Chapter 28

He opened his eyes again. “Fine. You’re right. Now could you, uh, help me up? I seem to be . . .” He appeared to be searching for just the right word. “Stuck.” And that, indeed, was just the right word for it: stuck. Not living, not dead, but in a sort of stasis.

I grabbed one arm, Dara the other, and the two of us yanked until three stuck zombies were standing, surrounded by a whole slew of unthinking, unfeeling, uncaring, uneverything undead.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Don’t mention it,” I replied. As in seriously don’t mention it. Because now he was my responsibility too, and, trust me, I already had way too many of those to contend with as it was.

Way, way too many.

Ricky Shea

With our hands still gripping his arms, we managed our way through the throng and off to a vacant alleyway. There we had breathing room. Stinky breathing room, yes, but at least we weren’t playing zombie pinball anymore.

“I’m . . . I’m dead, right?” asked Ricky, right off the bat.