The Awesome by Eva Darrows

Author:Eva Darrows
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Rebellion Publishing Ltd

CHAPTER TWELVE

CONSIDERING ITS PUNGENCY, Mom’s obliviousness confused me. I trailed it, stooped at the waist, my face only a couple feet off the ground. Every few feet, I caught another waft of corpse, and I zigged and zagged down the hill, until I stood along the street’s edge, traffic buzzing by.

“I think she’s that way,” I said, pointing at the waterfront.

“Did you sniff out...”

“Shut up, Mom.”

She was good enough to close her trap as we jogged across the street and down towards a small park with a bridge and a flock of ducks. The scent got stronger, leading me to a stone bridge with a hidden alcove. There, surrounded by a dozen headless duck and pigeon corpses, was our missing rotter.

Normally, the undead were slathering, brainless messes—pretty much carbon copies of anything you’d see in a Romero movie. This one seemed rather aware for the newly risen. She chewed on a pigeon head, which was pretty off-putting on its own, but as soon as she saw us, she paused, wiping her lips across the back of her arm. She wore her funereal garb: a pale pink dress, a string of pearls, and ballet shoes. Her hair was dark and pulled back into a bun, her skin pale. Besides some sunken eyes and too-prominent cheekbones, she looked pretty good.

Well, for a corpse anyway.

“Hi. Sorry, had to stop for a snack. I’m starving. So hungry. And pigeons seemed easy.”

It talked. It wasn’t supposed to talk. That was a level of brain function that shouldn’t happen. Mom’s hand went inside of her vest, likely for her gun, but she was stalled by the girl standing and wiping the feathers from her dress. It was such a human, non-aggressive gesture. We hunted monsters, yeah, but only the bad ones. Friendly, agreeable ones were tagged and re-released into society according to DoPR law. Except I didn’t think there’d ever been a friendly, agreeable zombie before, so the protocol was hazy.

Okay, not hazy. Nonexistent.

“They’re messy. Pigeons. There has to be a better way to do this.” She chewed her bottom lip before looking at us. “I’m Lauren, by the way. I think I died last week but they had me on so many pain medications, I can’t remember much. I was sick, though.”

“You are,” Mom said. “Were. Lauren Miller, I mean.”

“I know that. I’m dead, not stupid. Who are you?”

Mom dropped her hand and cast me a look that said, “I have no idea what the crap to do with this one.” I probably mirrored the expression. This was off-the-charts.

“I’m Janice. This is Maggie.”

“Hi. Nice to meet you. Do you have a car? I need a ride home. God, I’m starving.” One moment Lauren-The-Zombie stood there smiling at us, the next she was a swooping Valkyrie of duck death, grabbing an unsuspecting fowl from the water and biting into its neck. A squawk, a squirt of blood onto her dress, and it was over. The local wildlife had succumbed to a snack attack.

“Okay, that’s messed up,” I said, watching her chow down on duck head as casually as a normal person would eat popcorn.

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