By Joan Frances Turner
9 years in the past, Jessie was once in a vehicle crash and died. After she used to be buried, she woke up and tore during the earth to come up, reborn, as a zombie. And there have been others-gangs of undead roaming the Indiana woods, struggling with, looking, hidden. but if a mysterious ailment threatens the life of either zombies and people, Jessie needs to come to a decision no matter if to stick and struggle or flee to survive...
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Example text
I’ll show you how. Lillian’s a shit hunter, don’t let her tell you anything. You’ll be good at it. ” Plenty to hunt. Plenty to hunt far outside our attenuated neck of the woods. Plenty of low-hanging two-legged fruit rotting on the vine in Gary and East Chicago and South Chicago and parts of Hammond and Whiting, plenty of what I kept being told, over and over again, secondhand, have heard, they say, everybody knows, is the only real meat. But turns out, I didn’t want brains, I didn’t need hoos; meat was meat, any fresh kill would do, and it did for all of us, for all their talk.
Nine years of hauling around that useless turd of an arm, and you finally drop it in the dirt where it belongs—she’s a genuine rotter now, how about it? ” The hip-hip-hoorays rained down and I booted his ass, or tried to, while he laughed and stumbled in a mocking little circle. My right shoulder still jerked and twitched. ” He just laughed harder, looping arms around my waist from behind and whirling me until those poor maggots were light-headed. ” He grinned. “That the best you can do? ” Billy smirked, rubbing his swollen blackened hands together eagerly anticipating a fight.
His eyes were adrift and lost in his own face, that whole ocean of insect life; I had to look that much harder at him to read his expressions, gauge his mood. Keep my attention on him constantly. If it had been me I’d have been creeped out, someone staring at me all the time like that, watching every last thing I do. Joe, he didn’t mind. “I’m not so old,” he said, softly. Then he grinned. “And I can’t drop even if I wanted to, now I’ve got a goddamned diaper-shitting baby to feed—” I hit him, and he laughed again and louder and we wrestled until I shrieked for my arm, not my good arm, goddammit.
