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Authors: Elisabeth Morgan Popolow
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money for Lily this month. Sigh.
Sang concentrated on the road and accelerated once in a while, trying to put me off balance—which didn’t work. Hira, however, seemed carsick, and his face looked as though he ate a very sour apple.
Finally, after driving two towns over, Sang parallel parked beautifully and stretched when he twisted out the keys. “Okay, guys, we’re here. The Factory.”
I unlatched my seat belt and strode to where Sang and Hira stood together. “So, what are we supposed to do?”
“We’re going to go inside and see what’s up,” Sang explained in the simplest way possible.
“Well, no shit. I mean, how are we gonna do that?”
“Simple. Hira will turn into a pigeon and fly through, and you and I will sneak around, use our glamour, and find the head people of the place.”
He made it sound so much easier than what we really had to do.
“Okay!” Sang said, “On the count of three. One…two…” He paused as we heard a shuffling of feet and a low moan.
I expected a person or a worker for the company, but what I saw was something I’d never forget in my entire undead life.
Chapter 10
It—or he, or whatever the fuck it was—stumbled out from the back corner of the building and moaned again, a terrible noise which haunted my ears. I finally made out it was, in fact, a he , and that he had been dead for quite some time.
His eyes were hollow sockets, and his face was shrunken in so much you could see the pale pallor of his bones. The man’s flesh sagged and wrinkled, showing more glistening bone against gray flesh and thin wisps of white hair. His suit was all rags and dirty with soil, and his hands were skeletal, reaching for something, grabbing for anything to steady himself. His one foot was bent backward, so he had to drag it behind him. You could see his rib cage protruding from his jacket top, and his depressed stomach stretched what little flesh he had left across the sides.
I was seeing the monster of my little-girl nightmares.
A zombie.
I was about to scream when Hira gently covered my mouth and shook his index finger no . I bowed my head in shame and remembered who the dead guy walking was.
From the purple and pink handkerchief in his breast pocket, I knew he’d been Mr. Zestromi, a good lawyer in town. I’d spoken to him once when he’d stopped by the shop to get his wife a pair of slippers, and I’d asked about his handkerchief, to which he’d replied was a gift from his wife in his favorite colors. He mentioned he always wore it when he went out. He had passed from a heart attack ten years ago.
Hira’s feet shuffled, and the zombie turned in our direction, his flat nose sniffing the air. Then he began to shamble toward us, moaning and grunting with each tiresome step.
Sang was hiding behind Benjamin, the car. His teeth were chattering, and behind his sunglasses his crimson eyes were wide with fear.
I sighed and looked at Hira. “Well, can you do anything?”
He was shaking too. “Let it pass.”
“No,” I said. “He was a good guy and I’m not letting him go on like this.” I rolled up my sleeves and stood right in front of the zombie’s path, determination sparking inside me like some hidden plug had been turned on.
As he came closer, I held out my leg and tripped him. Mr. Zestromi fell to the ground helplessly and groaned. He was on his stomach and struggled to get up.
Tears welled in my eyes. “You were a wonderful lawyer,” I uttered before I lifted my boot and crushed his head with pure force. Blood spattered my boots, arms, and leggings and the ground. The zombie stopped moving. He was dead for good. Ew, ew, ew!
“Who would take a dead man from his grave and do this shit?” I asked my partners.
Sang whispered, “Mrs. Zakora.”
I tapped my foot in frustration. “And who is Mrs. Whatever-her-name?”
He trembled. “Zakora is a witch, a necromancer, who is paid to bring the dead back to life by clients…to you know…say goodbye or
Sang concentrated on the road and accelerated once in a while, trying to put me off balance—which didn’t work. Hira, however, seemed carsick, and his face looked as though he ate a very sour apple.
Finally, after driving two towns over, Sang parallel parked beautifully and stretched when he twisted out the keys. “Okay, guys, we’re here. The Factory.”
I unlatched my seat belt and strode to where Sang and Hira stood together. “So, what are we supposed to do?”
“We’re going to go inside and see what’s up,” Sang explained in the simplest way possible.
“Well, no shit. I mean, how are we gonna do that?”
“Simple. Hira will turn into a pigeon and fly through, and you and I will sneak around, use our glamour, and find the head people of the place.”
He made it sound so much easier than what we really had to do.
“Okay!” Sang said, “On the count of three. One…two…” He paused as we heard a shuffling of feet and a low moan.
I expected a person or a worker for the company, but what I saw was something I’d never forget in my entire undead life.
Chapter 10
It—or he, or whatever the fuck it was—stumbled out from the back corner of the building and moaned again, a terrible noise which haunted my ears. I finally made out it was, in fact, a he , and that he had been dead for quite some time.
His eyes were hollow sockets, and his face was shrunken in so much you could see the pale pallor of his bones. The man’s flesh sagged and wrinkled, showing more glistening bone against gray flesh and thin wisps of white hair. His suit was all rags and dirty with soil, and his hands were skeletal, reaching for something, grabbing for anything to steady himself. His one foot was bent backward, so he had to drag it behind him. You could see his rib cage protruding from his jacket top, and his depressed stomach stretched what little flesh he had left across the sides.
I was seeing the monster of my little-girl nightmares.
A zombie.
I was about to scream when Hira gently covered my mouth and shook his index finger no . I bowed my head in shame and remembered who the dead guy walking was.
From the purple and pink handkerchief in his breast pocket, I knew he’d been Mr. Zestromi, a good lawyer in town. I’d spoken to him once when he’d stopped by the shop to get his wife a pair of slippers, and I’d asked about his handkerchief, to which he’d replied was a gift from his wife in his favorite colors. He mentioned he always wore it when he went out. He had passed from a heart attack ten years ago.
Hira’s feet shuffled, and the zombie turned in our direction, his flat nose sniffing the air. Then he began to shamble toward us, moaning and grunting with each tiresome step.
Sang was hiding behind Benjamin, the car. His teeth were chattering, and behind his sunglasses his crimson eyes were wide with fear.
I sighed and looked at Hira. “Well, can you do anything?”
He was shaking too. “Let it pass.”
“No,” I said. “He was a good guy and I’m not letting him go on like this.” I rolled up my sleeves and stood right in front of the zombie’s path, determination sparking inside me like some hidden plug had been turned on.
As he came closer, I held out my leg and tripped him. Mr. Zestromi fell to the ground helplessly and groaned. He was on his stomach and struggled to get up.
Tears welled in my eyes. “You were a wonderful lawyer,” I uttered before I lifted my boot and crushed his head with pure force. Blood spattered my boots, arms, and leggings and the ground. The zombie stopped moving. He was dead for good. Ew, ew, ew!
“Who would take a dead man from his grave and do this shit?” I asked my partners.
Sang whispered, “Mrs. Zakora.”
I tapped my foot in frustration. “And who is Mrs. Whatever-her-name?”
He trembled. “Zakora is a witch, a necromancer, who is paid to bring the dead back to life by clients…to you know…say goodbye or
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