Zombies Don’t Read:

Zombies Don’t Read:
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IshaJohnson,United Kingdom,Professional
Published Date:31-07-2017
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Zombies Don’t Read: Five FREE Stories of the Living Dead By Rusty Fischer, author of Zombies Don’t CryCopyright © 2011 by Rusty Fischer All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, places and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously. Cover credit: Steve Woods – FotoliaAuthor’s Note The following is a collection of FREE living dead short stories. Any errors, typos, grammar or spelling issues are completely the fault of the zombies. (They’re not very patient with the editorial process) Anyway, I hope you can overlook any minor errors you may find; enjoyTable of Contents Introduction Story 1: Zombies Don’t Kiss & Tell Story 2: Zombies Don’t Sleep Story 3: Zombies Don’t Study Story 4: Zombies Don’t Swim Story 5: Zombies Don’t Carve About the Author: Rusty FischerIntroduction I hope you like zombie stories (and you probably do if you’re reading this), because this book contains five of them. In our first story, Zombies Don’t Kiss & Tell, one lonely young man discovers that his blind date is… a zombie. What’s more, he finds out he’s totally into it In Story 2, Zombies Don’t Sleep, a high school senior with insomnia discovers that there’s a zombie hanging out at her local Laundromat. She also finds out that he’s way cooler than the mere mortals at her school. Our third story, Zombies Don’t Study, finds one young nerd surrounded by three comely hotties; zombie hotties, that is. What happens in study hall stays in study hall Zombies Don’t Swim, our fourth story, tells the curious tale of what happens when zombies are allowed to do manual labor around the houses of mere mortals. Particularly, what happens when they clean the pools of certain hotties who have nothing better to do over spring break than watch them do itAnd last but not least, our fifth story, Zombies Don’t Carve, is a Christmas story about what happens when a human girl brings her zombie boyfriend to meet the parents for dinner. I hope you enjoy these five FREE zombie stories and that they don’t keep you up at night But even if they do, you’ll have plenty of company because, after all… Zombies Don’t SleepStory 1: Zombies Don’t Kiss & Tell My blind date is a zombie. Wow; just… awesome. Okay, no, I mean… that’s fine. No biggie. I’ll just make sure to ask for a corner booth, blow out the candle the minute we get there and order her steak (really, really) rare; we’re cool. I’ve been quiet too long, standing just outside the cozy little café where in his maniacal, laughing voice Cosgrove told me to meet “the woman of my dreams.” Now I can see why he couldn’t stop that insane giggle of his when we spoke on the phone earlier that day.She’s looking at the yellow carnation wedged between the letter on my jacket and my three varsity pins that surround it, so it’s a little too late to back out now. “Hi,” I say, putting out an eager hand. “I’m Jordy. Are you… Tia?” She doesn’t look like a Tia. Don’t get me wrong, even though it’s obvious she’s a zombie she’s not… ugly. Far from it. In fact, she’s pretty darn cute; just not exotic-sounding like I’d pictured when Cosgrove told me her name. Tia smiles quickly, raising a hand to cover her yellow teeth but not stopping to shake mine, either. I’m good with that; some girls just don’t do handshakes. I get it. “Good,” I say. “Are you… hungry?” She looks around, maybe wondering if anyone is listening and growls in a mock B-movie zombie voice, “I’m always hungry.”Then she snorts. Not, like a “Feed me BBBBRRAAAAIIINNNNSSS” kind of snort but a goofy girl snort, like girls will when they’re sitting in the library among friends and forget that a few jocks are sitting a few feet away in the magazine section looking at the swimsuit issue of Sports for Sports. I smile and wonder if maybe it’s just gas. I’ve heard zombies have a problem controlling that kind of thing, so I give her the benefit of the doubt. Actually, she smells pretty good. The downtown curb is bustling this time of night, the Saturday evening crowd in downtown Ambrosia, Alabama milling about and everybody waiting for a table, so we’re bunched kind of close there near the front door to the Gouda Café. She smells like lilacs, maybe; some kind of flower, anyway. She’s wearing black heels, not too high, black tights, black fingernails and a silver hoodie in this kind of shimmery, metallic material. The top is pulled up, covering what used to be red hair but is now a kind of wispy, faded orange.She has on those sexy rectangular glasses and I wonder if, being dead, her eyesight has suffered any. She looks like any other fun, funky teenage girl on a Saturday night, except for the ghostly pallor and waxy white fingers. I dunno, it’s not like the zombies are required to wear identification or anything, you just… know… when you see one. And it’s not just me, either; I can already see folks moving away from her, whispering about her, curling up their noses and rolling their eyes. She doesn’t seem to notice or, if she notices, care; I wonder if that’s just because she’s so used to it by now. I open the door for her, even though it was partially wedged wide from the crowd standing in front of the hostess stand. She catches my eye and winks, waving me forward. “Hey Melanie,” I say. The head cheerleader for Ambrosia High leers at me and says, “You know this crowd is going to hate me when I give you a table before any of them, right?”“It’s okay,” says Tia quietly, in a new voice I haven’t heard before. I notice her pulling her hood over her head a little tighter as the crowd around us grows and swells and grumbles as we push forward. “We can wait.” “Forget that,” I say. “Melanie’s got the hookup. Right, Mel?” Melanie rolls her eyes and I add, “Hey, I didn’t ask you to go out with my best lineman. But since you are… it’s time for me to cash in some chips” More eye rolls from Melanie as she grabs up one menu and one roll of silver and sashays in front of us through the busy restaurant. Tia keeps her head down, following closely. I’m racing ahead because that’s just how I walk, but Tia moves so slowly I kind of have to keep reminding myself to hang back. She gives me a little half-smile, as if she’s noticed. We keep walking and walking, past all the good seats. I mean, I know I wanted something out of the way so nobody from school would see us together but… this is craziness. Finally Melanie stands next to a tiny little table just off the kitchen.I see what she’s doing; so does Tia. The table isn’t just out of the way, it’s practically… hidden. I see a cozy booth for two just a little ways away and tug the closest sleeve of Tia’s shiny silver jacket; we sit there instead. “That’s reserved,” says Melanie with a fake smile on her face. I lean toward her and say, “I have some very revealing photos of you and Cosgrove that say differently, Mel.” She blushes slightly and says, “Fine; whatever. Roy will be your waiter. Enjoy your… date.” Melanie makes a big show of handing me the silver and giving me the menu and totally snubbing Tia as she huffs on by. Tia kind of looks down at the white cloth covering the table. When Melanie’s gone, I slide over the menu and the silver. “I don’t really need it,” she says quietly, but I see her eyeing it carefully. “They’re supposed to treat you equally,” I say, quietly.She does that little snort thing again and says, “They let me in, didn’t they? According to the Living with the Living Dead Treaty of 2017, that’s all they have to do.” I hear a little fire in her voice and see a flicker of emotion behind her glasses. “What color are your eyes?” I ask, partly to make small talk but, mostly, to diffuse the situation. “It’s hard to see back here.” She snickers and says, “You mean, what color were my eyes?” “They change?” She kind of forms a sneer across her lower lip, which is thin and gray beneath maroon lip gloss, until she sees I’m generally interested in her answer. Then she says, “Yeah, after about six months they drain of color. Mine were… hazel… I think?” “You think?” I chuckle, reaching for a breadstick from a heaping basket in the middle of the table. She shrugs and says, “My mom always called them green; my Dad brown. I settled for hazel, but… it’s been awhile since I’ve seen.”“How… awhile?” I ask, offering her the woven stick of bread covered in a light toss of olive oil and toasted with sesame seeds. She snorts again – I have to say, I’m kinda digging the snort – and asks, “What, you want to know if you’re on a blind date with a 98-year-old or something?” “Yeah, actually,” I bluff. (Secretly, I’ve always been attracted to older women. That’s kind of the reason I let stupid Cosgrove set me up on a blind date in the first place.) “Would it matter?” she says, kinda dragging the joke down. “I mean, it’s not like anything’s gonna happen anyway.” “Ouch.” “Not on your part, anyway. I mean, why would you want to with… a girl like… me? See… I knew I shouldn’t have come on this stupid thing—” She starts to get up, flustered, but it’s a good thing zombies move so slow because I can reach out and touch her sleeve before she’s even in the half- crouch position. “Please,” I say, despite the curious eyes of the other diners as they look a little more closely at the striking figure in the shimmering hoodie. “We’re already here, so… we might as well have dinner, right?”She sits back, but I think that’s mostly just because she was closer to still sitting than leaving anyway. I get the feeling moving takes a lot out of her. She pouts a little and I say, “So, what was it like growing up without electricity? Did you scare the horses with that scowl of yours?” I wait for the snort – there it is – and she admits, “I’m not that old, jerk; I just had my fifth re-birthday, if you must know.” “Re-birthday?” “Yeah, it’s kind of like you get a big do-over when you catch the Z Disease. You know, like resetting the game when your guy dies on the first level.” “So, and don’t take this the wrong way Tia but… you’re only five years old?” She leans over a little, waits ‘til I do the same and whispers, “Yeah, so… I guess we shouldn’t try to order that bottle of sangria, huh?” Just then a waiter approaches and says, to me, “Welcome to Gouda’s Café, sir. Can I get you something to drink?” “Ladies first?” I say, nudging him gently toward Tia’s side of the table.“But of course,” he says, not even moving. “What will ‘she’ have?” “I don’t know,” I growl, wanting to launch out my size-12 sneaker and kick him in the shin. “Why don’t you ask her?” He does this major eye roll-slash-heavy sigh thing and turns to Tia and groans, “Miss?” “I’ll take a coke and a bowl of sugar, please,” she says, sweet as can be. “Sugar’s 50 cents extra,” he says. “We’ve had to start charging now that there are some many of… your… kind coming in.” “I got it covered,” she says, slapping two quarters on the clean white linen. He turns to me and before he can do the whole eye roll wheeze thing I slap down two quarters of my own and say, “Make that a double.” He walks away without reading us the specials, which is fine because suddenly a soda with lots and lots of sugar in it sounds about right. Tia looks around the room, eyes kind of low since most tables are already looking back. I watch her for a few minutes, noticing the scar on the outside of her wrist when she stretches just a bit and her sleeve flutters up, if only for a second; it looks several years old, and still has some black thread inside, like maybe the stitches never came out. She looks about my age; 17. But… older… too. She’s wearing makeup, but not a lot of it. Her hoodie is zipped up tight, but another scar creeps over the zipper on the left side of her neck. Her eyes look sad behind the sexy glasses, and I don’t think it’s just because everyone’s staring at her. When she’s done watching the room, she fixes her eyes on me; and smiles. “What?” I ask, twirling another breadstick in my hand nervously. “Why are you still here?” she asks. I kind of open my mouth and close it. “Didn’t you hear?” I crack. “We just ordered my favorite; cokes and sugar”“No, I mean… really. Why are you still sitting here once you found out… what… I am?” “You mean… a sugar fiend?” She snorts despite herself and then shakes her head. “You know what I mean, Jordy.” I shrug. “It’s Saturday night in Ambrosia, Tia. Where else am I going to go?” She starts to say something else but our waiter comes with two sodas and two white ceramic containers overflowing with sugar packets; one for each of us. “Will there be anything else?” he asks, setting them all down on my side of the table. “Yeah,” I say, leaning forward and hearing the leather of my letterman’s jacket sleeves creaking. “You can put the lady’s soda and sugar on her side of the table.” “I’m required to bring them to the table, sir, not serve them to the… zombie.” “Jordy, really,” Tia says. “It’s fine…”“Listen to your friend, sir. She understands—” “She’s not my ‘friend,’ friend; she’s my date. And if you don’t put that soda and that sugar on her side of the table, I’ll explain to your manager why we’re going to get up and walk without paying for them.” “You didn’t have to do that,” she says, ripping open three sugar packets at once after the waiter leaves. “I’m a big girl.” “Yeah, well, he’s a big jerk and if I don’t release a little testosterone every few hours, then I turn into a big jerk and I want to have a nice evening, so…” I catch a smile and pour one sugar into my soda. “So, you have to tell me Tia: how does a nice girl like you know a creep like Cosgrove?” “I was just going to ask you the same question, Jordy” “You first.” She sips her soda and pours in two more packs of sugar, stirring it with her finger. “He found me on the Z List,” she confesses, avoiding my eyes.

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