

Summer Vacation Of The Living Dead
a gruesome little screwball comedy by Alex Reynard


  -~*BOOK TWO*~-



	~***~


-CHAPTER SIXTEEN-

Early the next morning, as dawn was breaking, Old Simon Farrington was making his daily rounds. He was a porcupine, and he was pushing sixty-five. His walruslike mustache was dishwater-grey. He had been working at the old town cemetery for over four decades.

Every morning he got up at five A.M. and walked to work. It was only a mile, and it was good exercise. He said hello to Tony at the desk, then went out to unlock the shed. Then he would climb into the driver's seat of his little green golf cart and make a complete circuit of the cemetery grounds. Over the years he had honed his route to an efficiency so sharp it could give you a paper cut, as he was fond of saying.

This particular morning, as he was passing by the Garden of Babes, he braked briefly. Near the grave of a young boy named Max Lopez.

Something seemed wrong about it.

The dirt seemed... disturbed. The boy's funeral had been quite a while ago, yet this dirt looked freshly trampled.

Then the smell hit his nose. He recoiled in utter disgust.

It all became clear now. As such things sometimes happened, some drunk had gone for a stroll in here last night, fell down over the grave (slept on it, possibly) and threw up in the grass before he left. A little parting present.

Old Simon's fluffy grey eyebrows drew down in consternation. Shame on him. Shame on whatever heartless sinner would befoul a child's grave like that. He wished the man was still here, so he could run him over a few times in his golf cart.

He sighed. Not much you can do about puke outdoors. Indoors you can use a mop, as he had done more times than he cared to think about. Outside, you just had to hope the wind would blow the smell off after a while.

Old Simon scratched his backside for a moment, and then drove off.


	~***~


-CHAPTER SEVENTEEN-

That Saturday night (which was technically Sunday morning by the time her head finally hit the pillow), the power of dreaming finally returned to Tish Lopez.

She was in a coffin, an extra-wide one, and Max was right there next to her. Not a zombie, but the same Max he'd always been. Neither of them were scared. The coffin was lined with a coral-pink plush interior and lit by a dim, cozy, unseen light source. They were smiling at each other, their noses nearly touching in the tight space, like sharing the same sleeping bag. They were doing crossword puzzles. Apparently they had been doing them for quite some time, since the lower half of the coffin was almost completely full of them by now. Then the lid opened abruptly. It was not the Grim Reaper, but only their fourth grade teacher. And they were not underground, but outside. As their teacher helped them both step out of the coffin, Tish saw it was lying smack dab in the middle of the playground at recess. As soon as she and her brother exited, the coffin sprouted tank treads and drove off cartoonishly. Tish and Max waved bye-bye as it vamoosed, leaving flame trails behind it. The teacher led them inside. There they saw that everyone in class was wearing plastic halloween masks of Nick Chainsaw. The real Nick looked a trifle embarrassed. It was his birthday, and he had brought too many cupcakes; they were piled in a heap in the corner of the room, literally up to the ceiling. The next thing Tish knew, she and Max and Mom & Dad were all invited over to the Chainsaws' house for dinner. 'Dinner' turned out to be a very large live octopus (who did not seem at all cooperative) sprawled out in the middle of the table. But everyone else was laughing and having a good time, trying to carve off hunks of tentacles as they writhed past. Then Tish was watching a movie about boats and...

She blinked.

Sunlight on her muzzle. It was morning already.

The little coyote smiled an uncharacteristically bright smile and sat up in bed, stretching and yawning. She'd only gotten about three hours' worth of sleep last night, but somehow felt incredibly refreshed nonetheless. She thought about her dream as she sat there in her pajamas. It hadn't made that much sense, but there had been an overall happy, carefree feeling to it. As if everything was gonna be okay again. And, of course, just dreaming at _all_ was cause for celebration. It struck her that maybe she was simply *unable* to dream unless Max was with her.

Actually, Max was not technically with her at the moment. Tish had decided on the fly that it would be way too dangerous and risky to sneak Max back into the house, at least for now. At least until they knew more about his present condition, and more about what Mom and Dad would think of it. Max had wholeheartedly agreed. The last thing he wanted was to give Mom a heart attack when she saw him, or have Dad fearfully come after him with a blunt instrument. He said he was fine with staying in the toolshed for the night and that they could talk more about it the following day. Tish felt sorry for him nonetheless. Out there in that drafty, dusty shed all alone... At least it had been a warm night.

Still, she wanted to be with him again right away. She was like a little pup on Christmas morning; she knew there were presents downstairs and she couldn't bear to stay in bed a second longer.

Down in the kitchen, Carlos and Martina were just sitting down to breakfast when they heard a loud thumping sound descending towards them, similar to a herd of thundering elephants. Of course, it was only Tish bounding energetically down the stairs. She ran up to the table, grabbed her plate and started bulldozing ridiculous amounts of breakfast foods onto it immediately. "Good morning Mom! Good morning, Dad!" she sang out cheerfully.

Martina's eyebrows went up. "My goodness! You're looking chipper this morning. Get a good night's sleep? I heard you snoring like a moose all night."

Tish chortled, realizing she might have set her tape player too loud. "Um, yeah! And I had a really good dream, too!" She dashed to the cupboard and selected the biggest tumbler in the house. Darting back to the table, she filled it almost to the top with orange juice.

Mom looked somewhat astonished. "Um... Hungry?"

"Yup!" she said with a sunny grin. "I'm gonna take all this stuff outside and eat it since it's such a nice morning and I'm just so damn happy! Okay, bye!!"

As the miniature tornado fled the scene with over half their food, the two grown-ups turned to each other with astonished and mildly concerned gazes.

"What in the world was that about?" Martina asked her husband. "She's been lost in her own little world for a week, and all of a sudden she snaps out of it, just like that?"

Carlos shrugged. "Kids are strange. They are like rubber bands in many ways."

She nodded, sighing. "I guess. I wonder if this means she's finally getting over Max..." she said, sounding almost sad at the idea.

The broad-shouldered coyote shook his head firmly. "No. She will never get over him, and neither will we. You shouldn't 'get over' the loss of someone you love that much. ...But maybe she has begun to realize her own life isn't over now too."

Martina smiled at him and took a sip of milk. "My husband, the child psychologist," she teased lightly.

He grinned. "Ah, yes. Beauty and brains all in one package. I am the perfect man, and you shall worship me," he said, the zenith of suaveness.

His wife giggled out loud. "Oooooh... I just might take you up on that later."

Meanwhile, Tish was dashing across the lawn to the big stinky toolshed out back. It was very likely that it had been created by the same furson who had designed the house, since it shared the same characteristic bizarre dimensions. As if the architect had been either slightly crazy or burdened with poor depth perception. It was too big to be only a toolshed, and yet it was also obviously not meant as a garage either, since there was only one small side door. There had already been tons of rusty, useless gardening and farming equipment lying around in there when they'd moved in. It was possible it had even been there since before the previous owners. Dad kept his lawnmower in the shed and otherwise ignored it as much as possible. Somehow, it managed to be even spookier than the attic in its own lopsided way.

Balancing the juice glass between her forearm and chin, Tish carefully eased the door open, unsure as to what she'd find inside. She really hoped she hadn't screwed up the spell somehow, like merely creating a temporary effect, and Max wouldn't be lying in here dead again.

He was lying down allright, but from his snores he was very much still animate. He was flopped down in the bucket of an old green wheelbarrow in a position so uncomfortable it made Tish cringe.

A musty smell hit her nose as she entered. Rot and rust and cobwebs. She padded over and nudged her brother's shoulder with her foot. "Max? Um, wakey-wakey..."

Max snored on.

Tish gave the wheelbarrow a short kick and that seemed to get the job done. The bleary-eyed zombie boy came out of sleep with a long yawn and a cloud of unspeakably disgusting morning breath. It could have peeled the paint off battleships. Tish politely gagged into her shirtsleeve.

Max sniffed around and noticed there was breakfast nearby. He turned to his sister with a smile. "G'morning."

"Good morning, Max. Sorry you had to sleep in here. I wish we could've brought your coffin with us, but then the grave would have sunken in."

Max shrugged unconcernedly. "Eh. I'm sure it was nice and soft, but would you really wanna sleep in one all the time? Wouldn't it creep you out?"

She considered that. "Good point. Still, I have no idea how you managed to fall asleep in that thing."

Max glanced down at the wheelbarrow. He clumsily tipped himself out onto the floor and stood up. He stretched, producing a bone-clattering cacophony, as if half his skeleton had come unglued during the night. Afterwards, he grinned blithely and shook his tail, seemingly unaffected. "It was pretty comfy actually. Better than the beds at Uncle Ernesto's house."

Having slept in them herself, Tish thought that was probably a fair estimate. "Your neck doesn't hurt or anything? It looked like it was bent straight back when I came in."

Max turned his head from side to side, making loud clicking sounds. He put his paws to his cheeks and stretched his neck a bit. To Tish's horror and Max's delight, he found he could twist his head around almost 180 degrees now. "Aw, sweet! And it doesn't hurt a bit!"

"Good for you, I guess..." she said with a wince. "Hungry?"

"Starving!"

She held out the tray to him. He glanced over the selection, then took the glass of OJ first,   chugging from it with a satisfied sigh. "I hope you don't mind sharing the one glass," Tish said. "I didn't want Mom 'n Dad getting overly suspicious. And I guess I'm not worried about zombie cooties."

He grinned. "I'll try not to infect you." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Geeze, I wonder if I even *can*?"

"Bite me and find out," she teased.

Max was about to answer back with a witty retort when he suddenly bent over and violently upchucked his orange juice onto the dusty concrete floor.

Tish squeaked in surprise. "Shit!"

Looking woozy, Max wiped off his mouth on his shirt sleeve (he'd already dispensed of the hot and sweaty formal jacket he'd been buried in). "Uh..."

Whimpering sympathetically, Tish set her plate down on a workbench and gave Max a hug. "You okay now?"

He nodded. "That was weird. It was like, the second it hit my stomach, it came right back up again. I'm still hungry though."

"Maybe the juice was too much for you. Like when we both got the flu and we couldn't hold down anything but soup." She looked over at the plate. "Here, try some toast. That oughtta be mild enough."

He accepted the little triangular slice. "Thanks. Here goes," he said, and took a bite.

Tish watched eagerly as he swallowed. They both waited nervously, and felt bitter disappointment when the toast came right back up too, totally undigested. Max tried to catch it in his paw but instead it escaped to mingle with the orange juice.

Tish's ears drooped sadly. "Oh Max, I'm so sorry. I guess you'll just have to wait until your stomach settles down."

"Yeah, you're probably right. You go ahead and eat though. Don't let me stop you." He looked around and spotted an old rag hanging on a nail. He bent down to sop up the juice and toast, then threw the rag in the corner.

Tish sat down on a rickety wooden stool and sipped some juice (making sure to drink from the opposite side of the glass Max had; there was still a bit of mucousy, lip-shaped residue there). She picked up a piece of bacon and was about to bite down when she noticed Max staring at her. "What?"

"Gimme that bacon," he said dully.

"Come on, if you couldn't keep *toast* down, there's no way- Hey!" She jerked back, a little scared, as Max rudely whipped out a paw and snatched the strip away from her. He crammed it in his mouth like a pet dog. "You don't have to act like a dickhead! And you're probly just gonna puke it back up again."

But to her surprise, he didn't. Max licked his lips contentedly. He blinked, and seemed to be coming out of a daze. "I- I'm sorry, Tish. I just smelled the meat and went nuts. I think it's staying down though."

Tish arched an eyebrow and went 'hmmm'. "Okay... You're a zombie, so maybe you can only eat meat."

That seemed to jibe with what his body was already telling him. His stomach was happily digesting the bacon, and wanted more. "I think you're right."

"Let's try a little experiment." Tish scooped up a forkful of scrambled eggs. "Try some eggs. They're sort of like meat. They're an animal product, anyway." She held it out to him, and realized she was about to feed him like a baby. "Here comes the airplane!"

"Nummy-nums!" said Max, chuckling. He slurped down the little bit of eggs and held his belly in both paws, waiting to see what it would think of them. His stomach seemed confused by the eggs for a second, then it grumbled a bit, debating whether or not to urk them back up. Then finally it said 'what the hell' and let them stay. "Cool! So, I can eat bacon and eggs. But not bread or fruit type stuff."

"No vegetables either," she reasoned, trying to look on the bright side.

He grinned. "Yeah, good point!"

Conversation wound down for the moment as the two siblings sat down to breakfast. Max climbed back into the wheelbarrow and lounged in it like a beanbag chair. Tish split the eggs down the middle and let Max have all the bacon. She took the toast and juice and said she'd bring him back some milk later on to see if he could drink that instead. Max commended her on her deductive thinking.

Max polished off the last strip of bacon with a contented smile. That had really hit the spot. His stomach was full of eggs and meat and was just about going bananas with joy. This felt much, much better than being full of gas and formaldehyde. "So, when're we gonna tell Mom and Dad about me?" he asked casually.

Tish froze up for a second. Her tail drooped. "Um... I don't know. Maybe we shouldn't. At all, I mean."

Max sat straight up. "Come on! I wanna see them again! And I'll bet a trillion dollars they've been missing me all this time too!"

"I know," Tish whined sadly, "but think of how bad it could go! I'm totally cool with you being a zombie, but I know it'll be a shock for them. They might..." She sighed. "Max, they might try to kill you the second you show yourself. I think we should just chill out for a few days, try to learn as much as we can about what you are now, then I'll try to ease them into it, if it's safe."

Max looked a little suspicious. "What do you mean, 'safe'...?"

Tish bit her lip.

Looking like his sister had just slapped him across the face, Max asked quietly, "Don't you trust me?"

He'd asked so pitifully, Tish couldn't help hopping down off the stool into the wheelbarrow to give him another hug. "Of course, you dummy! Of course I trust *you*! You're my brother and my best friend in the universe. You know I love you more than anything. I just... Well, I've never raised the dead before and I have no idea if I did everything right. You might..."

He finished for her. "...I might change into something else without warning. Okay, I understand now." He remembered seeing her pick up the bacon, and how, just for a second, his mind had seemed to get blanker and focus solely on getting that little bit of meat in his mouth as soon as possible. It might be nothing at all. But Tish was right, it was a good idea to keep him under observation for a little while nonetheless.

Tish nuzzled his shoulder. "I know you won't do anything bad, Max. I know you're stronger than that. I know you love me 'n Mom 'n Dad and you won't hurt us. But you've seen just as many zombie movies as I have. We have to be careful. Just for a little while until we're sure."

"You're totally right. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Just think of it like you're sick and in the hospital, and they need to make sure you're not contagious or something."

Max nodded and gave her paw a gentle squeeze. "That sounds about right." He frowned a little in frustration. "But I really wanna tell *somebody* else... I mean, I can't help thinking of all the people who must've gone to my funeral, all my friends, how sad they must've been, and they all still think I'm dead. I don't want them to be sad over me anymore."

His compassion had always impressed her. It came so much more naturally to him than it did for her, and she envied him sometimes because of it. "I know. And a lot of people did come. Most of the guys you sit with in class, I think, and Mr. Goldwood and Mrs. Germaine."

He smiled. Mrs. Germaine had been their fourth grade teacher, and she'd narrowly beat out Mr. Goldwood for being Max's favorite. He liked knowing she cared about him enough to come. "There's gotta be someone we can tell," he persisted.

Tish felt awful, having to disappoint him like this. "Max, think about it. If one of your friends died, wouldn't you be a little freaked out if they just suddenly showed up at our house a few weeks later and wanted to go play hockey again like nothing happened?"

She had a point, and he hated it. "Fuck. Dammit, I don't wanna have to spend the whole summer out here in this shed all by myself..."

Tish opened her mouth to speak...

"Sorry! You know I didn't mean that. I know you'll be here too." He gave her paw a reassuring pat.

Tish took his paw in hers and gave it a squeeze. Max looked so sad, and she could only guess what he might be thinking right now. She felt suddenly ashamed of herself. All this time, through all her planning to bring Max back from the dead, and she had never once thought about how hard it might be for him. She should have anticipated this loneliness, and that his 'condition' would surely cause him physical problems. She felt incredibly selfish.

And even worse, Nick was still probably worried about what-

A lightbulb snapped on above her head. "Nick!" she shouted joyfully.

"Huh?"

"We can tell Nick! I told him yesterday I was gonna do something really dangerous, and that it had to do with you, and that I wanted him to tell Mom 'n Dad if anything bad happened to me. He'll be able to deal with you like this! I know he will! I'm gonna go call him right now!"

Tish's idea brought smiles to both their faces. "That's a great idea! How 'bout you ask him to come over sometime tomorrow, like noon-ish?"

"Why wait till then?" she asked, puzzled.

"I wanna try out my new body a bit. Go runnin' around, see if I fall apart, stuff like that," he replied.

"Ohhhh. Good thinking." Tish jumped nimbly up and out of the wheelbarrow. "I'll call him and let him know everything's okay. I'll tell him there's a big surprise waiting for him tomorrow!"

Max nodded. "And bring me some milk. And any other meat-things you can find! I'm still hungry!"

Tish saluted. "Aye-aye, dead guy!" Max laughed as she snatched up the dishes and went tearing out of the toolshed.


	~***~


-CHAPTER EIGHTEEN-

A few hours later, Martina paused in confusion by her bedroom window. She could have sworn she'd seen someone running past in the backyard. And for a second, she had been absolutely certain it was Max.

She shook her head. Just an optical illusion. Had to be.

She set her mind back on the matter at hand. Looking down at her dresser drawers, she called out, "Honey? Did you polish up some of my jewelry last night?"


	~***~


-CHAPTER NINETEEN-

After running around for a while like a wild dog and thoroughly testing out his new-and-improved undead body, Max was hungry again. 

Tish sat up in a tree in the vast yellow field of their backyard, watching her brother wistfully. She didn't feel quite so selfish now. Max had been running and jumping and yelling and laughing his tail off for an hour now. He looked really happy. And yeah, his condition would carry both pros and cons, and yeah, they'd have to keep him hidden until they came up with some way of breaking the news gently to everyone, but those didn't seem like such awful problems anymore. Max was _alive_ again. That was what really mattered most. As he'd told her when she came back from the house, he never, *ever* wanted her to think he wasn't grateful for the second chance at life she'd given him. He praised her bravery and her brilliance, and hugged her so hard she thought she'd pop. It was just what she'd needed. For a second there, it was like the past two weeks had never even happened at all.

She'd brought with her a big glass of milk and two leftover fishcakes from the house. Max had tentatively sipped the milk until he was sure his stomach wasn't minding it being there, then drained the glass dry in less than a minute and asked for more. He munched fishcakes while she trotted out for another glass. She returned with a tumbler of milk and a can of air freshener. He did kinda stink, she explained tactfully. He was not offended, and let her give him a good spray-down.

Then she asked him to take off his shirt and pants and hold still while she gave him a complete diagnostic. He felt a little silly, standing there in his underpants, arms held out stiff at his sides, while Tish carefully scanned his whole body for irregularities. She told him his cheek had been split and some of his bones looked broken last night, but now they seemed to be okay again. However, some of his other body parts looked torn or lumpy now. And the milkiness of his left eye hadn't gone away at all.

He tried to explain as best as he could what being a zombie felt like. He said again that he felt slightly less in control of himself now, like his soul was inhabiting a second-rate body and it was a poor fit. He said it was like trying to ride a bike he'd never been on before, or trying to walk in clothes that were way too big for him.

He also described a truly bizarre sensation that he'd felt continuously ever since his rebirth. It wasn't obtrusive and, like his heartbeat (at least, back when he'd HAD one), it was easy to ignore. But he said it felt kinda like his body was constantly breaking down, rotting, decomposing, yet at the same time it was also working tirelessly to keep him in one piece. Like townspeople scrambling to repair a dam while floodwaters constantly battered it. He said he didn't think he was in any real danger of total decomposition, but that it might not be a such bad idea for him to keep up a steady diet of as much protein as possible. He had a hunch that his whole digestive system had been altered, that its purpose now was to convert as much food as it could directly into building materials. His chief evidence for this theory was that he hadn't felt a need to pee since yesterday, not even a little bit, and he bet Tish he wouldn't be taking a dump any time soon either.

Tish was impressed at his calm reasoning. All in all, he was taking this so smoothly it astounded her. Like resurrection was a perfectly normal everyday occurrence. Max just shrugged and said he'd always had a feeling something like this would happen to him sooner or later. As he said, he'd always felt 'destined for weirdness'.

After his physical and their biology chat, Max set about seeing how much his new body had changed on a practical level. Their backyard was enormous, stretching out across dozens of hilly, uneven acres that no developer would ever consider purchasing. It made a gnarly playground for two imaginative young coyotes though. Max ran free through the high golden grass. Somehow, subconsciously, his body knew it had spent a hell of a long time cooped up in a tiny underground box, and now it was reveling in motion and exercise.

An hour or so later, panting gleefully, Max loped up to Tish's tree and gave her a full status report. He said all those zombie movies where the dead dudes just shambled around like snails with their arms stuck out in front of them were pure bullshit. He felt surreally limber and agile today, as if he could run for hours without stopping. He didn't feel the least bit tired and his muscles weren't sore at all. In fact, he didn't even seem to feel pain anymore.

Tish leaned over, curiously, as he gave her a demonstration. Grinning like a magician about to perform a fantastic trick, he put his paw flat up against the tree trunk. With his other paw, he pulled out a nice smooth rock he'd found in the field. It was just about the size of a baseball. Without a moment's hesitation, he smashed the rock into the back of his hand with all his strength. Tish shrieked and nearly toppled off her branch.

Max gave her a nonchalant smile and told her to watch closely. He held up his wounded paw. It looked like a crumpled bouquet of twigs. It oozed with nearly-black blood.

Then slowly, the fingers started to move on their own. One by one, the bones all knitted and the muscles repaired themselves. The blood was slurped back up inside. With skin-crawling pops and squishes, his fingers all untwisted themselves. Max gave them a little wiggle when it was done. His paw looked perfect again. Just like new.

Tish gaped dumbly, torn between thinking that that was impossibly cool, and wanting to go throw up somewhere. Finally, she hopped down from the tree and cradled Max's rejuvenated paw in her own. She caressed the flesh. It felt slightly strange, more loose and brittle than normal, but otherwise everything was where it should have been. She could not believe it hadn't hurt at least a little bit to do that. Max assured her it hadn't, and cheerfully offered to perform another demonstration on his other paw if she didn't believe him. She decided to believe him.

Around then was when his tummy started growling again. Tish checked her watch and saw that it was lunchtime. She was about to go back to the house and root through the fridge some more, when she suddenly got an even better idea. She told Max to meet her back at the toolshed in a few minutes.

When he did, she was carrying an armload of loose clothing and grinning deviously.


	~***~


-CHAPTER TWENTY-

"You're insane," said Max.

Tish giggled.

"This is never gonna work."

"Too bad, we're almost there already, ya big baby. Just keep quiet and no one will notice."

Max rolled his eyes. He had a bad feeling about this.

He was currently wearing the biggest T-shirt he owned, a pair of winter gloves, a black jacket with the hood pulled way up over his face, and an incredibly baggy pair of his Dad's jeans that he'd been stepping on the ends of constantly. Finally, he snarled at Tish to wait up as he sat down on the sidewalk to roll up the hems. That was better, though now anyone who cared to look could also get a better look at his big clunky snowboots.

"I feel like the biggest retard in the entire history of retardedness," he grumbled.

Tish giggled and reached out to hold his paw. "It'll be okay, Max. I won't tell you you don't look stupid, but think of all the yummy, juicy meat you'll be eating when we get there! Dad was in a good mood when I asked for cash and he gave me a twenty! You can get whatever you want!"

That did cheer him up a bit. Two bigass double cheeseburgers, loaded down with cheese and bacon, did sound almost erotically appealing right now. Max's mouth was watering just thinking about it. He'd just have to remember to leave off the buns and tell them to hold the sauce. And no french fries, unfortunately. Though maybe he'd try one of Tish's. Heck, they cooked 'em in so much grease, they practically counted as meat.

Their destination was Dooley's, a small, statewide hamburger franchise that advertized 'The Biggest, Most Beautiful Burgers You Will Ever See In Your Life'. Truth be told, they were usually about average in the looks and size department. But still, they tasted a hell of a lot better than the usual fast-food slop. The extra few cents you spent at Dooley's were always well worth it.

It was Max's favorite restaurant. He could eat there every day for eternity and never get sick of it. And as far as he was concerned, their barbecue sauce must have been concocted by angels on high.

The extra clothes he was wearing served two purposes. First and foremost, they would hopefully obscure his identity if someone they knew happened to spot them. At least from a distance. Probably. He even had his tail tucked down the back of his pants.

Secondly, Tish had hoped they might keep the smell in. She was rapidly getting used to it herself, but there was no denying that Max _literally_ reeked of the grave. He smelled rotten, and no amount of air freshener would make it totally go away. Although she'd emptied half the can on him by now already.

When they eventually reached Dooley's, Tish could see through the glass doors that the place was packed. Good. They could try to lose themselves unobtrusively in the crowd. "Now try not to puke on or eat anybody," she chided playfully.

"Ha ha ha," said Max.
 
They both realized as soon as they walked in that luck was with them today. They'd forgotten that Dooley's was always, *always*, redolent with the dizzying, mouthwatering aroma of fire-grilled dead cow. After a long meal at Dooley's, you went home smelling like the place. Guaranteed. No one was gonna notice a little carcass-stink in here.

Tish and Max quietly took their place in line. After a fat guy ahead of them had finished ordering a #3 combo with two chocolate milkshakes, Tish approached the register.

"Welcome-to-dooleys-would-you-like-to-try-our-new-mesquite-chicken-breast-combo-today," the haggard-looking employee chanted mindlessly at them. He was a college-age fox, and he looked like he was in dire need of some sleep. He was also wearing a lovely and fashionable little white paper hat.

Feeling empathy for the poor bastard, Tish spoke slowly and clearly. "Hello. I would like two double bacon cheeseburgers, hold the sauce, a large chicken strips, a medium fry, a medium cola and three little things of milk."

The employee rang everything up, casting an uncomfortable glance at Max as he did so.

"He just got out of the hospital where he spent a month recovering from a horrible skin infection," Tish said reproachfully. "How'd you like being stared at if over seventy percent of your fur had fallen out?"

The employee looked utterly abashed. "Oh, geeze, sorry! Really, I wasn't staring! I was just thinkin' it's kinda hot to be wearing all that. My bad."

"S'allright," mumbled Max.

The coyote twins waited around for a few minutes for the food to show up. When it did, Tish's sense of misanthropy was dealt a small blow when she looked at the receipt and noticed the employee had 'forgotten' to charge for her drink. She tossed him a thankful smile as she walked off to find a seat.

Way in the back, next to the restrooms, there was a booth with nobody around. 'Perfect,' thought Tish. Max clumped along behind her (his boots sounding even more ridiculous than they looked) as she went over and sat down.

Max whipped off his gloves in a heartbeat. "Finally! The smell is driving me nuts!" He unwrapped one of the burgers and just gazed lovingly at it. "Hello, gorgeous..."

Tish giggled and sipped her soda.

Tail wagging even though it was trapped between his leg and denim, Max tore the buns in half (keeping enough on the burger to hold it without getting his paws greasy) and took a huge bite. He murred orgasmically with his mouth full.

Tish had to put down her drink for fear of shooting cola out her nose. Max was eating his burger in the most obscene manner she had ever seen. He was making love to it. He was making really, really perverted noises too. "We're trying to keep a low profile, remember?" she said, giggling.

"Sorry. Can't. Meat too good," he grunted, and took another bite. He got a little bit of bun in his mouth this time and nearly gagged, but was able to force it to stay down. He supposed it might be possible to 'train' his stomach to accept plant matter eventually, but for now it was being pretty stubborn. "Hey," he realized as he polished off burger number one, "I just realized, I've turned into an anti-vegetarian."

"Uh oh, I guess I have to protest you now," Tish quipped. She was, among other things, a champion of nonev-rights. Yet at the same time, she was also perfectly happy with eating them. Her position was that, being a coyote, eating meat was natural for her. She was a realist; more than half of all furry species on the planet were carnivorous or omnivorous, so meat-eating wasn't gonna go away any time soon. But just because she ate nonevs didn't mean she thought they didn't deserve to be treated as civilly as possible. Half of her birthday money every year went to a radical nonev-rights group that liberated fur farms, torched unscrupulous medical testing labs and generally made life hell for anyone in congress who voted against bans of cruel killing or hunting practices. Tish was more of a believer in direct action than protests and pamphlets.

"Lemme try a french fry," Max asked.

She was wary. "Okay, but have a napkin ready in case you yak again."

"Roger wilco," he said with a nod. Tentatively, he chewed and swallowed the little potato sliver. All was silent for a second. Tish and Max both waited eagerly. The fry seemed to be staying down.

But... "Aw, not agai-" Max clenched his eyes shut and gagged as the mashed up wad of fry shot straight out of his throat and missed the napkin by a mile.

"Ewwww! Son of a bitch!!" Tish screeched. It had landed perilously close to her chicken strips.

Max wiped his mouth and then grinned at her. "I'll gave you a buck if you eat it."

She glared at him, grinning too. "Fuck you and die, Max."

A little old woodchuck lady in the booth opposite them (who was so short neither of them had noticed her yet) gasped indignantly. "You horrid children! Where on earth did you learn such language, young lady!?" she demanded.

Tish turned to her with an angelic smile. "In church," she lied cheerfully. "Our pastor drinks a lot before sermons."

Horrified, the woodchuck snatched up her tray and left to go sit somewhere else. She scowled with righteous fury at the two evil children as she passed.

Tish and Max burst into unrestrained guffaws.

"That was awesome," Max praised.

Tish smiled breezily. "I like to think I elevate pissing people off to an art form."

Max snorted. He took a drink of milk and blew bubbles in it with his straw. "So, what're we doing after we get home? Like, dinner and sleeping and stuff? I really don't mind sleeping out in the toolshed again, if you're worried about that."

"Are you sure? It just seems so mean of me. I'm sleeping in my nice cozy bed, and you're in a wheelbarrow out in the yard like a pet dog or something."

He brushed her concern away. "Tish, cool it. I don't mind. It's summer; it's warm enough outside. And I told you I don't feel pain anymore. Watch this..."

"Please don't."

He ignored her and scooted over to the side of the booth so she could see his legs. He got a firm grip on his ankle, then bent his right leg up in a circle, bending it at a sickening 180 degree backwards angle. "Neat, huh?"

She stared, revolted, like passing by a bad bus accident on the highway. "That is *nasty*, Max. Don't do that again."

Now that he knew it grossed her out, he'd be doing it every chance he got, naturally.

Tish actually thought it was severely cool. She'd acted like it grossed her out so he'd keep on doing it all the time. Naturally.

Max started in on his second burger after draining milk carton number one. Like all good little anarchists, he'd opened the 'Open Other End' side out of sheer malevolence.

Tish nibbled a fry. "As far as dinner goes, I can either sneak you leftovers every night when Mom 'n Dad aren't looking, or I can use some of my allowance to get stuff delivered. Or we can do a combination of both. Nick might be able to help out too, once we tell him."

Max nodded. "Those are all good ideas." Although another had occurred to him that he wasn't about to say aloud. When she wasn't around, he might have to go out back at night and hunt. He loathed the idea. The thought of taking another living being's life was anathema to him. But he was, after all, a predatory species. And he could already tell that his undead metabolism was gonna need a lot more meat than just what a plateful of occasional leftovers would be able to provide. Maybe he could try eating bugs, he considered.

He had another thought. "Oh, hey, could you bring me some of my stuff out of my room? Like, books and video games and stuff?"

"Sure! You can make a list when we get home." She puzzled for a moment on how to get it all out of the house unobtrusively, then smiled. "I could get a big garbage bag and fill it up with stuff. Trash day's tomorrow, so I could just act like I was taking it to the curb. Then I'd sneak around back and drop it off at the shed."

He was impressed by her cleverness. "You would totally make a good undercover agent, all this sneakin' around stuff you're coming up with."

"Why thank you! You want one of my chicken things? I'm still a little full from this morning."

"Thanks!" Max eagerly took one and started peeling the breading off, figuring it might cause him problems. When he was done, he realized just how little chicken was actually in these things. He was left with a little white droopy thing that looked like a tampon. He ate it up anyway. No use wasting protein.

Tish picked at her fries while she watched Max finish up his other burger and another half-pint of milk. She drained her drink as well. She got up for a refill, and when she came back she noticed a familiar odor was becoming noticeable. "Max, you're gettin' stinky again," she whispered.

His cheeks flushed. "Aw, shit."

"Pocket your last milk and let's split," she suggested. He nodded and obeyed. He followed her up to the front, carrying their tray and their garbage.

As they passed by the easily-offended old woodchuck again, Tish got a wild smirk on her face. "Say," she remarked loudly, "what's long and hard and full of seamen?"

The woman just about choked on her cola.

"A submarine!" Max replied with exaggerated enunciation. "Do you know what word starts with 'F' and ends with 'uck'?" he queried.

"Firetruck!!" they said in harmony. They passed by their elderly nemesis, snickering shamelessly. She ranted threateningly at them as they got rid of their trash and left, but they were both laughing so hard they only caught snatches of it. 'You kids!' and 'disgraceful!' and 'a good spanking!'.

"Maybe she'll be there next time," Tish said hopefully.


	~***~


-CHAPTER TWENTY ONE-

Nearly two thousand miles away, a man who'd been taking a piss by the side of the road at dusk decided *not* to tell the police, or anyone else for that matter, that he could have sworn he'd seen a big, dark something-or-other the size of a boxcar zoom right past him, at top speed, Through A Corn Field...


	~***~


-CHAPTER TWENTY TWO-

Nick had a blindfold on, just in case.

Tish and Max hoped they were ready for anything, but this was an impossibly touchy situation. How exactly do you go about introducing someone to a walking corpse without them going berserk and pissing their pants and running away screaming? (Now *there* was a question you weren't likely to see popping up in 'Miss Manners'.)

The night before, Tish had successfully smuggled all of Max's requested possessions out of the house and into the shed. He'd been especially happy to get his paws on his comic book collection again, since he knew he'd be spending a lot of time over the next few months cooped up with nothing else to do but read. He'd also suggested that maybe Tish could get him some books from the local library. She instantly agreed, and furthermore pledged to do anything at all to make him comfortable until they could figure out a better place for him to stay. Grinning, Max asked if that included hourly foot massages. Tish playfully punched him in the head. Max giggled.

That night she dreamed again, but she did not remember what she had seen. She chatted casually with Mom and Dad at breakfast, the epitome of guilelessness, then ran off to the shed. She and Max plotted and brainstormed and just generally shot the shit all morning long. And they both agreed that, even though the situation was pretty darn fucked up, it was all worth it just to be able to sit and talk with each other again. Max told Tish he wouldn't mind if he was just a disembodied head, so long as they could still be brother and sister. Tish was so touched by the sentiment, she actually cried a little. Though, of course, she flatly denied having done so.

They both heard the scrape of Nick's bike braking in the driveway around eleven thirty. They hadn't counted on him being early, but this wasn't like a surprise party with streamers and balloons and cake. This was just him and them. And hopefully, luck would put in an appearance too.

Tish came running up from the side of the house. "Nick!" she greeted cheerfully as the cheetah boy walked his bike over to the front porch. "You're kinda early."

Nick looked up, a little worried. "Is that okay? Am I gonna have to wait? You just sounded so excited on the phone..."

She trotted over to give him a small hug. "Nah, it's okay. Everything's ready. And it's gonna be one hell of a surprise, I promise you." She pulled one of her long black socks out of her pocket. "I'm gonna put this on you like a blindfold, okay? Just so the surprise will be perfect. Don't worry, it's clean."

"Um, allright..." It would be an understatement to say that Nick was intrigued. He trembled slightly as she wrapped her sock around his head, her fur brushing against his. Then blackness encompassed his vision. He could see a tiny bit of daylight around the edges of the sock, but that was all. He held his arms out in front of him. "So, where is it?"

Tish took his paws in hers. "In the toolshed, remember? Come on, just follow me. I'll go slow."

Nick's cheeks flushed as his best friend led him across her lawn. His nerves were on edge. The suspense had been killing him since yesterday, trying to imagine what Tish's incredible secret could be. From the sheer volume of her voice the day before, it was *huge*, whatever it was. And she was smiling more than he'd seen her in months.

Abruptly, he had a revelation. What if she was taking him out to the toolshed to make out with him?

Nick stumbled and nearly tripped. His seeing-eye coyote steadied him and told him he was only a few feet away now.

His idea suddenly seemed very plausible indeed. He felt almost foolish for not realizing it before. The grinning, the giggling, the excited lilt to her voice... She was hot for his bod. Had to be. It was the only thing that made sense. Worst of all, Nick had absolutely no idea what to think of the idea. Sure, he loved Tish, but strictly as a best friend. He'd always thought she was pretty, but it had never even occurred to him to look at her *that* way.

Now she was dragging him out to the shed to have her way with him. She was gonna whip off the blindfold and kiss him right on the mouth, he just knew it. Oh god, if she put his hand up under her shirt, he'd pass out. He was sure of it.

He heard the toolshed door creak open.

The anxious young cheetah shivered and gulped. His mind was getting soupy. 'Okay, here it comes. I'll just back away real quick and tell her I don't think I'm ready for this kind of-

"Nick?" Tish spoke up.

"H-Wha?" His head whipped around, trying to pinpoint her, trying to figure out where to run. His nose wrinkled as he caught a whiff of something rotten. Why the hell would she wanna come out _here_ to fool around anyway? It smelled like something had died in here...

"Nick, are you ready?" she asked, sounding uncertain. Her cheetah friend looked like he was on the verge of seriously freaking out.

"Uh, uh, uh... I guess," he stuttered, feeling hot sweat pour down his forehead.

Tish reached up to untie the blindfold.

Nick closed his eyes and puckered up.

Max laughed. "Geez, I didn't think you'd be *that* glad to see me!"

The voice sent an electric shock straight through Nick Chainsaw to the concrete floor he was standing on. His brain did a somersault inside his skull. He did not dare open his eyes. In a heartbeat, he'd gone from worrying about love to worrying he was going insane. It couldn't be. He could not possibly have heard that voice. His eyes seemed to be glued shut. His heart jackhammered. He couldn't move.

"Nick!?" Tish yelped, frightened for him. "Please, it's okay! Everything's okay!"

Somehow, Nick opened his eyes.

A corpse was standing there across the room from him. Max's dead body was standing there *looking* at him. *Smiling* at him.

So that's what that smell was.

Nick uttered a throaty burble and backed up faster than a cornered rat, trying to reach the door and run as far away as fucking possible. Instead, he slammed up against the side of the shed and the whole thing creaked and shook. Old paint cans rattled. The young cheetah's eyes glistened with fear. His mouth was open and in his mind he was screaming, but his throat could not produce a single sound.

Max's smile died. He and Tish had tried to think of all the possible outcomes of this meeting, and unfortunately, they both knew that this one was probably the most likely. It was also the one Max had hoped for the least. Nick had been his best friend since forever. He didn't want that to change. He didn't want his best friend to fear him. 'I'm the same guy I always was, Nick. My body's just different now. Please, try to understand that...'

Tish watched Nick's reaction. And then she watched Max's. And then she looked back at Nick.

And then she hauled off and belted the young cheetah across the mouth.

"Jesus Tapdancing Christ, Tish!!" Max hollered. "What the fuck was that for!?"

Tish was already kneeling on the floor beside Nick. She put an arm around his shoulders and turned his face towards her. Good; his lip wasn't bleeding. She hadn't meant to hurt him, only to snap him out of it. "Nick? Come on. I'm sorry. Say something. Please, Nick?"

Nick turned his eyes to her, looking like a bewildered goldfish. "D-dead," he husked.

"Yeah. No shit, Sherlock."

Mind boggling from her indifferent response, Nick stared up into her face. She certainly didn't seem scared. In fact, she was giving him a severe 'don't be a baby' look. "But... What the..."

"Look at him, Nick. Look at Max right now. Do it!" Tish took her friend's head in her paws and firmly but gently forced it in the right direction.

Max stood there, slouching, looking sheepish. He gave Nick a weak little wave. "Hi, bro..."

Nick blinked. The fuzziness started clearing off of his mind. His panic was starting to ebb. He was regaining the ability to think clearly again. "Max?"

The young coyote nodded. "Uh huh. Sorry if I stink a bit. I've only been back above ground a couple days now."

Despite himself, Nick laughed. More of a hiccup, really.

Tish helped the dazed feline to his feet. "You're not gonna go all 'eek-a-zombie' on me again, are you?" she asked carefully.

He shook his head. "I g-guess not..." And here he'd been thinking all this was about smooching! Damn his hormones!

Tish softly patted his cheek, smoothing out his fur with a pained look in her eyes. "I'm really sorry I hit you, Nick. I just didn't want you to start screaming or do something stupid. Mom and Dad have no idea he's out here. And yes, he's the same old Max. Nothing's changed but his appearance. Just think of it like he's got some kinda weird medical condition or something."

Nick weakly nodded. He looked over at Max, who was still smiling shyly at him. Those eyes were not blank and mindless, not a stare of dumb monstrosity. Those eyes said, 'We used to be best friends, Nick. That's how I want it to be again'.

"You're... You're really okay, Max?"

He nodded. "Mostly."

"And you're not gonna eat my brain, right?"

Max scoffed. "Naw. It'd take me hours just to find it!"

Finally, Nick was convinced. He grinned. He'd seen a lot of movie zombies too, but never one with a sense of humor.

To Max, seeing Nick smile was just about the best feeling in the world. He put out his paw for a handshake.

Nick ran over, his fear forgotten, his joy at seeing his best friend alive again finally leaping to the front of his heart. The sadness was over. He didn't have to miss him anymore. He didn't have to cry anymore. He slammed his paw into Max's and gave a hearty pump.

Something went *crunch*.

Both Max and Nick looked stricken. They stared into each other's eyes for an eternal moment, knowing something had just gone very, very wrong, and neither one wanted to be the first to realize it.

Tish solved the dilemma for them by shouting, "Oh, GROSS!!!"

Max finally looked down and just about lost his grip on reality. He felt seasick. In his enthusiasm, Nick had shook his hand so hard it had snapped almost completely off. It had split right along the wrist. Max could see bones hanging out of one end amid the torn fringes of fur. A thin band of skin like a wet noodle was all that was keeping the two parts held together.

Nick looked down and immediately let go of the dead thing in his paw. He made a choking, gurgling noise. Eyes bulging, he clamped his paws over his mouth and desperately forced back vomit.

Upon Nick letting go, gravity took hold of Max's right paw and finished the job. The dead appendage swung down and tore off easily, landing with a muffled clatter on the floor below.

"I'm gonna be sick!!" Nick wailed, backing up rapidly.

Despite wanting to burst out yowling at the top of his lungs, Max put forth an extraordinary effort to keep his cool. Slowly, slowly, he bent down and picked up his paw. It felt like a dead pigeon. He held it up, side by side with his new stump, and stared at them both. There was no pain, but that only made everything seem more unreal.

"Oh crap oh crap oh Max I am so _sorry_!" sputtered Nick. "Please don't kill me!"

"Just cool down, man," Max said, his voice wavering like an echo, his mind floating a hundred miles away.

Still partly stunned, Tish walked closer and stood by her brother. "It doesn't hurt, right?"

Max shook his head. "Uh-uh."

"Do you think you could, y'know, put it back on?" she suggested.

Max brightened slightly, feeling a bit of hope. That actually sounded quite possible. "Good idea, sis." He carefully placed both halves of his ripped wrist together and pressed.

But when he loosened his fingers, the hand slipped out of his grip and went skidding across the floor again. It was like trying to balance an egg on an apple. Whimpering, Max stared at his stump. "This sucks..."

Looking heartbreakingly pitiful, Nick stepped closer. "Max, I-"

Max put his remaining paw on his best friend's shoulder. "Dude, don't worry. It's not your fault. No hard feelings. It probably woulda happened sooner or later anyway."

Nick mewled. "Still, your hand..."

"I know," Max shrugged. He grinned. "And that was the one I jerked off with too, darnit."

Feeling a whirlpool of emotions, Nick reached out and hugged his best friend. "I'm still sorry," he said softly.

Max patted him on the back. "I'd rather have a friend like you than two hands anyway."

Tish was about to tell Max what a sweet sentiment that was, when *something* started happening to her brother's stump. Aghast, she shouted, "Max! Look! What IS that?!"

Startled, Max held up his wrist for all to see. He grimaced in confusion and disgust.

Something green was oozing out of his exposed flesh. This was nothing like blood, not even the sluggish black stuff that had come out of him the day before. This stuff was like foam. A sick yellow-green, like contaminated snot. It smelled of decay.

"Pus!" exclaimed Nick.

But Max didn't think it was pus. For one thing, it sure as hell wasn't acting like pus. This stuff was growing, pouring out of his wrist like whipped cream. And as more of it hit the air, it started to solidify.

"What's happening, Max?" Tish asked fearfully.

"I have no idea," Max stated truthfully. "It doesn't hurt though. Just kinda tingles. Like my dandruff shampoo." Then he noticed the ragged edges of his skin where his paw had been torn from; they were starting to curl forward again and stick to the green stuff. Max dared to hope he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

The foam was swelling, spreading out into a small, ovoid blob. The surface of the mass was starting to thicken, like the skin of a balloon.

Tish gaped in wonder. "Max, I think it's..."

"Shh!" He didn't want to jinx it.

Nick didn't say a word.

The smell got worse, like rotten eggs and maggots. The blob on the end of Max's wrist puffed up to the size of a baseball. Then it started to grow lumps. Five lumps. The lumps grew and lengthened. The skin tightened and hardened, looking now like a half-inflated latex glove. Fur began to sprout near the bottom, then slowly spread upwards and around. Inside the mass, the foam started solidifying, growing dense and hard in some places, stretchy and strong in others. Its color changed from green to a pale red.

Max was grinning like mad in relief and amazement.

Within a minute, he had a brand new paw.

He gave the fingers a wiggle. They smarted a bit and they were still tender, but at least he could move them. The fur was getting thicker now, covering up all the pink flesh. The smell went away completely. And then it was like nothing had happened at all.

"That was sweet as hell!" Nick finally burst out.

Both coyotes laughed with relief. Max gave Nick a macho hug. "Dude! I totally have to thank you now! I never would've realized I could do that without you!"

Tish was too amazed to say a thing. She'd been shocked silent, watching the green mass pulse and ooze and shape itself into a new hand for her brother. She had seen _nothing_ about this in Grandma's spell!

Max gave his new paw another tentative flex and this time everything felt perfectly A-OK. He stared at his regrown appendage. As if just being alive again wasn't enough, now he'd been a part of a second miracle!

He looked down at the floor and scanned around a bit before spotting his old paw. He picked it up. It was already starting to fester around the edges of the wound.

Tish stuck her tongue out. "Eew. What're you gonna do with that now?"

Max merely looked at her, and she suddenly knew.

"You can't be serious," she said flatly.

"What, what?" asked Nick. They were doing that telepathy thing that creeped him out again.

Max shrugged in a 'what else am I supposed to do?' kind of way. Looking like he was readying himself to jump into a giant pile of manure, he squinched his eyes shut and tipped his head back. He opened his mouth as wide as it would go. He lifted up the amputated paw...

"Oh, _hell_ no," said Nick, unable to draw his gaze away.

*GULP*

Max looked more than a little queasy.

"How'd it taste?" Tish kidded facetiously.

"Not very good," he understated. "But hey, you're always talking about the importance of recycling, right?"

Nick looked back and forth between the two of them. "You know, I just realized something..."

"What?" the coyotes asked in stereo.

"If it was anyone else but you guys, I'd think I was losing my mind right now," he deadpanned.

Laughing, Tish gave him a noogie.

Max grinned. Nick was their best friend again.


	~***~


-CHAPTER TWENTY THREE-

Nick asked if he could stay for dinner that evening and Martina agreed, though not without some small concern. He had the same look on his face now that Tish had. Effervescent, excited, much happier than normal. They were holding a secret from her now, she was sure of it.

Nick and Tish cleared their plates at lightning speed, then ran straight back out to the toolshed again. And when she thought she wasn't being watched, Tish had snuck back inside to take all the leftover porkchops with her. Martina had watched her from the stairwell, her tail curled worriedly.

Now she stood by the bedroom window, staring down at the soft glow emanating from the cracks in the walls of the old toolshed. Every now and then, the summer breeze brought with it a small snatch of wild laughter.

She heard soft footfalls behind her. "Carlos..."

He came up behind her and put his paws upon her shoulders, beginning to massage them. He murred questioningly: 'penny for your thoughts.'

"I'm worried about Tish."

Carlos nodded solemnly. "And why is that, my love?" Knowing, but asking anyway, so she would be able to release her hidden fears to him.

"She's been out in that shed constantly. Ever since Sunday morning. I don't think she's been in the house more than fifteen minutes since then. She's hiding something from me. I know she looks happy and I know it shouldn't bother me, but it does. I'm her mother. I always felt like Tish and I could talk about anything together. I guess..." She sighed, worried she would sound selfish. "I guess I'm worried that one day she'll become one of those teenagers who acts like it's torture to acknowledge her parents' existence."

The big paws kneaded slowly, pressing deeply but softly into her tense flesh. "Whatever she's hiding, I think she will tell us eventually. Soon," he stated softly.

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm not," he replied straightaway. "But call it a guess. Whatever her secret is, it's a happy one. But it's also one she thinks we won't approve of. Maybe she thinks we won't understand, that we'll try to take it away from her, whatever it is. But eventually she will come to us and tell us. I want to believe she has faith in us. That she'll know her happiness is important enough that we won't mind bending a rule or two for her."

Martina leaned back against him silently. Just feeling their bodies press lightly together, hearing their clothes rustle. She reached up to run her paws up and down his strong arms. "You don't think she and Nick are making out in there, do you?" She knew that wasn't the case anyway, she only wanted to get the question out in the open. To ask it, so they could discard it.

Carlos shook his head immediately. "No. Not yet at least," he added with a smile.

She smiled too. Someday, she thought, Tish and Nick were destined for couplehood. And she had always imagined Max would be the best man at their wedding...

"You want to know what I think?" Carlos asked.

She angled her head up to nuzzle his throat. "What?"

"I think there's something living out there. You've noticed her talking leftovers out there, haven't you?" She nodded. "I think she discovered an animal hiding in there and has made it her pet. A rabbit, perhaps. Maybe even a nonev coyote. Wouldn't that be poetic?"

Martina 'hmm'ed. The theory did seem to fit the facts.

"With Max gone, she needs an outlet for all the love she used to share with him," Carlos said, his voice cracking slightly. "Hopefully, she has found someone to take care of and hold and talk to. Like her dolls when she was little. And yet she worries we won't understand. That whatever it is, we'll drive it off. But I think there are a thousand and one worse ways of expressing grief. She has not turned to destruction, but compassion. I'm proud of her."

His voice had begun to waver badly, and she could hear tears in it. Her rock, her mountain, was quietly cracking. He had always been stoic. It came naturally to him, and she loved it dearly about him. He was mysterious and wise and alluring, but never without emotion. And now, it was simply time to put aside that persona for a while. To break down. To let it flow. And she loved that about him too.

Turning around, she looked deep into her husband's golden eyes. "I miss our son."

He clutched her softly to his broad chest, lying his muzzle across her shoulder, his face in her hair. "Me too, my love. I would do anything to hold him in my arms once more."

And since they could not, they held one another. And together, they cried.


	~***~


-CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR-

For Tish, Max and Nick, the next few days passed uneventfully. Mostly.

Nick came over and spent time in the toolshed as often as possible. Whenever he could, he also brought over protein-rich leftovers from his house. He knew for certain Max loved his mom's beef stroganoff, so he made a special effort to get hold of a bunch of it. When he delivered it out to the shed, he watched with a grin as Max devoured the entire pan the second after he'd gotten a good whiff of it. Max had thanked him extensively and told him to pass on some of that gratitude to his parents too. Nick promised he would.

For Tish, it was becoming increasingly difficult to hide her toolshed excursions and meat-snatching from her parents. They seemed to have at least figured out that *something* was going on out there. They gave her knowing looks at dinner and asked her subtly loaded questions, trying to trip her up. But their interrogation efforts were unusually mild, and Tish eventually came to realize that they trusted her to tell them her secret when she was ready. That made her both happy and sad. Happy that her parents had such faith in her, but sad that she'd probably *never* be ready to tell them. She knew she was being chicken. She knew she should just be brave and introduce them to Max and deal with the consequences. But something forced her back every time she tried. Partly it was knowing she could get in _serious_ trouble for this, but mostly it was worry for Max. If they couldn't accept him as he was now, it would break his heart. Sure, they'd had success with Nick, but Nick was just a kid like them. Kids are just naturally more able to accept impossible stuff. Grownups are different. They live exclusively in reality and are uncomfortable when the weird and unexplainable come knocking on their door. The reality was, Tish knew, that she'd procrastinate and procrastinate until eventually one of them would discover Max on their own. The outcome would probably be even worse then, but she had no idea what in the world she *could* say to break it to them gently. She watched her mother and father grieve the loss of their son, and yet he was only a hundred feet away, missing them too. Tish knew something had to happen soon. She only hoped it wouldn't end in chaos.

For Max, the novelty of being a zombie had quickly melted away under the sheer weight of the boredom of his new life. When Tish and Nick came around, they had a blast. They talked about all sortsa stuff, read comics together, played games. Mostly they reminisced about old times, back when all three of them were still alive. It was like they were rediscovering their friendship and what made it work, and Max liked that. By looking to the past and reliving some of their happiest moments, they were strengthening their friendship now. Like cementing up the cracks in a long-standing foundation to keep it strong forever.

But when they were gone, Max was bored out of his skull. He read voraciously, since there was really nothing else to do in the daytime when Mom or Dad might spot him running around in the backyard (a fact he'd become belatedly aware of since last Sunday). He ended up polishing off three paperbacks he'd started but never finished, and reading four more cover-to-cover in single sittings. So, to some extent, he was partially grateful for all the spare time. Whenever he found himself grumbling about how bored he was, he reminded himself of how great it felt to come to the last page of a good book. And then he would start to read again.

But when night fell and Tish went off to bed, Max's day had just begun.

It was something he had decided firmly not to tell Tish about. She'd only worry about him and try to help him. He loved her for that, but she also kinda had a thing where she just HAD to solve every problem put in front of her or she'd get pissed off. This was something he had to do on his own. This was a part of who he was now, and it was private.

When darkness fell and covered their town, Max came out to hunt. He truly appreciated Tish and Nick's effort to keep him fed on leftovers, but he just couldn't bring himself to tell them it wasn't anywhere near enough. His body was rotting worse than either of them realized, and it was happening at a faster rate every day. On Thursday, he tripped over the stool in the shed and his left foot had snapped right off. This time, luckily, he was able to force it back on. Though it seemed a little wobbly for a few hours afterwards. His tail had fallen off twice already. His green eye kept rolling out unexpectedly. And he'd probably lost all of his fingers and toes at least once each. (There seemed to be no logic to whether something could be reattached or whether it would have to be regrown. The outcome was about fifty-fifty either way)

He'd even found a way to turn his collapsibility into a game. Once he'd asked Tish to pull his finger. She had done so grudgingly, expecting a fart, and instead it had come right off in her paw. She went 'eeeew' and threw it at him while he fell over in the wheelbarrow laughing.

The simple fact was, he was dead, and dead things rot. He was rotting away just like any other piece of meat left out in the sun too long. And the only way to slow the process was to eat more meat. Lots and lots of it. Tons of it. Every night, Max snuck out and canvassed the town. His sense of smell had always been pretty impressive (what with being a canine and all), but now it had developed into something downright supernatural. He could smell a porkchop in a trash can from more than a mile away. The tiniest trace of blood, he could ferret out and lap at eagerly.

He sought out dead things. He crammed deceased insects into his mouth by the handfuls, avoiding eating live ones unless absolutely necessary. Not because he thought it was gross (which it was), but because he truly hated the thought of killing any living thing, no matter how small.

The first time he had encountered roadkill, he had gulped and knew he would not be able to resist it. It was a dead cat. Somebody's pet. Poor Fluffy would never receive a decent burial because he was destined to end up in Max's tummy. The reluctant little zombie had stood there by the side of the road, kneeling by the dead cat for almost fifteen minutes. Just thinking about what this poor animal's life might have been like. Who had cared for him? Who had loved him? Who would miss him?

The bugs crawling on the cat's carcass produced the only sound it gave in reply.

A car came charging up the road and Max ducked swiftly out of sight behind a bush, wondering what the hell was so important that the asshole had been going so fast at three-fifteen in the morning.

He came back out of hiding and faced the cat again. He knew he could never do this if he thought about it too much, so he simply closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let the scent of flesh and blood fill his nostrils.

Suddenly he found himself crouched on the road, cramming the dead cat into his mouth as if it were struggling to get away. He barely bothered to chew. His hunger had taken over completely, leaving his brain with only the barest primal instructions. The taste of fur and meat and filth and decay filled Max's mouth, and he loved it.

Afterwards, he patted his stomach and was almost ashamed of how satisfied he felt.

He went off in search of more.

From then on, Max prowled the highways and byways. Sure, supermarket dumpsters and regular trash bags often contained lots of nummy bloody treats, but the city's roads were like one colossal outdoor buffet, all laid out for him free of charge. The weather was hot every day and it was a virtual dead critter bonanza. Max scarfed squirrels, chewed up chipmunks, ate rabbits and raccoons ravenously, fed on foxes and put away plenty of 'possums. He even found a mostly picked-over but still edible deer carcass once.

The highway department started wondering who in the hell was doing their job for them. And *why*!?

Max's most difficult meal came to him Friday night when he discovered the corpse of a nonev coyote on a stretch of interstate. She lay there pitifully; her body was smeared almost to unrecognizability, but her face was still unmarred. She looked up to him silently with her puffy black eyes. Max was in tears. He knew he had to eat her. He knew if he didn't, he'd rot away to nothing. But still, he cried. This was his ancestor, his spiritual link to the eras of the past before his kind walked on two legs. He knelt beside her and made his mind a blank. Twenty minutes later, the other coyote was completely gone. And Max was running back home in tears.

He thanked her as he ran, as he had thanked all of the dead animals that had provided him with nourishment. Every time he had fed, he'd said a small prayer for his meals. He begged their forgiveness for disturbing their rest. He wished them happiness in heaven, and pledged to do something nice for them in return if they ever met in the afterlife someday. It might have been just a bunch of nothing, but it did make him feel a little bit better.

Saturday morning, just as dawn was breaking, Max stopped to devour a squirrel he'd seen laying in the gutter a few blocks from his house. It was fairly fresh, devoid of maggots, and tasted pretty good, considering.

When the small corpse was almost halfway gone, the legs dangling comically out of his mouth, Max glanced up and saw he was being watched. A little girl, a vixen, no more than six years old, was giving him a reproachful glare from the seat of her Big Wheel across the street.

"You're gross," she said austerely.

Max shrugged. 'I don't really have much of a choice,' he replied with his expression.

The vixen regarded him a few moments more, seeming to decide that this shambling mockery of life was more pitiful than dangerous, and rode off without saying another word.


	~***~


-CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE-

Saturday was grocery day. Tish waved to her dad as she hopped up into the car beside Mom. Mom reminded her to buckle up, and Tish did. She wasn't exactly sure how she could convince her mother to buy all the jerky and pork rinds and other stuff Max wanted, but she knew she'd find a way. Max was depending on her, after all.

She and Mom had been going shopping together on Saturday mornings like this for as long as Tish could remember. It was a time-honored ritual. It was like the kickoff festivities for the start of the weekend. Every now and then, Tish would glance at the little plastic seat and the square legholes on their cart and think, 'Was I ever really small enough to fit in that thing?'

They had a system. As soon as they were through the doors, Mom headed for produce while Tish ran and got the hotdogs and lunchmeat. Today, she grabbed an extra few packages of the hard salami Max liked. She thought maybe she could tell Mom she'd been having weird food cravings and claim it was part of her natural grieving process. Yeah, that might fly. Who could say no to a grieving kid? Mom gave her a slight curious look when she came back, but said nothing about it.

The food safari progressed as normally as could be expected. Mom got that frozen vegetable blend Tish secretly detested. Bread was buy one get one free. And to Tish's surprise, beef jerky was on sale too. So she tossed four packages in the cart when Mom wasn't looking.

Abruptly, Tish found herself thinking about her father. He was sitting home all by himself right now, and that made her a little sad. Usually, Mom and Tish went to the supermarket and Max stayed home with Dad. They did something together every Saturday, but Max would never tell what it was. 'Secret man-stuff,' he'd said. That probably just meant they watched TV or burped or something. But whatever it was, they always seemed happy when they came out later to help the womenfolk bring the bags inside. They smiled at each other a lot, the same way she and Mom smiled at each other on the way home from the store. Sometimes, even doing little things, it's nice to spend time with someone you love.

But now Dad was sitting home all alone.

Tish's head was full of thoughts and she wasn't really in the supermarket anymore. Her eyes registered the aisles and displays, but they were just dreams to her.

Then suddenly, like a splash of hot coffee in her face, Tish found herself face to face with Eddie Schwartzman again.

He grinned.

Tish gulped. "Oh! Um, hey..." Shit! This was the second time he'd interrupted one of her thoughtful moments. What a jerk!

"Hi Tish," he said pleasantly. Or at least as pleasantly as he could. His smile was slimy as a dead fish.

Eddie's mom was just up ahead, comparing antibacterial sprays. Mrs. Lopez came around the corner just then and the two women instantly eyed each other like cats. They stiffened and bristled, their mouths drawing in to fierce lines.

The Lopezes and Schwartzmans only occasionally crossed paths at the supermarket. They each knew each other's usual shopping days and tried to avoid them if they could. The tension in the air as they passed was thick as cream cheese. Some customers in nearby aisles actually shivered, as if a freezing wind had tapped them on the shoulder.

Just as the cubs were too busy staring down each other to notice the adults, the adults likewise barely noticed the kids.

Martina pushed her cart slowly, guardedly forward. She kept her eyes on Mrs. Schwartzman the entire time. The immaculately coiffed white mouse was dressed today in a rich burgundy blouse & skirt combo that would have taken Martina weeks to save up for. In contrast, Martina herself was in jeans and one of Carlos' plaid shirts.

The womens' eyes were locked onto each other like laser beams. Neither of them said a word. They didn't need to. Their hate for each other was well-established. There was no need to make a big, uncivilized scene right here in public.

Wordlessly, Mrs. Schwartzman said, 'You're nothing but garbage, Martina, and your daughter is too'.

Wordlessly, Mrs. Lopez replied, 'All the money in the world couldn't give you a heart and soul, Naomi'.

The children, however, had much to say.

Eddie smiled. He'd caught Tish off guard and was happy about that. He spoke to her low and soft and congenially. What he said was, "You're gonna keep out of my sight, bitch."

Tish forced down the urge to slam him to the ground and stomp on his crotch. Repeatedly.

Eddie continued, still keeping his tone quiet and friendly. Anyone passing close by would have thought they were having a nice little chat. "I'm gonna have a real nice summer vacation, and I don't wanna see you at any point during it. Okay? If you see me, walk the other way. I don't care what you're doing, you just get the fuck away from me. Instantly. You got that?"

Tish glared at him with such utter hate and contempt that a lesser soul might have evacuated in their drawers. "And why, exactly, do I have to do anything you tell me to?"

The fat little mouse's grin got bigger. "Because, Tish," he said, as if calmly explaining something to a retarded person, "you hit me last time. You humiliated me, and I didn't like that. My dad didn't like it either. And he especially didn't like you getting off so easy. If he was the principal, you wouldn't have just gotten expelled; your filthy, scrawny ass would've wound up in jail where you belong."

"Yeah?" Tish said, feigning yawning, as if he were no more intimidating than an ant. "Good thing he isn't then."

Eddie nodded. "That's right. But he does have more money than your whole family will ever see in your lives. And if you come near me again, he'll sue you," he said smugly.

"Bullshit," Tish shot back instantly.

Eddie shook his head. "Wrong. He can do it. And he will, the second I give the word. He'll sue your dad for not keeping his rabid bitch daughter on a leash. I'll say you're dangerous, that you tried to do all sorts of nasty shit to me. I'll lie my ass off. And you know what? Everyone will believe me, and no one will believe you. You're fucked, Tish. If you had any balls, I'd have them in the palm of my hand right now."

Tish smirked mellowly. "Oh, I'm sure you know *lots* about having guys' balls in your hand, Eddie. Probably in your mouth, too."

Eddie flinched, his greasy smile turning into an even uglier scowl, but only for a second. Then that disgusting, hideous grin was back, and Tish wanted to punch all his teeth down his throat just so she wouldn't have to look at it anymore. "Shut your mouth, you dumb cunt," he said sweetly.

"You like talking like a grownup, huh?" Tish asked nonchalantly. "You overhear your dad call your mom that?"

Eddie narrowed his eyes. "I mean it. You shut your mouth and you stay the hell away from me. My dad will take away everything you have. He'll take your money, your car, your house, everything. Your whole fucking family's gonna end up living on the streets. You'll be eating out of dumpsters and sleeping on cardboard. Like vermin. And you'll probably all get sick or die of starvation. And hey, then you can all have a happy ending, burning in Hell forever with your stupid dead brother."

Something in Tish rattled, like a cog bursting free of a grinding machine. 'Don't you dare, you piece of shit. Don't you dare talk about Max like that.'

Eddie laughed. "I mean, really, how fucking dumb do you have to be to get hit by a train anyways? What, did he not understand the concept of 'taking one step sideways'?"

Tish's fist twitched. It so badly wanted to lash out and hit Eddie and just keep on hitting him until he could never say another word ever again. Just pulverize that mouth of his to a bloody pulp. But that would not only be suicide, it would be doing exactly what the fat little bastard wanted.

Taking deep breaths and never taking her eyes off of him, Tish backed up slowly. She wanted to say something glib, something witty. Something that would trump all his bullshit. But instead, all that came out was a whimpered, "Why the hell aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

For just a second, Eddie's false cheerfulness dropped, and he let her see his real face. The face of a kid who tears the legs off bugs for yuks. The face of a kid who picks on smaller, weaker children because nothing in the world makes him happier than seeing their terrified expressions. The face of a kid who relishes the power than can be gained from obliterating all traces of mercy and compassion and generosity from one's heart. The face of a kid who will, in high school, seek out anyone the slightest bit different from societal norms and beat the shit out of them with several large, cruel friends for being a 'faggot'. Who, in college, will rape a classmate, or two, or three, and then use his money to keep them all quiet. Who, as an adult, will take great glee in climbing the corporate ladder, putting himself as high as possible over a vast network of employees, then systematically and sadistically causing them all as much misery as possible, just like shaking up an ant farm. The face of a furson to whom money, power and sex mean _nothing_ in comparison to the joyous ability to cause suffering.

"Because I have no reason to be," he replied calmly.

Tish finally realized just how scared of him she truly was. And that he absolutely meant it about destroying her life and the lives of her parents. He saw it all as just a big game. She had tipped him too far, and now she had to pay for it.

Hurriedly, she darted out of the aisle and ran to her mother.


	~***~


-CHAPTER TWENTY SIX-

Max nearly tossed his comic book across the room as the shed door exploded open and Tish stomped in, angrier than he had ever seen her before. And that was really saying something.

Tish pointed right at him. "Dead boy, it's time for you to earn your keep."

"Th' fuck?" he asked, puzzled and frightened.

She smiled thinly, cruelly, madly. Her smile let him know he was not the target of her anger, but for whom it was there would be no escaping her wrath. "Max, it is time for us to get REVENGE."

And Max suddenly knew exactly who, and how, and why. Just like sometimes he always 'just knew' things his sister wanted him to know, and she 'just knew' things about him too.

He grinned. "When?"

She growled. "Tonight."


	~***~


-CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN-

Nick had come over that afternoon and had been informed of the twins' plan. While he was initially enthusiastic about it, especially considering who the target was, the details of it made him increasingly uneasy the more he heard about them. They could go to prison for this, he'd said.

Tish gave him a look like he was the biggest pussy on earth. "What's more important; not taking risks, or vanquishing the forces of evil?"

So now he found himself up a tree in the Schwartzman's backyard with binoculars planted in front of his face. The moon was high and to his right. He'd lied to his mom about sleeping over at the Lopez's house and he was up way past his bedtime already. He felt like a criminal.

"I feel like a criminal," he said into his walkie-talkie.

"Don't feel like a criminal, feel like a commando!" Tish ordered sternly through the static. Somehow she had adopted this weird military general persona that, frankly, gave him the creeps. "What we're doing is for the good of all furkind, son."

"How can I be your son when we're the same age?" he quipped.

"Oh, go sit on a bird's nest, Nick. We're sposto be having fun here!" she barked.

"I know I am!" Max piped up, cheerful as ever. Nick brushed a branch aside and could see him and Tish hiding behind the Schwartzman's garage. The eager little zombie waved to him.

"Besides," Tish continued, with a little more understanding, "we're only going to get in trouble if we get caught. And we're not _gonna_ get caught. If this works, either Eddie never says a word about it and we never hear from him again, or he blabs to everybody and they lock him up in the nut house. Remember, he's not gonna see either of _us_."

"Understood," Nick grumbled. But his tail was still twitching anxiously.

"That's why you're the lookout, bro," Max added. "We gave you the least risky job so if things fuck up, you can just run off and say you had no idea what was going on. Seriously, I'm really glad you decided to go along with this. I feel better knowing you've got my back. Thank you. You're a good friend."

Nick smiled. "You're welcome." And he did feel a little better now. Bizarre as it was, here he was talking to an actual zombie, and while trespassing on private property to boot, yet somewhere deep inside, he knew he wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world right now. This was just like old times. Like all the other crazy adventures the three of them had gotten up to together. Only bigger and bolder and more dangerous this time. The mother of all pranks. And true, while Tish and Max had almost always had to drag him into things like this, he always ended up having a great time. He knew he'd probably never do anything this exciting again for the rest of his life.

"Way to boost morale, soldier!" Tish told Max cheerfully over the three-way connection. They all chuckled a bit.

"Can you see what they're doing?" she asked Nick.

He picked up his binoculars again and scanned the windows. Easy to do, since the big house had so many of them. "Eddie's in his room. His mom and dad are downstairs, watching TV. No, wait... his dad's getting up. Okay, just going to take a whiz. You'll be clear in a few minutes. Just promise me you'll do this as quiet as possible."

"No, we're gonna break down the door with a battering ram and run in waving Chinese firecrackers," Tish deadpanned.

Max snorted.

Nick giggled a bit too. "You know what I mean. And don't worry; I can see everything from here and I'll warn you if anyone does _anything_."

"Damn, this feels like one of those spy movies!" Max said excitedly.

"Hey, Eddie's doing something..." Nick whispered. He leaned a little closer, watching the pudgy rodent magnified through the round black lenses.

"What?" Tish and Max both asked.

Nick winced. "Eeew! He's changing into his pajamas, and I saw his ass for a second!"

Tish laughed her tail off. "Gross! I bet it blocked out your whole view!"

"Yeah, it was pretty big. Like a giant marshmallow!"

The two coyotes giggled like idiots for a few moments.

Nick perked up suddenly. "Shit! He's heading for the bathroom! Now! You've gotta go now!!"

He heard the snap of Tish pulling on latex gloves. She wasn't about to leave any pawprints. "Okay. Here we go. I'm keeping the walkie-talkie, so Max is kinda on his own."

"Wish me luck," said Max.

"Tons of it," said Nick. "Both of you. Don't get caught."

"We won't," Tish assured.

Then Nick watched the two dark figures streak across the lawn to the Schwartzman's back porch. The glass patio doors were unlocked, as they'd made sure of beforehand (no one seemed to lock anything in this neighborhood), and the twins both slipped in silently.

Nick kept the binoculars glued to his face. His jaw was set in a permanent nervous clench. He had never before been more scared for his friends' safety.

But Max was right. This did feel like one of those spy movies. And how cool was that?


	~***~


-CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT-

Like a good boy, Eddie brushed his teeth every night before going to bed. It was, quite possibly, his only decent quality.

He stood at the sink admiring himself as he went about his nightly routine. He thought he looked great. Snow-white fur. Perfect whiskers. Handsome brown eyes instead of that freaky pink most white mice had. His cousin was the only true albino in the family, and Eddie couldn't stand looking at her when she came over to visit. Those pink eyes creeped him the fuck out. They looked like vampire eyes or something.

He finished up, spat into the sink, and flashed a big grin at himself in the mirror. His dark pajamas looked just like a little suit. He could see himself taking over Dad's business someday. He thought about how much fun it was gonna be to fire people.

"Clean out your desk and get the hell out of here by three o' clock!!" he playfully snarled at his reflection. He laughed; he thought he'd done that pretty good.

He flicked off the light and closed the door. The plush hallway carpet felt nice on his bare feet. He padded over to the top of the stairs and shouted down, "Goodnight, Mom! Goodnight, Dad! Goin' to bed now!!"

They mumbled some goodnights at him and he made a face. They were probably down there sitting on the couch in front of the TV kissing again. God, he hated that. They just looked so fucking gross when they did it.

He thought about what that bitch Tish had said in the supermarket this morning, accusing his dad of swearing at his mom. Heh, she had no idea how backwards she'd gotten it. He hardly *ever* saw his mom and dad fight. And even then it was controlled and quiet. No screaming or cursing or hitting like some of the fucked-up couples he saw sometimes on TV talk shows. No, his parents hugged and kissed and talked baby talk at each other constantly. Their fighting was reserved for everyone *else* around them. Everyone who didn't *matter*.

And it wasn't even really fighting then. It was more like playing. They had fun passive-aggressively tormenting people at work, and especially the dumb maid who came in Sundays and Tuesdays. Eddie wondered what Mom had planned for her tomorrow. One of her favorite games was to make a huge mess right in front of the stupid woman and pretend it had been an accident, then watch, smiling, as she had to clean it up. The maid was fun because she always took the abuse without saying a word. She was the perfect punching bag. One time Eddie had spilled a plate of spaghetti down the white-carpeted stairs and then stood at the bottom watching her try to scrub out the stains. Her big fat ass bouncing around back and forth was so funny, he'd had to leave the room and go outside to laugh hysterically at her.

Yeah, he'd try to think up something special for tomorrow when she came.

Thus filled with happy thoughts, he toddled off to his room.

It was a big room, just like all the other rooms in the house. Theirs was the biggest and nicest one in the whole neighborhood, and since this was the nicest neighborhood in town, it wouldn't be boasting to say they probably had the nicest house in the whole city.

Everything was elegant and grand. Mom liked that word, 'grand'. She used it a lot. Especially when talking to clients. She said there were a lot of words everyday people didn't use, and that language was one of the ways you could show yourself to be better than other people. Eddie kept that in mind and always did his best to improve his vocabulary and speak with sophistication.

On the other hand, Dad had remarked once that a well-placed swear could sometimes be used to good effect. It produced a nice, convenient shock. Like if you were talking to some nobody and you were speaking to him nice and soft and graciously, and then you suddenly dropped your voice and called him a fucking cocksucker, sometimes you could really rattle the hell out of the bastard. Eddie remembered that, too.

The pudgy white mouse turned off the lights and crawled into bed. He pulled his sheets over him and kicked his blankets way down at the foot of his bed to rest his paws on, just how he liked. He pulled the sheet up to his chin, lying on his back, and relaxed.

The room was dark now, lit only by moonlight and his tiny firefly collection. That's what he called it; his computer, his stereo, his TV and his DVD player all had tiny little lights that stayed on even when they were turned off. Tiny little red and blue and green dots of light. He liked that. And across from him, on the little table beside his bed, the time floated in red numbers against the blackness. His alarm clock. Little red floating numbers. His room was full of tiny little colored lights.

And then suddenly, they all went off.

Puzzled but not scared, Eddie blinked against the darkness until his eyes adjusted and he could see vague shapes again. There was his dresser, and his desk, and his entertainment center. All of it looking like it was wrapped in dark velvet. That fuzziness that shapes have in low light.

He guessed there might have been a blackout. It seemed a little odd, but not impossible. They usually happened during a bad storm, or when a lot of people were using their air conditioners, but tonight was clear and mild. Maybe someone screwed up at the power plant?

Eddie laid back down, looking up at the ceiling. Wondering when the power would come back on again.

He sniffed.

What was that smell?

He hadn't farted, he knew that. He didn't have any pets. And mom and dad _never_ poked around up here. He would have given them hell if they had. Maybe he left some food sitting out and it spoiled? Maybe. He did keep snacks up here sometimes.

But no, it seemed to be getting stronger, and it wasn't bad food. It was much worse than that. This was like dead animals on the road.

Something made a noise under his bed.

Eddie tensed up immediately.

He felt like an idiot a few moments afterward. There was nothing there. Obviously. He'd gotten over *this* shit when he was little. It was just that the power had gone off and there was a bad smell in here, so he was a little on edge, but so what? It wasn't like-

The noise again. Louder.

Rasping. Scraping.

Oh Jesus Christ something was _under_ there.

What was it? Maybe an animal had gotten in? A mouse? Now wouldn't that be funny. Scared to death of his own tiny little ancestor.

The thing made another noise. It shuffled. It grabbed hold of the bedframe and pulled itself along the floor.

It was a hell of a lot bigger than a mouse.

Eddie was frozen stiff like an icicle. He knew what it was now. Some man had broken in here and was gonna kidnap him and hold him for ransom. Or even worse, maybe it was a pervert who wanted to... To _rape_ him. He didn't even think he could deal with such a disgusting possibility.

And fuck, it was coming closer, and he couldn't move, and there wasn't anything close he could grab to use as a weapon, and that horrible, horrible smell was getting stronger.

Eddie turned his head, and eyes were looking back at him.

It was worse than he ever could have imagined. It was not a mouse or a kidnapper or a child molester. It was a rotting, stinking corpse. And it was staring right at him and smiling.

Eddie felt like some invisible hand had closed around his throat. He tried to scream but it wouldn't let him. "mommy... mommy... daddy..."

"Damn, you're even more pathetic than I remember," The dead thing said. "This is gonna be easy."

Recognition came. A horrible, unspeakable recognition. This could not be real. This was the kind of thing that only happened in stupid horror movies. It was not real. It was just someone in a costume. It was not him.

The corpse tilted its head, as if hearing the mouse's doubts. Slowly, savoring the fear it was inflicting, the dead thing reached out and cupped Eddie's chin in its rotting paw. "Say my name, scumbag. Say it. You know who I am. Say it now, you fuckin' numbnuts."

The smell was unbearable. It was going right up his nose from those dried-out, twiglike fingers, clutching at his face. This was no costume. He had no doubts now. The hand was dead, and so was the creature it belonged to. Eddie trembled like a leaf in the breeze and stared into the eyes of the monster: one dark green, one a sick, cloudy blue.

"Say it."

"M-m-max."

"That's right. Good boy!" the dead thing said, like a trainer praising a pet dog. Its smile was leering, unnaturally gleeful. "And here I thought you'd be happy to see me! I'm disappointed! You told Tish you wished you'd had the chance to dunk my head in a toilet last week. Well, here I am! I assume the bathroom's down the hall. You wanna try it now?"

Eddie shook his head.

"Yeah. I didn't think so." It chuckled at him. "Wuss."

The corpse stood up, still keeping a firm hold on Eddie's chin. With the grace of a jungle cat, it eased itself up onto his bed. It crawled on top of him. Their bodies were separated only by a thin sheet. The corpse sat on his chest, knees at his sides, looking down on him with that unchanging smile, as if about to pass judgement.

"You scream and I'll kill you, Eddie," it said casually.

Eddie nodded.

The dead thing leaned down. Slowly. Closer and closer. Until their noses were nearly touching. It opened its mouth and breathed on him. The foulness of the stench was eclipsed only by the gleam of moonlight off that set of jagged teeth, which were less than an inch away from his face. Those teeth looked like they were eager to sink deeply into him.

"You said some pretty mean things to my sister today, Eddie. Didn't you?"

The fat mouse shook his head. "No, nooo..."

The undead monstrosity smirked. "Oh, come on. I don't like being lied to. You think I clawed my way out of my coffin and dragged my decomposing ass through all that dirt just to listen to you bullshit? Tell the truth, man. Come on, we both know it."

"Okay, allright, you're right. I did. I'm sorry," Eddie managed to say, his voice a high-pitched gobble.

"No you're not," the creature said so swiftly and stingingly, it was like a slap. "You don't feel sorry for anything you do because you're more of a monster than I am. Sure, I'd love to bite into your stomach and suck your guts out while you watch, but at least I'm honest about it."

Eddie pissed his pants.

"Jesus, that's disgusting!" the dead thing yelped as it skittered off of him. But it didn't run away. Instead, it sat down on the bed beside him, almost cuddling. It laid its rotting head down cheek-to-cheek with his. The smell, oh god, the smell. And he could see where its skin was peeling and cracking in places. "Is that your idea of defense, Eddie? Pretty piss-poor if you ask me. Ha! Get it?"

Eddie did not find that at all amusing.

The corpse patted Eddie on the cheek. "So here's the deal. You're going to leave my sister and my family alone. And I mean *forever*. Even if it's your parents that give them shit, you'll be held responsible. And if you ever say another word to Tish, I'll know. And I'll come back. In the morning, your mom and dad will find blood splattered all over the place. Nothing but blood. And it won't be mine, buddy."

Eddie jerked and twitched and shivered and made tiny, desperate sounds in the back of his throat.

The corpse sat up again, looking down on its prey. "I'll be watching, Eddie. All the time. I know it's kinda cliche, but..." It reached up and wedged its fingers into its eye socket. With a twist and a sickening *sklutch* sound, it pulled out its own right eye, the green one, trailing a thick red nerve cluster behind it, leaving the blue-and-white one still staring unblinkingly at him. "...I've got my _eye_ on you." The corpse grinned, and popped the sticky orb right into Eddie's wide open mouth.

Had the young mouse been able to, he would have screamed and screamed until his lungs ached and there was blood in his throat. But that invisible hand still would not let go. With all his will, he forced himself not to think about the taste of the soft, round thing that had been poked between his lips.

The corpse slid down off the bed and stood up. "I think that's all. Gotta get back to the cemetery now. You can keep that," it said, pointing to what it had left behind. "One's enough for me. Think of it as a farewell gift. And, one more time, are we clear about what I told you?"

Eddie nodded. Hoping ardently that maybe if he just agreed, this thing would go away and leave him alone. He spat the eyeball out and it rolled down his cheek, leaving a drool-trail. "Uh-huh."

"No more fucking around with my sister?"

"Right."

"No more threatening to sue my parents?"

"'Course not."

The corpse smiled, satisfied. "Good. Great. Fantastic." It turned towards the window. "Well, I guess I'll be going now!" it called out cheerfully.

Eddie felt relief flood his heart.

The dead thing took a step forward, then paused. "Oh, wait. I almost forgot. One more thing..."

"What?" Eddie whined, just wanting this horrible insane nightmare to end.

Max jumped up on the bed, tail wagging, an insanely cheerful grin on his face. "This!" he cried.

And then he began to vomit.

Eddie finally screamed as a tidal wave of blood and guts spewed out of the dead thing's mouth. It was like the corpse was unraveling its entire body, turning itself inside-out. Hunks of intestine and wet bits of liver flew out of the zombie's throat as if shot from a meat-loaded cannon. The red rain splattered all over Eddie's face, his bed, the sheets, his pajamas. It got in his hair, up his nose, and large meaty chunks went straight into his mouth. He didn't care. His mind was gone. His scream was finally loose. He'd been saving it up for a while, and it was a doozy.

It seemed to go on for an eternity. An eternity of red, dripping, reeking, rotten vomit.

Eddie laid there in bed, covered nearly head to toe in carrion, screaming mindlessly at the top of his lungs.

That was how his mother and father found him moments later. They'd ran upstairs as soon as they heard the scream, wet and gurgling, sounding like their boy was being murdered. And at first they thought that was exactly what had happened. Eddie's dad slammed open the door to his son's room, flicked on the light and thought for a brief, heart-stopping second that somehow his boy had swallowed a grenade and it had gone off inside his stomach.

Eddie's mother started shrieking too. She hated the sight of even a small drop of her own blood, detested horror movies, and this was more gore than she had ever seen in her life. In the bright, glaring light, the blood looked very, very red indeed. 

The only way they knew Eddie was still alive was that he still would not stop screaming.

They rushed over to his bed and began doing a very odd little dance. They both wanted to hold their son and comfort him, but neither of them wanted to actually touch the hideous stuff he was covered with. So they both kept moving forward and jerking back. Forward and back. Again and again. "Jesus, Eddie! Calm down! Stop screaming! What the fuck happened!?" Mr. Schwartzman bellowed.

Eddie could not focus his eyes; they roamed crazily around the room."Dead!! Thing!! A corpse!! Under the bed!! Dead thing!! Threw up!! Eyeball in my mouth!!"

"What in the world are you talking about, darling?!" his mother fretted, still unable to actually come within a foot of the steaming, stinking mess on his bed.

"A FUCKING ZOMBIE THREW UP ON ME, MOM!!! THAT'S WHAT FUCKING HAPPENED!!!" he shrieked, drops of blood flying off his whiskers, his eyes lolling and swirling with madness and rage.

Obviously, whatever had happened was too traumatic for her son to deal with, so he had transposed an image from some scary movie on top of it. "You're not hurt, are you? This isn't your blood? Oh, please, God..."

"No, it's not mine!! It's the zombie's!! Aren't you paying attention!? Get this shit OFF of me!!!"

Shaking, terminally confused and frightened, Mrs. Schwartzman threw up her hands and ran from the room, yelling, "I'll get some towels!!"

Mr. Schwartzman was having a hard time forcing himself to believe that this was not just some bizarre TV show he'd dozed off in front of. He looked all around the room, and noticed the open window, the curtains flapping in the night breeze. "Shit, they must have gotten away. Don't worry, son! I'll get the bastards who did this! I'll wring their little necks!" And he too fled the room.

It is a test of a furson's true character when they are faced with a nightmarish situation such as this; a disgusting tableau and a loved one in trouble. Some fursons are able to face their disgust and push through, rushing to the aid of whoever is in trouble. Others, ones possessed of more selfish natures, find excuses (such as towels and open windows) to get as far away from the scene as they possibly can.

That left Eddie, quiet for now, still lying on his back in his bed, his fur completely soaked with carnage, abandoned by his parents.

He stared up at the ceiling. He tried to convince himself he hadn't really seen what he thought he'd seen. That it had all been some kind of elaborate trick. It was dark, that was all. Someone had played a very mean joke on him. Nothing supernatural about it.

With the lights on now, it was easy to think such things.

Then the dead thing slithered out from under his bed again and stood up. Blood had soaked its black clothes and grey fur. It wiped its mouth on its sleeve and gave Eddie a sheepish grin, looking at him with one diseased eye and one gaping, sagging socket.

"Gosh, I'm sorry about that. Musta been something I ate!"

The dead thing laughed and walked nonchalantly out the door.

Eddie started screaming again.


	~***~


-CHAPTER TWENTY NINE-

A handful of minutes later, three breathless cubs all met up several blocks away at the decided-upon rendezvous point. They had each split up and gone in wildly different directions, and none of them had even been spotted, much less pursued. Nevertheless, they were all panting and their hearts were thumping.

They all looked up at each other, and at the same time, burst out laughing.

Nick nearly fell over. "Oh, man! Wow!! I watched the whole thing! You scared the everliving crap outta him! He's gonna end up in a mental hospital for the rest of his life!"

"Yeah, Max!" Tish congratulated. "Great work!"

Max took a small bow. "Thank you, thank you! You're too kind."

"I'd hug you if you weren't all covered in stinky meat stuff," she said. Earlier that afternoon, Tish had biked back to the supermarket with the rest of her saved-up money and bought beef liver, chitlins, headcheese, blood sausage, cow tongue and ground up hamburger. Basically, anything that looked sufficiently like zombie entrails. Just before heading out, Max had happily devoured it all, raw. He said it was delicious, and it probably would have kept him feeling nourished and full for a long time. But he didn't have any regrets about having to lose it as part of the plan.

He chortled. "Me too. Aw man, this stuff really does stink! You're gonna need to turn the hose on me when we get home."

"Well, at least *you're* clean enough to hug," Tish told Nick. She pounced on the cheetah and gave him a big squeeze and a kiss on the cheek. "You were great too! Like my guardian angel!"

Nick blushed a bit and accepted the embrace. And the kiss was actually a lot nicer than he'd expected. His job had been to relay to Tish what was going on in Eddie's room. While she snuck down to the basement, Max headed upstairs and slipped into their nemesis' room unseen. When the roly-poly li'l bastard was in place, Nick gave the signal for Tish to pull the fuse for his room. This was the tricky part of the plan, and they had all agreed not to go through with it if the fuses were unlabeled. Tish didn't want all the lights to go out. The objective was to freak Eddie out while keeping his parents in the dark (ha ha) for as long as possible. To Tish's delight, Mr. Schwartzman owned a label-maker, and all the fuses were marked clear as day. 'EDDIES ROOM' was right there, ripe for the plucking. And as soon as she'd heard screaming, she plugged that sucker right back in and hauled ass up the stairs and out of the house, jamming her rubber gloves in her pocket as she ran.

Now it was all over and everything had worked out to perfection. Tish could not have been happier. "You ever heard that phrase, 'revenge is a dish best served cold'?" she asked the boys.

They both nodded.

She grinned. "They're wrong. Revenge is a dish best served with hot fudge and rainbow sprinkles."

"What's that mean?" Nick asked.

"It means," she explained with a crafty smirk, "that if you're gonna do it, you might as well have as much fun as possible with it."

"Definitely!" Max cheered.

"Let's go home and get you cleaned up before mom realizes that rubber bunny's in my bed again," Tish said.

"What'd you put in my sleeping bag?" asked Nick.

"A bunch of stuffed animals, and Dad's bowling ball for your head."

Nick was mildly insulted.

"Oh, come on! It's not like they're gonna look anyway! Let's go!"

The three of them dashed off down the deserted, empty street. Max politely lagged behind, and tried his best to stay downwind.


	~***~


-CHAPTER THIRTY-

For Eddie Schwartzman, life was never quite the same again.

When the police came, Eddie had just gotten out of the shower. He'd been in there so long, all the hot water had completely turned to cold. He barely noticed though. All that mattered was getting the stains and the smell out of his fur. He'd scrubbed himself so hard he actually tore his skin in places.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, clad only in a towel, he was immediately asked many, many questions. He gave the same answer again and again: Max Lopez had come back from the dead and puked on him. The more he said it, the less they believed him, and the angrier he got. Eventually he was reduced to a screaming tantrum. He kicked and bit at the officers as they tried to restrain him. His towel fell off, adding humiliation like fuel to his fire. He became so violent the police had no choice but to handcuff him while his horrified parents looked on.

They hauled him down to the police station like a common criminal. Eddie was not a happy boy. His anger never ebbed, only escalated. They kept on asking him again and again what had happened, who had attacked him, and Eddie kept on explaining over and over that it was that zombie sonofabitch Max. He became so enraged at them for not taking him seriously that black spots danced in his vision, he coughed up blood, and finally, he actually passed out from sheer overexertion.

The adults shook their heads and tsk-tsked. The poor boy was delusional, and he was determined not to be shaken from that delusion. So, Mr. and Mrs. Schwartzman located a child psychiatric facility with an outstanding reputation and Eddie was sent to live there for a while. If you think he accepted this new development quietly and with dignity, then you would be wrong. The insults he howled at his parents for 'betraying him' were too foul to even be accurately described. When the men in white coats finally carted him off, it was a relief.

His first day at Peaceful Oaks' Sanctuary For Troubled Youth, Eddie broke another patient's nose and told a nurse to suck his cock when she tried to give him a sedative. Three guards had to wrestle the fat little mouse down and stick him in the buttocks with a needle. When he woke up, he was strapped to a table in the maximum security wing, in a featureless white room which was to be his new home for a very long time. Eddie screamed obscenities into thin air for hours and hours upon end. The night nurse worried he was going to burst his larynx eventually.

The doctors soon learned that not only was Eddie the angriest child they had ever encountered (stemming obviously from his total inability to accept the reality of what had happened to him the night of the 'meat incident'), but that he was also the purest child psychopath *anyone* had ever discovered. Eddie seemed to not only have been born without a conscience, but his parents had actually *encouraged* his antisocial, cruel and heartless behavior. It was thought that he was very possibly a hopeless case.

And so, little Eddie spent many, many years strapped down, drugged or locked up.

Neither Tish nor Max ever saw him again.

And perhaps they may have inadvertently saved the rest of the world from a hellishly malevolent force of nature hidden within the body of a small boy.


	~***~


END OF BOOK TWO


