“I’m worried about you. Hasn’t there been enough tragedy already?”
I took her hand in mine. “Phoebe, sweetie. We’re fighting for our lives. There’s going to be more tragedy before we’re through. A lot more.”
She was trying not to cry as she squeezed my hands. “Why? Why do you have to do it?”
Phoebe knows that I killed myself. I could have told her that I’m fully aware that what I did was the most grievous sin a person could commit, and that clearing my people of the crimes they were accused of would go a long way toward helping me feel as if I’ve atoned for that sin, but I didn’t.
I could have told her that when I took my own life I left someone behind, someone very special to me, and there was something inside me that made me want to do something good on this earth before I could see that special someone again. But I didn’t.
“A couple reasons. But I can’t tell you what they are, Phoebe.”
And I couldn’t! If I told them that passing at the mall might give me an edge in exposing Martinsburg and his role in the frame-up of our people, they’d never stand for it. And if I told them what I had done—that I’d actually flirted with him—you can believe that they’d never let me out of their sights again. In fact they’d probably tie me up, throw me in the trunk, and drop me off at the Hunter Foundation for intensive study. They knew Pete. They knew that he was a threat. They knew what he was already responsible for. Including them would have put them directly into the line of fire.
“You’re breaking the law,” Phoebe said. “Like you said. It is no longer legal for a zombie to be without a legal guardian in public.”
I could have pointed out that Adam was breaking the same law, but I didn’t think that would help anything. She was grasping at straws, and she knew it. Instead, I tried a joke, which probably helped even less.
“I’m committing a crime against nature just walking around. What’s the difference?”
She sighed and looked out the window. A living family of four was exiting their SUV, the father gently lifting a little boy from his car seat. They were all smiles as they headed toward the restaurant, the girl skipping ahead. The silence in Margi’s car grew.
“Speaking of illegal,” Margi said, eventually. “Do they really not know that you’re a zombie at Wild Thingz!?”
“They really don’t know. I’ve got them completely hoodwinked.”
“Are you sure? That seems sort of implausible.”
Margi really is the cutest thing in the world. I can’t watch her drink coffee and not wish with all my might that I was alive enough to enjoy it the way she does. She holds the cup in both hands, forming a cradle with her black-and-pink-nailed fingers, and she sort of hunches over it with an expression of total reverence on her face, like she’s honoring the Spirit of the Bean or something. And she always inhales the steam and scent before she leans farther to take a sip.
Ahh, life!
“Gee, being a zombie doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, either, Margi. But I’m going with it.”
She laughed, maybe for Phoebe’s benefit, then sipped. Cute as a button.
“Aren’t you afraid the police might still be after you?” Phoebe asked.
“Nah. They’re looking for Tak and the Sons of Romero.”
I wasn’t really sure about that last point. But three cheers for optimism, right?
“Hey,” I said. “What about our fair-haired boy? How’s Tommy?”
Phoebe told me that his travels had gone well and that he was in Washington, D.C., at the moment trying to rally support for a sort of undead bill of rights. Being undead had not yet been criminalized at the nation’s capital, and zombies were arriving there “in droves.”
“You mean ‘hordes,’ don’t you? Isn’t a group of zombies a horde? Like a flock of sheep or a murder of crows?”
“A gaggle…of geese,” Adam said from the front. I think he was trying to help me lighten the mood. “A
I took her hand in mine. “Phoebe, sweetie. We’re fighting for our lives. There’s going to be more tragedy before we’re through. A lot more.”
She was trying not to cry as she squeezed my hands. “Why? Why do you have to do it?”
Phoebe knows that I killed myself. I could have told her that I’m fully aware that what I did was the most grievous sin a person could commit, and that clearing my people of the crimes they were accused of would go a long way toward helping me feel as if I’ve atoned for that sin, but I didn’t.
I could have told her that when I took my own life I left someone behind, someone very special to me, and there was something inside me that made me want to do something good on this earth before I could see that special someone again. But I didn’t.
“A couple reasons. But I can’t tell you what they are, Phoebe.”
And I couldn’t! If I told them that passing at the mall might give me an edge in exposing Martinsburg and his role in the frame-up of our people, they’d never stand for it. And if I told them what I had done—that I’d actually flirted with him—you can believe that they’d never let me out of their sights again. In fact they’d probably tie me up, throw me in the trunk, and drop me off at the Hunter Foundation for intensive study. They knew Pete. They knew that he was a threat. They knew what he was already responsible for. Including them would have put them directly into the line of fire.
“You’re breaking the law,” Phoebe said. “Like you said. It is no longer legal for a zombie to be without a legal guardian in public.”
I could have pointed out that Adam was breaking the same law, but I didn’t think that would help anything. She was grasping at straws, and she knew it. Instead, I tried a joke, which probably helped even less.
“I’m committing a crime against nature just walking around. What’s the difference?”
She sighed and looked out the window. A living family of four was exiting their SUV, the father gently lifting a little boy from his car seat. They were all smiles as they headed toward the restaurant, the girl skipping ahead. The silence in Margi’s car grew.
“Speaking of illegal,” Margi said, eventually. “Do they really not know that you’re a zombie at Wild Thingz!?”
“They really don’t know. I’ve got them completely hoodwinked.”
“Are you sure? That seems sort of implausible.”
Margi really is the cutest thing in the world. I can’t watch her drink coffee and not wish with all my might that I was alive enough to enjoy it the way she does. She holds the cup in both hands, forming a cradle with her black-and-pink-nailed fingers, and she sort of hunches over it with an expression of total reverence on her face, like she’s honoring the Spirit of the Bean or something. And she always inhales the steam and scent before she leans farther to take a sip.
Ahh, life!
“Gee, being a zombie doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, either, Margi. But I’m going with it.”
She laughed, maybe for Phoebe’s benefit, then sipped. Cute as a button.
“Aren’t you afraid the police might still be after you?” Phoebe asked.
“Nah. They’re looking for Tak and the Sons of Romero.”
I wasn’t really sure about that last point. But three cheers for optimism, right?
“Hey,” I said. “What about our fair-haired boy? How’s Tommy?”
Phoebe told me that his travels had gone well and that he was in Washington, D.C., at the moment trying to rally support for a sort of undead bill of rights. Being undead had not yet been criminalized at the nation’s capital, and zombies were arriving there “in droves.”
“You mean ‘hordes,’ don’t you? Isn’t a group of zombies a horde? Like a flock of sheep or a murder of crows?”
“A gaggle…of geese,” Adam said from the front. I think he was trying to help me lighten the mood. “A
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