Get Zombie: 8-Book Set Read Free Page A

job and I’d usually
find myself falling asleep in the many restroom locations –
even the women’s. My coworkers hated me because I acted like
how they wanted to
act.
    I was too small to fit in anything in Men’s or
Teen’s. Every pair of pants I wore dragged at least two feet
behind me and it always seemed like my legs were melting away.
    She took me to the 3 rd floor, where the baby and children clothes were.Barbara asked the
CSM, or Customer Service Manager, where we could find pants that
would fit me. I ducked behind a rack of Canyon River Blues cargo
pants. Barbara yanked me from my hiding place. I waved to the CSM, a
pretty, young Japanese girl, who pointed us in the right direction.
    Barbara handed me a pair of tight black jeans.
    Each
time I tried something on, Barbara would want me to parade myself in
front of her while she took photographs. I felt wrong inside and even
told her so.
    “ You’re a liar,” she said. “You’re
a liar vampire.”
    I went into the dressing room and looked at myself in
the mirror. I was surprised that the clothes did indeed fit me – pleasantly surprised, in fact. Barbara had, once
again, proved herself a genius in yet another area.
    She was the Mozart of Clothing.
    I noticed a drawing on her arm – of a woman
holding her own severed head. She said that it was a simple tattoo
that all zombie hunters had.
    We then went to Sephora and GAP Kids and Longs Drugs. I
dreaded walking past the black wall – that displayed plant life
and a mini waterfall – in-between SEARS and Longs Drugs.
    Gotho’s and Depresso’s always hung around
there, judging you with their eyes. I invented a name for them.
    Wallers .
    As we walked past, my ex girlfriend’s ex boyfriend
stopped me and spat in my face. Barbara grabbed him by the lapels of
his black shirt and threw him straight up into the sky. He screeched
and clawed at the air like a cat and even landed on his feet like a
cat. The boy apologized, bowed, and ran off crying into his hands.
    The other Gotho’s and Depresso’s cheered.
    As Barbara and I waved at them, I suggested that we
vamoose before mall security arrived.
    She agreed.

    Nine.

    She said that it was now time to see if I could handle
being her sidekick. After the typical interview process, which
involved a plethora of personal questions, she asked me to stand up.
Due to the intense fear accompanied with encountering a zombie, she
wanted to test if I could handle the stress of an attack.
    She asked me to turn around. She didn’t want me
looking at her.
    After about thirty minutes of just standing and staring
at an Edward Scissorhands calendar on a wall, she asked me to hold
out my arms and to fall back, on her cue. I assumed that this was a
kind of trust exercise and, on her word, fell back.
    I hit the floor, hard.
    Tears swelled up in my eyes. She was on the couch,
reading a Victoria’s Secret catalogue and doing yoga. Without apologizing, she said that I was a
fool, and explained that I should be laughing instead of crying –
that I was to embrace the pain. I tried to laugh as I cried, but I
sounded retarded and threw my hands over my mouth.
    If the time came, I may have to take her life if ever
she were turned into a member of the living dead. She needed me to be
strong and cooperative.
    In a surprising move, she got down on the floor and
cradled me in her arms as I wept.
    Barbara said that she had fallen in love with me and
trusted me with her life – that she would eat whatever I
cooked.
    When it was her turn to fall back into my arms, I let
her fall.
    She looked up, crying, and said that I was a genius. She
would have no problem killing me if ever I were a zombie.
    Barbara sounded a tad angry.
    I was a man that day.

    Ten.

    We loaded Barbara’s SUV with various supplies: 2
boxes of wooden stakes, 5 boxes of metal stakes, 1 gold-painted box
of gold-painted stakes, cans of spaghetti, baby food, SPAM, extra
clothing, an inflatable tent, chains, rope, 100 rolls of