thicker now, covering up all the

pink flesh. The smell went away completely. And then it was like nothing had ever

happened to it at all.

"That was sweet as hell!" Nick finally burst out.

Both coyotes laughed with relief. Max gave Nick a macho hug. "Dude! I totally

have to thank you now! I never would've realized I could do that without you!"

Tish was too amazed to say a thing. She'd been shocked silent, watching the green

mass pulse and ooze and shape itself into a new hand for her brother. She had

seen _nothing_ about this in Grandma's spell!

Max gave his new paw another tentative flex, and this time everything felt

perfectly A-OK. He stared at his regrown appendage. As if just being alive again

wasn't enough, now he'd been a part of a second miracle!

He looked down at the floor and scanned around a bit before spotting his old paw.

He picked it up. It was already starting to fester around the edges of the wound.

Tish stuck her tongue out. "Eew. What're you gonna do with that now?"

Max merely looked at her, and she suddenly knew.

"You can't be serious," she said flatly.

"What, what?" asked Nick. They were doing that telepathy thing that creeped him

out again.

Max shrugged in a 'what else am I supposed to do?' kind of way. Looking like he

was readying himself to jump into a giant pile of manure, he squinched his eyes

shut and tipped his head back. He opened his mouth as wide as it would go. He

lifted up the amputated paw...

"Oh, _hell_ no," said Nick, unable to draw his gaze away.

*GULP*

Max looked more than a little queasy.

"How'd it taste?" Tish kidded facetiously.

"Not very good," he understated. "But hey, you're always talking about the

importance of recycling, right?"

Nick looked back and forth between the two of them. "You know, I just realized

something..."

"What?" the coyotes asked in stereo.

"If it was anyone else but you guys, I'd think I was losing my mind right now,"

he deadpanned.

Laughing, Tish gave him a noogie.

Max grinned. Nick was their best friend again.

~***~

-CHAPTER TWENTY THREE-

Nick asked if he could stay for dinner that evening, and Martina agreed, though

not without some small concern. He had the same look on his face now that Tish

had. Effervescent, excited, much happier than normal. And they were holding a

secret from her now, she was sure of it.

Nick and Tish had cleared their plates at lightning speed, then ran straight back

out to the toolshed again. And when she thought she wasn't being watched, Tish

had snuck back inside to take all the leftover porkchops with her. Martina had

watched her from the stairwell, her tail curled worriedly.

Now she stood by the bedroom window, staring down at the soft glow emanating from

the cracks in the walls of the old toolshed. Every now and then, the summer

breeze brought with it a small snatch of wild laughter.

She heard soft footfalls behind her. "Carlos..."

He came up behind her and put his paws upon her shoulders, beginning to massage

them. He murred questioningly; 'penny for your thoughts.'

"I'm worried about Tish."

Carlos nodded solemnly. "And why is that, my love?" Knowing, but asking anyway,

so she would be able to release her hidden fears to him.

"She's been out in that shed constantly. Ever since Sunday morning. I don't think

she's been in the house more than fifteen minutes since then. She's hiding

something from me. I know she looks happy and I know it shouldn't bother me, but

it does. I'm her mother. I always felt like Tish and I could talk about anything

together. I guess..." She sighed, worried she would sound selfish. "I guess I'm

worried that one day she'll become one of those teenagers who acts like it's

torture to acknowledge her parents' existence."

The big paws kneaded slowly, pressing deeply but softly into her tense flesh.

"Whatever she's hiding, I think she will tell us eventually. Soon," he stated

softly.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm not," he replied straightaway. "But call it a guess. Whatever her secret is,

it's a happy one, but it's also one she thinks we won't approve of. Maybe she

thinks we won't understand, that we'll try to take it away from her, whatever it

is. But eventually she will come to us and tell us. I want to believe she has

faith in us. That she'll know her happiness is important enough that we won't

mind bending a rule or two for her."

Martina leaned back against him silently. Just feeling their bodies press lightly

together, hearing their clothes rustle. She reached up to run her paws up and

down his strong arms. "You don't think she and Nick are making out in there, do

you?" She knew that wasn't the case anyway, she only wanted to get the question

out in the open. To ask it, so they could discard it.

Carlos shook his head immediately. "No. Not yet at least," he added with a smile.

She smiled too. Someday, she thought, Tish and Nick were destined for couplehood.

And she had always imagined Max would be the best man at their wedding...

"You want to know what I think?" Carlos asked.

She angled her head up to nuzzle his throat. "What?"

"I think there's something living out there. You've noticed her talking leftovers

out there, haven't you?" She nodded. "I think she discovered an animal hiding in

there and has made it her pet. A rabbit, perhaps. Maybe even a nonev coyote.

Wouldn't that be poetic?"

Martina 'hmm'ed. The theory did seem to fit the facts.

"With Max gone, she needs an outlet for all the love she used to share with him,"

Carlos said, his voice cracking slightly. "Hopefully, she has found someone to

take care of and hold and talk to. Like her dolls when she was little. And yet

she worries we won't understand. That whatever it is, we'll drive it off. But I

think there are a thousand and one worse ways of expressing grief. She has not

turned to destruction, but compassion. I'm proud of her."

His voice had begun to waver badly, and she could hear tears in it. Her rock, her

mountain, was quietly cracking. He had always been stoic. It came naturally to

him, and she loved it dearly about him. He was mysterious and wise and alluring,

but never without emotion. And now, it was simply time to put aside that persona

for a while. To break down. To let it flow. And she loved that about him too.

Turning around, she looked deep into her husband's golden eyes. "I miss our son."

He clutched her softly to his broad chest, lying his muzzle across her shoulder,

his face in her hair. "Me too, my love. I would do anything to hold him in my

arms once more."

And since they could not, they held one another. And together, they cried.

~***~

-CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR-

For Tish, Max and Nick, the next few days passed uneventfully. Mostly.

Nick came over and spent time in the toolshed as often as possible. Whenever he

could, he also brought over protein-rich leftovers from his house. He knew for

certain Max loved his mom's beef stroganoff, so he made a special effort to get

hold of a bunch of it. When he delivered it out to the shed, he watched with a

grin as Max devoured the entire pan the second after he'd gotten a good whiff of

it. Max had thanked him extensively, and told him to pass on some of that

gratitude to his parents too. Nick promised he would.

For Tish, it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide her toolshed excursions

and meat-snatching from her parents. They seemed to have at least figured out

that *something* was going on out there. They gave her knowing looks at dinner

and asked her subtly loaded questions, trying to trip her up. But their

interrogation efforts were unusually mild, and Tish eventually came to realize

that they trusted her to tell them her secret when she was ready. That made her

both happy and sad. Happy that her parents had such faith in her, but sad that

she'd probably *never* be ready to tell them. She knew she was being chicken. She

knew she should just be brave and introduce them to Max and deal with the

consequences. But something forced her back every time she tried. Partly it was

knowing she could get in _serious_ trouble for this, but mostly it was worry for

Max. If they couldn't accept him as he was now, it would break his heart. Sure,

they'd had success with Nick, but Nick was just a kid like them. Kids are just

naturally more able to accept impossible stuff. Grownups are different. They live

exclusively in reality and are uncomfortable when the weird and unexplainable

come knocking on their door. The reality was, Tish knew, that she'd procrastinate

and procrastinate until eventually one of them would discover Max on their own

someday. The outcome would probably be even worse then, but she had no idea what

in the world she *could* say to break it to them gently. She watched her mother

and father grieve the loss of their son, and yet he was only a hundred feet away,

missing them too. Tish knew something had to happen soon, and she only hoped it

wouldn't end in chaos.

For Max, the novelty of being a zombie had quickly melted away under the sheer

weight of the boredom of his new life. When Tish and Nick came around, they had a

blast. They talked about all sortsa stuff, read comics together, played games,

and mostly they reminisced about old times, back when all three of them were

still alive. It was like they were rediscovering their friendship and what made

it work, and Max liked that. By looking to the past and reliving some of their

happiest moments, they were strengthening their friendship now. Like cementing up

the cracks in a long-standing foundation to keep it strong forever.

But when they were gone, Max was bored out of his skull. He read voraciously,

since there was really nothing else to do in the daytime when Mom or Dad might

spot him running around in the backyard (a fact he'd become belatedly aware of

since last Sunday). He ended up polishing off three paperbacks he'd started but

never finished, and reading four more cover-to-cover in single sittings. So, to

some extent, he was somewhat grateful for all the spare time. Whenever he found

himself grumbling about how bored he was, he reminded himself of how great it

felt to come to the last page of a good book. And then he would start to read

again.

But when night fell and Tish went off to bed, Max's day had just begun.

It was something he had decided firmly not to tell Tish about. She'd only worry

about him and try to help him. He loved her for that, but she also kinda had a

thing where she just HAD to solve every problem put in front of her or she'd get

pissed off. This was something he had to do on his own. This was a part of who he

was now, and it was private.

When darkness fell and covered their town, Max came out to hunt. He truly

appreciated Tish and Nick's effort to keep him fed on leftovers, but he just

couldn't bring himself to tell them that it wasn't anywhere near enough. His body

was rotting worse than either of them realized, and it was happening at a faster

rate every day. On Thursday, he tripped over the stool in the shed and his left

foot had snapped right off. This time, luckily, he was able to force it back on,

though it seemed a little wobbly for a few hours afterwards. His tail had fallen

off twice already. His green eye kept rolling out unexpectedly. And he'd probably

lost all of his fingers and toes at least once each. (There seemed to be no logic

to whether something could be reattached or whether it would have to be regrown.

The outcome was about fifty-fifty either way)

He'd even found a way to turn his collapsibility into a game. Once, he'd asked

Tish to pull his finger. She had done so, grudgingly, expecting a fart, and

instead it had come right off in her paw. She went 'eeeew' and threw it at him

while he fell over in the wheelbarrow laughing.

The simple fact was, he was dead, and dead things rot. He was rotting away just

like any other piece of meat left out in the sun too long, and the only way to

slow the process was to eat more meat. Lots and lots of it. Tons of it. Every

night, Max snuck out and canvassed the town. His sense of smell had always been

pretty impressive, what with being a canine and all, but now it had developed

into something downright supernatural. He could smell a porkchop in a trash can

from more than a mile away. The tiniest trace of blood, he could ferret out and

lap at eagerly.

He sought out dead things. He crammed deceased insects into his mouth by the

handfuls, avoiding eating live ones unless absolutely necessary. Not because he

thought it was gross (which it was), but because he truly hated the thought of

killing any living thing, no matter how small.

The first time he had encountered roadkill, he had gulped and knew he would not

be able to resist it. It was a dead cat. Somebody's pet. Poor Fluffy would never

receive a decent burial because he was destined to end up in Max's tummy. The

reluctant little zombie had stood there by the side of the road, kneeling by the

dead cat for almost fifteen minutes. Just thinking about what this poor animal's

life might have been like. Who had cared for him? Who had loved him? Who would

miss him?

The bugs crawling on the cat's carcass produced the only sound it gave in reply.

A car came charging up the road and Max ducked swiftly out of sight behind a

bush, wondering what the hell was so important that that asshole had been going

so fast at three fifteen in the morning.

He came back out of hiding and faced the cat again. He knew he could never do

this if he thought about it too much, so he simply closed his eyes, took a deep

breath, and let the scent of flesh and blood fill his nostrils.

And suddenly he found himself crouched on the road, cramming the dead cat into

his mouth as if it were struggling to get away. He barely bothered to chew. His

hunger had taken over completely, leaving his brain with only the barest primal

instructions. The taste of fur and meat and filth and decay filled Max's mouth,

and he loved it.

Afterwards, he patted his stomach and was almost ashamed of how satisfied he

felt.

He went off in search of more.

From then on, Max prowled the highways and byways. Sure, supermarket dumpsters

and regular trash bags often contained lots of nummy bloody treats, but the

city's roads were like one colossal outdoor buffet, all laid out just for him,

free of charge. The weather was hot every day and it was a virtual dead critter

bonanza. Max scarfed squirrels, chewed up chipmunks, ate rabbits and raccoons

ravenously, fed on foxes and put away plenty of 'possums. He even found a mostly

picked-over but still edible deer carcass once.

The highway department started wondering who in the hell was doing their job for

them. And *why*!?

Max's most difficult meal came to him Friday night when he discovered the corpse

of a nonev coyote on a stretch of interstate. She lay there pitifully; her body

smeared almost to unrecognizability, but her face was still unmarred. She looked

up to him silently with her puffy black eyes. Max was in tears. He knew he had to

eat her. He knew if he didn't, he'd rot away to nothing. But still, he cried.

This was his ancestor, his spiritual link to the eras of the past, before his

kind walked on two legs. He knelt beside her and made his mind a blank. Twenty

minutes later, the other coyote was completely gone, and Max was running back

home in tears.

He thanked her as he ran, as he had thanked all of the dead animals that had

provided him with nourishment. Every time he had fed, he'd said a small prayer

for his meals. He begged their forgiveness for disturbing their rest. He wished

them happiness in heaven, and pledged to do something nice for them in return if

they ever met in the afterlife someday. It might have been just a bunch of

nothing, but it did make him feel a little bit better.

Saturday morning, just as dawn was breaking, Max stopped to devour a squirrel

he'd seen laying in the gutter a few blocks from his house. It was fairly fresh,

devoid of maggots, and tasted pretty good, considering.

When the small corpse was almost halfway gone, the legs dangling comically out of

his mouth, Max glanced up and saw he was being watched. A little girl, a vixen,

no more than six years old, was giving him a reproachful glare from the seat of

her Big Wheel across the street.

"You're gross," she said austerely.

Max shrugged. 'I don't really have much of a choice,' he replied with his

expression.

The vixen regarded him a few moments more, seeming to decide that this shambling

mockery of life was more pitiful than dangerous, and rode off without saying

another word.

~***~

-CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE-

Saturday was grocery day. Tish waved to her dad as she hopped up into the car

beside Mom. Mom reminded her to buckle up, and Tish did so. She wasn't exactly

sure how she could convince her mother to buy all the jerky and pork rinds and

other stuff Max wanted, but she knew she'd find a way. Max was depending on her

after all.

She and Mom had been going shopping together on Saturday mornings like this for

as long as Tish could remember. It was a time-honored ritual. It was like the

kickoff festivities for the start of the weekend. Every now and then, Tish would

glance at the little plastic seat and the square legholes on their cart and

think, 'Was I ever really small enough to fit in that thing?'

They had a system. As soon as they were through the doors, Mom went for produce

while Tish ran and got the hotdogs and lunchmeat. Today, she grabbed an extra few

packages of the hard salami Max liked. She thought maybe she could tell Mom she'd

been having weird food cravings, and say it was part of her natural grieving

process. Yeah, that might fly. Who could say no to a grieving kid? Mom gave her a

slight curious look when she came back, but said nothing about it.

The food safari progressed as normally as could be expected. Mom got that frozen

vegetable blend Tish secretly detested. Bread was buy one get one free. And to

Tish's surprise, beef jerky was on sale too. So she tossed four packages in the

cart when Mom wasn't looking.

Abruptly, Tish found herself thinking about her father. He was sitting home all

by himself right now, and that made her a little sad. Usually, Mom and Tish went

to the supermarket and Max stayed home with Dad. They did something together

every Saturday, but Max would never tell what it was. 'Secret Man stuff,' he'd

said. That probably just meant they watched TV or burped or something. But

whatever it was, they always seemed happy when they came out later to help the

girls take the bags inside. They smiled at each other a lot, the same way she and

Mom smiled at each other on the way home from the store. Sometimes, even doing

little things, it's nice to spend time with someone you love.

But now Dad was sitting home all alone.

Tish's head was full of thoughts and she wasn't really in the supermarket

anymore. Her eyes registered the aisles and displays, but they were just dreams

to her.

Then suddenly, like a splash of hot coffee in her face, Tish found herself face

to face with Eddie Schwartzman again.

He grinned.

Tish gulped. "Oh! Um, hey..." Shit! This was the second time he'd interrupted one

of her thoughtful moments. What a jerk!

"Hi Tish," he said pleasantly. Or at least as pleasantly as he could. His smile

was as slimy as dead fish.

Eddie's mom was just up ahead, comparing antibacterial sprays. Mrs. Lopez came

around the corner just then and the two women instantly eyed each other like

cats. They stiffened and bristled, their mouths drawing in to fierce lines.

The Lopezes and Schwartzmans only occasionally crossed paths at the supermarket.

They each knew each other's usual shopping days, and tried to avoid them if they

could. The tension in the air as they passed was thick as cream cheese. Some

customers in nearby aisles actually shivered, as if a freezing wind had tapped

them on the shoulder.

Just as the cubs were too busy staring down each other to notice the adults, the

adults barely noticed the kids either.

Martina pushed her cart slowly, guardedly forward. She kept her eyes on Mrs.

Schwartzman the entire time. The immaculately coiffed white mouse was dressed

today in a rich burgundy blouse and skirt combo that would have taken Martina

weeks to save up for. In contrast, Martina herself was in jeans and one of

Carlos' plaid shirts.

The womens' eyes were locked onto each other like laser beams. Neither of them

said a word. They didn't need to. Their hate for each other was well-established.

There was no need to make a big, uncivilized scene right here in public.

Wordlessly, Mrs. Schwartzman said, 'You're nothing but garbage, Martina, and your

daughter is too'.

Wordlessly, Mrs. Lopez replied, 'All the money in the world couldn't give you a

heart and soul, Naomi'.

The children, however, had much to say.

Eddie smiled. He'd caught Tish off guard and was happy about that. He spoke to

her low and soft and congenially. What he said was, "You're gonna keep out of my

sight, bitch."

Tish forced down the urge to slam him to the ground and stomp on his crotch.

Repeatedly.

Eddie continued, still keeping his tone quiet and friendly. Anyone passing close

by would have thought they were having a nice little chat. "I'm gonna have a real

nice summer vacation, and I don't wanna see you at any point during it. Okay? If

you see me, walk the other way. I don't care what you're doing, you just get the

fuck away from me. Instantly. You got that?"

Tish glared at him with such utter hate and contempt that a lesser soul might

have evacuated in their drawers. "And why, exactly, do I have to do anything you

tell me to?"

The fat little mouse's grin got bigger. "Because, Tish," he said, as if calmly

explaining something to a retarded person, "you hit me last time. You humiliated

me, and I didn't like that. My dad didn't like it either. And he especially

didn't like you getting off so easy. If he was the principal, you wouldn't have

just gotten expelled; your filthy, scrawny ass would've wound up in jail where

you belong."

"Yeah?" Tish said, feigning yawning, as if he was no more intimidating than an

ant. "Good thing he isn't then."

Eddie nodded. "That's right. But he does have more money than your whole family

will ever see in your lives. And if you come near me again, he'll sue you," he

said smugly.

"Bullshit," Tish shot back instantly.

Eddie shook his head. "Wrong. He can do it. And he will, the second I give the

word. He'll sue your dad for not keeping his rabid bitch daughter on a leash.

I'll say you're dangerous, that you tried to do all sorts of nasty shit to me.

I'll lie my ass off. And you know what? Everyone will believe me, and no one will

believe you. You're fucked, Tish. If you had any balls, I'd have them in the palm

of my hand right now."

Tish smirked mellowly. "Oh, I'm sure you know *lots* about having guys' balls in

your hands, Eddie. Probably in your mouth, too."

Eddie flinched, his greasy smile turning into an even uglier scowl, but only for

a second. Then that disgusting, hideous grin was back, and Tish wanted to punch

all his teeth down his throat just so she wouldn't have to look at it anymore.

"Shut your mouth, you dumb cunt," he said sweetly.

"You like talking like a grownup, huh?" Tish asked nonchalantly. "You overhear

your dad call your mom that?"

Eddie narrowed his eyes. "I mean it. You shut your mouth and you stay the hell

away from me. My dad will take away everything you have. He'll take your money,

your car, your house, everything. Your whole fucking family's gonna end up living

on the streets. You'll be eating out of dumpsters and sleeping on cardboard. Like

vermin. And you'll probably all get sick or die of starvation. And hey, then you

can all have a happy ending, burning in Hell forever with your stupid dead

brother."

Something in Tish rattled, like a cog bursting free of a grinding machine. 'Don't

you dare, you piece of shit. Don't you dare talk about Max like that.'

Eddie laughed. "I mean, really, how fucking dumb do you have to be to get hit by

a train anyways? What, did he not understand the concept of 'taking one step

sideways'?"

Tish's fist twitched. It so badly wanted to lash out and hit Eddie and just keep

on hitting him until he could never say another word ever again. Just pulverize

that mouth of his to a bloody pulp. But that would not only be suicide, it would

be doing exactly what the fat little bastard wanted.

Taking deep breaths and never taking her eyes off of him, Tish backed up slowly.

She wanted to say something glib, something witty. Something that would trump all

his bullshit. But instead, all that came out was a whimpered, "Why the hell

aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

For just a second, Eddie's false cheerfulness dropped, and he let her see his

real face. The face of a kid who tears the legs off bugs for yuks. The face of a

kid who picks on smaller, weaker children because nothing in the world makes him

happier than seeing their terrified expressions. The face of a kid who relishes

the power than can be gained from obliterating all traces of mercy and compassion

and generosity from one's heart. The face of a kid who will, in high school, seek

out anyone the slightest bit different from societal norms and beat the shit out

of them with several large, cruel friends for being a 'faggot'. Who, in college,

will rape a classmate, or two, or three, and then use his money to keep them all

quiet. Who, as an adult, will take great glee in climbing the corporate ladder,

putting himself as high as possible over a vast network of employees, and then

systematically and sadistically causing them all as much misery as possible, just

like shaking up an ant farm. The face of a furson to whom money, power and sex

mean nothing in comparison to the joyous ability to cause suffering.

"Because I have no reason to be," he replied calmly.

Tish finally realized just how scared of him she truly was. And that he

absolutely meant it about destroying her life, and the lives of her parents. He

saw it all as just a big game. She had tipped him too far, and now she had to pay

for it.

Hurriedly, she darted out of the aisle and ran to her mother.

~***~

-CHAPTER TWENTY SIX-

Max nearly tossed his comic book across the room as the shed door exploded open

and Tish stomped in, angrier than he had ever seen her before. And that was

really saying something.

Tish pointed right at him. "Dead boy, it's time for you to earn your keep."

"Th' fuck?" he asked, puzzled and frightened.

She smiled thinly, cruelly, madly. Her smile let him know he was not the target

of her anger, but for whom it was there would be no escaping her wrath. "Max, it

is time for us to get _revenge_."

And Max suddenly knew exactly who, and how, and why. Just like sometimes he

always 'just knew' things his sister wanted him to know, and she 'just knew'

things about him too.

He grinned. "When?"

She growled. "Tonight."

~***~

-CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN-

Nick had come over that afternoon and had been informed of the twins' plan. While

he was initially enthusiastic about it, especially considering who the target

was, the details of it made him increasingly uneasy the more he heard about them.

They could go to prison for this, he'd said.

Tish gave him a look like he was the biggest pussy on earth. "What's more

important; not taking risks, or vanquishing the forces of evil?"

So now he found himself up a tree in the Schwartzman's backyard with binoculars

planted in front of his face. The moon was high and to his right. He'd lied to

his mom about sleeping over at the Lopez's house and he was up way past his

bedtime already. He felt like a criminal.

"I feel like a criminal," he said into his walkie-talkie.

"Don't feel like a criminal, feel like a commando," Tish ordered sternly through

the static. Somehow, she had adopted this weird military general persona that,

frankly, gave him the creeps. "What we're doing is for the good of all furkind,

son."

"How can I be your son when we're the same age?" he quipped.

"Oh, go sit on a bird's nest, Nick. We're sposto be having fun here!" she barked.

"I know I am!" Max piped up, cheerful as ever. Nick brushed a branch aside and

could see him and Tish hiding behind the Schwartzman's garage. The eager little

zombie waved to him.

"Besides," Tish continued, with a little more understanding, "we're only going to

get in trouble if we get caught. And we're not _gonna_ get caught. If this works,

either Eddie never says a word about it and we never hear from him again, or he

blabs to everybody and they lock him up in the nut house. Remember, he's not

gonna see either of _us_."

"Understood," Nick grumbled. But his tail was still twitching anxiously.

"And that's why you're the lookout, bro," Max added. "We gave you the least risky

job so if things fuck up, you can just run off and say you had no idea what was

going on. Seriously, I'm really glad you decided to go along with this. I feel

better knowing you've got my back. Thank you. You're a good friend."

Nick smiled. "You're welcome." And he did feel a little better now. Bizarre as it

was, here he was talking to an actual zombie, and while trespassing on private

property to boot, and yet, somewhere deep inside, he wouldn't have wanted to be

anywhere else in the world right now. This was just like old times. This was just

like all the other crazy adventures the three of them had gotten up to together,

only bigger and bolder and more dangerous this time. The mother of all pranks.

And true, while Tish and Max had almost always had to drag him into things like

this, he always ended up having a great time. He knew he'd probably never do

anything this exciting again for the rest of his life.

"Way to boost morale, soldier!" Tish told Max cheerfully over the three-way

connection. They all chuckled a bit.

"Can you see what they're doing?" she asked Nick.

He picked up his binoculars again and scanned the windows. Easy to do, since the

big house had so many of them. "Eddie's in his room. His mom and dad are

downstairs, watching TV. No, wait... his dad's getting up. Okay, just going to

take a whiz. You'll be clear in a few minutes. Just promise me you'll do this as

quiet as possible."

"No, we're gonna break down the door with a battering ram and run in waving

Chinese firecrackers," Tish deadpanned.

Max snorted.

Nick giggled a bit too. "You know what I mean. And don't worry. I can see

everything from here and I'll warn you if anyone does _anything_."

"Damn, this feels like one of those spy movies!" Max said excitedly.

"Hey, Eddie's doing something..." Nick whispered. He leaned a little closer,

watching the pudgy rodent magnified through the round black lenses.

"What?" Tish and Max both asked.

Nick winced. "Eeew! He's changing into his pajamas, and I saw his ass for a

second!"

Tish laughed her tail off. "Gross! I bet it blocked out your whole view!"

"Yeah, it was pretty big. Like a giant marshmallow!"

The two coyotes giggled like idiots for a few moments.

Nick perked up suddenly. "Shit! He's heading for the bathroom! Now! You gotta go

now!!"

He heard the snap of Tish pulling on latex gloves. She wasn't about to leave any

pawprints. "Okay. Here we go. I'm keeping the walkie-talkie, so Max is kinda on

his own."

"Wish me luck," said Max.

"Tons of it," said Nick. "Both of you. Don't get caught."

"We won't," Tish assured.

Then Nick watched the two dark figures streak across the lawn to the

Schwartzman's back porch. The glass patio doors were unlocked, as they'd made

sure of beforehand (no one seemed to lock anything in this neighborhood), and the

twins both slipped in silently.

Nick kept the binoculars glued to his face. His jaw was set in a permanent

nervous clench. He had never before been more scared for his friends' safety.

But Max was right. This did feel just like one of those spy movies. And how cool

was that?

~***~

-CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT-

Like a good boy, Eddie brushed his teeth every night before going to bed. It was,

quite possibly, his only decent quality.

He stood at the sink admiring himself as he went about his nightly routine. He

thought he looked great. Snow-white fur. Perfect whiskers. Handsome brown eyes

instead of that freaky pink most white mice had. His cousin was the only true

albino in the family, and Eddie couldn't stand looking at her when she came over

to visit. Those pink eyes creeped him the fuck out. They looked like vampire eyes

or something.

He finished up, spat into the sink, and flashed a big grin at himself in the

mirror. His dark pajamas looked just like a little suit. He could see himself

taking over Dad's business someday, and he thought about how much fun it was

gonna be to fire people.

"Clean out your desk and get the hell out of here by three o' clock!!" he

playfully snarled at his reflection. He laughed. He thought he'd done that pretty

good.

He flicked off the light and closed the door. The plush hallway carpet felt nice

on his bare feet. He padded over to the top of the stairs and shouted down,

"Goodnight, Mom! Goodnight, Dad! Goin' to bed now!!"

They mumbled some goodnights at him and he made a face. They were probably down

there sitting on the couch in front of the TV kissing again. God, he hated that.

They just looked so fucking gross when they did it.

He thought about what that bitch Tish had said in the supermarket this morning,

accusing his dad of swearing at his mom. Heh, she had no idea how backwards she'd

gotten it. He hardly *ever* saw mom and dad fight. And even then, it was

controlled and quiet. No screaming or cursing or hitting like some of the fucked

up couples he saw sometimes on TV talk shows. No, his parents hugged and kissed

and talked baby talk at each other constantly. Their fighting was reserved for

everyone *else* around them. Everyone who didn't *matter*.

And it wasn't even really fighting then. It was more like playing. They had fun

passive-aggressively tormenting people at work, and especially the dumb maid who

came in Sundays and Tuesdays. Eddie wondered what Mom had planned for her

tomorrow. One of her favorite games was to make a huge mess and pretend it had

been an accident, right in front of the stupid woman, then watch, smiling, as she

had to clean it up. The maid was fun because she always took the abuse without

saying a word. She was the perfect punching bag. One time Eddie had spilled a

plate of spaghetti down the white-carpeted stairs and then stood at the bottom

watching her try to scrub out the stains. Her big fat ass bouncing around back

and forth was so funny, he'd had to leave the room and go outside to laugh

hysterically at her.

Yeah, he'd try to think up something special for tomorrow when she came.

Thus filled with happy thoughts, he toddled off to his room.

It was a big room, just like all the other rooms in the house. Theirs was the

biggest and nicest one in the whole neighborhood, and since this was the nicest

neighborhood in town, it wouldn't be boasting to say they probably had the nicest

house in the whole city.

Everything was elegant and grand. Mom liked that word; 'grand'. She used it a

lot. Especially when talking to clients. She said there were a lot of words

everyday people didn't use, and that language was one of the ways you could show

yourself to be better than other people. Eddie kept that in mind, and always did

his best to improve his vocabulary and speak with sophistication.

On the other hand, Dad had remarked once that a well-placed swear word could

sometimes be used to good effect. It produced a nice shock. Like if you were

talking to some nobody, and you were speaking to him nice and soft and

graciously, and then you suddenly dropped your voice and called him a fucking

cocksucker, sometimes you could really rattle the hell out of the bastard. Eddie

remembered that, too.

The pudgy white mouse turned off the lights and crawled into bed. He pulled his

sheets over him and kicked his blankets way down at the foot of his bed to rest

his paws on, just how he liked. He pulled the sheet up to his chin, lying on his

back, and relaxed.

The room was dark now, lit only by moonlight and his tiny firefly collection.

That's what he called it. His computer, his stereo, his TV and his DVD player all

had tiny little lights that stayed on even when they were turned off. Tiny little

red and blue and green dots of light. He liked that. And across from him, on the

little table beside his bed, the time floated in red numbers against the

blackness. His alarm clock. Little red floating numbers. His room was full of

tiny little colored lights.

And then suddenly, they all went off.

Puzzled but not scared, Eddie blinked against the darkness until his eyes

adjusted and he could see vague shapes again. There was his dresser, and his

desk, and his entertainment center. All of it looking like it was wrapped in dark

velvet. That fuzziness that shapes have in low light.

He guessed there might have been a blackout. It seemed a little odd, but not

impossible. They usually happened during a bad storm, or when a lot of people

were using their air conditioners, but tonight was clear and mild. Maybe someone

screwed up at the power plant?

Eddie laid back down, looking up at the ceiling. Wondering when the power would

come back on again.

He sniffed.

What was that smell?

He hadn't farted, he knew that. He didn't have any pets, and mom and dad _never_

poked around up here. He would have given them hell if they had. Maybe he left

some food sitting out and it spoiled? Maybe. He did keep snacks up here

sometimes.

But no, it seemed to be getting stronger, and it wasn't bad food. It was much

worse than that. This was like dead animals on the road.

Something made a noise under his bed.

Eddie tensed up immediately.

He felt like an idiot a few moments afterward. There was nothing there.

Obviously! He'd gotten over *this* shit when he was little. It was just that the

power had gone off and there was a bad smell in here, so he was a little on edge,

but so what? It wasn't like-

The noise again. Louder.

Rasping. Scraping.

Oh Jesus Christ something was _under_ there.

What was it? Maybe an animal had gotten in? A mouse? Now wouldn't that be funny.

Scared to death of his own tiny little ancestor.

The thing made another noise. It shuffled. It grabbed hold of the bedframe and

pulled itself along the floor.

It was a hell of a lot bigger than a mouse.

Eddie was frozen stiff like an icicle. He knew what it was now. Some man had

broken in here and was gonna kidnap him and hold him for ransom. Or even worse,

maybe it was a pervert who wanted to... To _rape_ him. He didn't even think he

could deal with such a disgusting possibility.

And fuck, it was coming closer, and he couldn't move, and there wasn't anything

close he could grab to use as a weapon, and that horrible, horrible smell was

getting stronger.

Eddie turned his head, and eyes were looking back at him.

It was worse than he ever could have imagined. It was not a mouse or a kidnapper

or a child molester. It was a rotting, stinking corpse. And it was staring right

at him and smiling.

Eddie felt like some invisible hand had closed around his throat. He tried to

scream but it wouldn't let him. "mommy... mommy... daddy..."

"Damn, you're even more pathetic than I remember," The dead thing said. "This is

gonna be easy."

Recognition came. A horrible, unspeakable recognition. This could not be real.

This was the kind of thing that only happened in stupid horror movies. It was not

real. It was just someone in a costume. It was not him.

The corpse tilted its head, as if hearing the mouse's doubts. Slowly, savoring

the fear it was inflicting, the dead thing reached out and cupped Eddie's chin in

its rotting paw. "Say my name, scumbag. Say it. You know who I am. Say it now,

you fuckin' numbnuts."

The smell was unbearable. It was going right up his nose from those dried-out,

twiglike fingers, clutching at his face. This was no costume. He had no doubts

now. The hand was dead, and so was the creature it belonged to. Eddie trembled

like a leaf in the breeze and stared into the eyes of the monster: one dark

green, one a sick, cloudy blue.

"Say it."

"M-m-max."

"That's right. Good boy!" the dead thing said, like a trainer praising a pet dog.

Its smile was leering, unnaturally gleeful. "And here I thought you'd be happy to

see me! I'm disappointed! You told Tish you wished you'd had the chance to dunk

my head in a toilet last week. Well, here I am! I assume the bathroom's down the

hall. You wanna try it now?"

Eddie shook his head.

"Yeah. I didn't think so." It chuckled at him. "Wuss."

The corpse stood up, still keeping a firm hold on Eddie's chin. With the grace of

a jungle cat, it eased itself up onto his bed. It crawled on top of him. Their

bodies were separated only by a thin sheet. The corpse sat on his chest, knees at

his sides, looking down on him with that unchanging smile, as if it was about to

pass judgement.

"You scream and I'll kill you, Eddie," it said casually.

Eddie nodded.

The dead thing leaned down. Slowly. Closer and closer. Until their noses were

nearly touching. It opened its mouth and breathed on him. The foulness of the

stench was eclipsed only by the gleam of moonlight off that set of jagged teeth,

which were less than an inch away from his face. Those teeth looked like they

were eager to sink deeply into him.

"You said some pretty mean things to my sister today, Eddie, didn't you?"

The fat mouse shook his head. "No, nooo..."

The undead monstrosity smirked. "Oh, come on. I don't like being lied to. You

think I clawed my way out of my coffin and dragged my decomposing ass through all

that dirt just to listen to you bullshit? Tell the truth, man. Come on, we both

know it."

"Okay, allright, you're right. I did. I'm sorry," Eddie managed to say, his voice

a high-pitched gobble.

"No you're not," the creature said so swiftly and stingingly, it was like a slap.

"You don't feel sorry for anything you do because you're more of a monster than I

am. Sure, I'd love to bite into your stomach and suck your guts out while you

watch, but at least I'm honest about it."

Eddie pissed his pants.

"Jesus, that's disgusting!" the dead thing yelped as it skittered off of him. But

it didn't run away. Instead, it sat down on the bed beside him, almost cuddling.

It laid its rotting head down cheek-to-cheek with his. The smell, oh god, the

smell. And he could see where its skin was peeling and cracking in places. "Is

that your idea of defense, Eddie? Pretty piss-poor if you ask me. Ha! Get it?"

Eddie did not find that at all amusing.

The corpse patted Eddie on the cheek. "So, here's the deal. You're going to leave

my sister and my family alone. And I mean *forever*. Even if it's your parents

that give them shit, you'll be held responsible. And if you ever say another word

to Tish, I'll know. And I'll come back. And in the morning, your mom and dad will

find blood splattered all over the place. Nothing but blood. And it won't be

mine, buddy."

Eddie jerked and twitched and shivered and made tiny, desperate sounds in the

back of his throat.

The corpse sat up again, looking down on its prey. "I'll be watching, Eddie. All

the time. I know it's kinda cliche, but..." It reached up and wedged its fingers

into its eye socket. With a twist and a sickening *sklutch* sound, it pulled out

its own right eye, the green one, trailing a thick red nerve cluster behind it,

leaving the blue-white one still staring unblinkingly at him. "...I've got my

_eye_ on you." The corpse grinned, and popped the sticky eyeball right into

Eddie's wide open mouth.

Had the young mouse been able to, he would have screamed and screamed until his

lungs ached and there was blood in his throat. But that invisible hand still

would not let go. With all his will, he forced himself not to think about the

taste of the soft, round thing that had been poked between his lips.

The corpse slid down off the bed and stood up. "I think that's all. Gotta get

back to the cemetery now. You can keep that," it said, pointing to what it had

left behind. "One's enough for me. Think of it as a farewell gift. And, one more

time, are we clear about what I told you?"

Eddie nodded. Hoping ardently that maybe if he just agreed, this thing would go

away and leave him alone. He spat the eyeball out and it rolled down his cheek,

leaving a drool-trail. "Uh huh."

"No more fucking around with my sister?"

"Right."

"No more threatening to sue my parents?"

"'Course not."

The corpse smiled, satisfied. "Good. Great. Fantastic." It turned towards the

window. "Well, I guess I'll be going now!" it called out cheerfully.

Eddie felt relief flood his heart.

The dead thing took a step forward, then paused. "Oh, wait. I almost forgot. One

more thing..."

"What?" Eddie whined, just wanting this horrible insane nightmare to end.

Max jumped up on the bed, an insanely cheerful grin on his face. "This!" he

cried, tail wagging.

And then he began to vomit.

Eddie finally screamed as a tidal wave of blood and guts spewed out of the dead

thing's mouth. It was like the corpse was unraveling its entire body, turning

itself inside-out. Hunks of intestine and wet bits of liver flew out of the

zombie's throat as if shot from a meat-loaded cannon. The red rain splattered all

over Eddie's face, his bed, the sheets, his pajamas. It got in his hair, up his

nose, and large meaty chunks went straight into his mouth. He didn't care. His

mind was gone. His scream was finally loose; he'd been saving it up for a while

and it was a doozy.

It seemed to go on for an eternity. An eternity of red, dripping, reeking, rotten

vomit.

Eddie laid there in bed, covered nearly head to toe in carrion, screaming

mindlessly at the top of his lungs.

That was how his mother and father found him moments later. They'd ran upstairs

as soon as they heard the scream, wet and gurgling, sounding like their boy was

being murdered. And at first they thought that was exactly what had happened.

Eddie's dad slammed open the door to his son's room, flicked on the light and

thought for a brief, heart-stopping second that somehow his boy had swallowed a

grenade and it had gone off.

Eddie's mother started shrieking too. She hated the sight of even a small drop of

her own blood, detested horror movies, and this was more gore than she had ever

seen in her life. In the bright, glaring light, the blood looked very, very red

indeed.

The only way they knew Eddie was still alive was that he still would not stop

screaming.

They rushed over to his bed and began doing a very odd little dance. They both

wanted to hold their son and comfort him, but neither of them wanted to actually

touch the hideous stuff he was covered with. So they both kept moving forward and

jerking back, again and again. "Jesus, Eddie! Calm down! Stop screaming! What the

fuck happened!?" Mr. Schwartzman bellowed.

Eddie could not focus his eyes; they roamed crazily around the room."Dead!!

Thing!! A corpse!! Under the bed!! Dead thing!! Threw up!! Eyeball in my mouth!!"

"What in the world are you talking about, darling?!" his mother fretted, still

unable to actually come within a foot of the steaming, stinking mess on his bed.

"A FUCKING ZOMBIE THREW UP ON ME, MOM!!! THAT'S WHAT FUCKING HAPPENED!!!" he

shrieked, drops of blood flying off his whiskers, his eyes lolling and swirling

with madness and rage.

Obviously, whatever had happened was too traumatic for her son to deal with, so

he had transposed an image from some scary movie on top of it. "You're not hurt,

are you? This isn't your blood? Oh, please, God..."

"No, it's not mine!! It's the zombie's!! Aren't you paying attention!? Get this

shit OFF of me!!!"

Shaking, terminally confused and frightened, Mrs. Schwartzman threw up her hands

and ran from the room, yelling, "I'll get some towels!!"

Mr. Schwartzman was having a hard time forcing himself to believe that this was

not just some bizarre TV show he'd dozed off in front of. He looked all around

the room, and noticed the open window, the curtains flapping in the night breeze.

"Shit, they must have gotten away. Don't worry, son! I'll get the bastards who

did this! I'll wring their little necks!" And he too fled the room.

It is a test of a furson's true character, when they are faced with a nightmarish

situation such as this. A disgusting tableau and a loved one in trouble. Some

fursons are able to face their disgust and push through, rushing to the aid of

whoever is in trouble. Others, ones possessed of more selfish natures, find

excuses (such as towels and open windows) to get as far away from the scene as

they possibly can.

That left Eddie, quiet for now, still lying on his back in his bed, his fur

completely soaked with carnage, abandoned by his parents.

He stared up at the ceiling. He tried to convince himself he hadn't really seen

what he thought he'd seen. That it had all been some kind of elaborate trick. It

was dark, that was all. Someone had played a very mean joke on him. Nothing

supernatural about it.

With the lights on now, it was easy to think such things.

Then the dead thing slithered out from under his bed again and stood up. Blood

had soaked its black clothes and grey fur. It wiped its mouth on its sleeve and

gave Eddie a sheepish grin, looking at him with one diseased eye and one gaping,

sagging socket.

"Gosh, I'm sorry about that. Musta been something I ate!"

The dead thing laughed and walked nonchalantly out the door.

Eddie started screaming again.

~***~

-CHAPTER TWENTY NINE-

A handful of minutes later, three breathless cubs all met up several blocks away

at the decided-upon rendezvous point. They had each split up and gone in wildly

different directions, and none of them had even been spotted, much less pursued.

Nevertheless, they were all panting and their hearts were thumping.

They all looked up at each other, and at the same time, burst out laughing.

Nick nearly fell over. "Oh, man! Wow!! I watched the whole thing! You scared the

everliving crap outta him! He's gonna end up in a mental hospital for the rest of

his life!"

"Yeah, Max!" Tish congratulated. "Great work!"

Max took a small bow. "Thank you, thank you! You're too kind."

"I'd hug you if you weren't all covered in stinky meat stuff," she said. Earlier

that afternoon, Tish had biked back to the supermarket with the rest of her

saved-up money and bought beef liver, chitlins, headcheese, blood sausage, cow

tongue and ground up hamburger. Basically, anything that looked sufficiently like

zombie entrails. Just before heading out, Max had happily devoured all of it,

raw. He said it was delicious, and it probably would have kept him feeling

nourished and full for a long time. But he didn't have any regrets about having

to lose it as part of the plan.

He chortled. "Me too. Aw man, this stuff really does stink! You're gonna need to

turn the hose on me when we get home."

"Well, at least *you're* clean enough to hug," Tish told Nick. She pounced on the

cheetah and gave him a big squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. "You were great too!

Like my guardian angel!"

Nick blushed a bit and accepted the embrace. And the kiss was actually a lot

nicer than he'd expected. His job had been to relay to Tish what was going on in

Eddie's room. While she snuck down to the basement, Max headed upstairs and

slipped into their nemesis' room unseen. When the roly-poly li'l bastard was in

place, Nick gave the signal for Tish to pull the fuse for his room. This was a

tricky part of the plan, and they had all agreed not to go through with it if the

fuses were unlabeled. Tish didn't want all the lights to go out. The objective

was to freak Eddie out while keeping his parents in the dark (ha ha) for as long

as possible. To Tish's delight, Mr. Schwartzman owned a label-maker, and all the

fuses were marked clear as day. 'EDDIES ROOM' was right there, ripe for the

plucking. And as soon as she'd heard screaming, she plugged that sucker right

back in and hauled ass up the stairs and out of the house, jamming her rubber

gloves in her pocket as she ran.

Now it was all over, and everything had worked out to perfection. Tish could not

have been happier. "You ever heard that phrase, 'revenge is a dish best served

cold'?" she asked the boys.

They both nodded.

She grinned. "They're wrong. Revenge is a dish best served with hot fudge and

rainbow sprinkles."

"What's that mean?" Nick asked.

"It means," she explained with a crafty smirk, "that if you're gonna, you might

as well have a lot of fun doing it."

"Definitely!" Max cheered.

"Let's go home and get you cleaned up before mom realizes that rubber bunny's in

my bed again," Tish said.

"What'd you put in my sleeping bag?" asked Nick.

"A bunch of stuffed animals, and Dad's bowling ball for your head."

Nick was mildly insulted.

"Oh, come on! It's not like they're gonna look anyway! Let's go!"

The three of them dashed off down the deserted, empty street. Max politely lagged

behind, and tried his best to stay downwind.

~***~

-CHAPTER THIRTY-

For Eddie Schwartzman, life was never quite the same again.

When the police came, Eddie had just gotten out of the shower. He'd been in there

so long, all the hot water had completely turned to cold. He barely noticed

though. All that mattered was getting the stains and the smell out of his fur.

He'd scrubbed himself so hard, he actually tore his skin in places.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, clad only in a towel, he was immediately

asked many, many questions. He gave the same answer again and again: Max Lopez

had come back from the dead and puked on him. The more he said it, the less they

believed him, and the angrier he got. Eventually he was reduced to a screaming

tantrum. He kicked and bit at the officers as they tried to restrain him. His

towel fell off, adding humiliation like fuel to his fire. He became so violent

the police had no choice but to handcuff him while his horrified parents looked

on.

They hauled him down to the police station like a common criminal. Eddie was not

a happy boy. His anger never ebbed, only escalated. They kept on asking him again

and again what had happened, who had attacked him, and Eddie kept on explaining

over and over that it was that zombie sonofabitch Max. He became so enraged at

them for not taking him seriously that black spots danced in his vision, he

coughed up blood, and finally, he actually passed out from sheer overexertion.

The adults shook their heads and tsk-tsked. The poor boy was delusional, and he

was determined not to be shaken from that delusion. So, Mr. and Mrs. Schwartzman

located a child psychiatric facility with an outstanding reputation and Eddie was

sent to live there for a while. If you think he accepted this new development

quietly and with dignity, then you would be wrong. The insults he howled at his

parents for 'betraying him' were too foul to even be accurately described. When

the men in white coats finally carted him off, it was a relief.

His first day at Peaceful Oaks' Sanctuary For Troubled Youth, Eddie broke another

patient's nose and told a nurse to suck his cock when she tried to give him a

sedative. Three guards had to wrestle the fat little mouse down and stick him in

the ass with a needle. When he woke up, he was strapped to a table in the maximum

security wing, in a featureless white room which was to be his new home for a

very long time. Eddie screamed obscenities into thin air for hours and hours upon

end. The night nurse worried he was going to burst his larynx eventually.

The doctors soon learned that not only was Eddie the angriest child they had ever

encountered (stemming obviously from his total inability to accept the reality of

what had happened to him the night of the 'meat incident'), but that he was also

the purest child psychopath *anyone* had ever discovered. Eddie seemed to not

only have been born without a conscience, but his parents had actually

*encouraged* his antisocial, cruel and heartless behavior. It was thought that he

was very possibly a hopeless case.

And so, little Eddie spent many, many years strapped down, drugged or locked up.

Neither Tish nor Max ever saw him again.

And perhaps they may have inadvertently saved the rest of the world from a

hellishly malevolent force of nature hidden within the body of a small boy.

~***~

END OF BOOK TWO