worried I still wasn’t.
“I don’t think taking you to Hell will help your zombieness,” I said, appalled. Truthfully I had no idea what Hell would do to him. And no interest in experimenting with him to find out. At all. No.
“Yeah, but it couldn’t hurt, and you kill a couple of birds with the same rock.”
“Marc, okay, first—gross. Second, I don’t even know how I would get you there. I just learned to get myself there—and back, but that was after wandering around the place for what felt like weeks . What if I can’t get you there? Worse, what if I can, but can’t get you back?”
“My risk,” he replied firmly.
“Too big of one,” I said, just as firm.
“I’ll sign a waiver.”
“I’m not giving you a waiver to sign, you zombified crazy person! We’re going to forget we had this conversation.”
“Mm-mm.” He was looking at me with his usual focus, as if I were a disease he’d just diagnosed. Which maybe wasn’t that far off—it was my fault he was a zombie, after all. Just like how in the old timeline, it had been my fault he had become the thing in everyone’s nightmares, the monster under all the beds. Just thinking of it made me want to vomit. “You say that a lot. And it never works.”
“Look, we need to talk about this later. I have to . . . oh.” I’d started to take a step down the hallway and froze. “Oh God.”
He cocked his head but couldn’t hear what I did, and even I had barely caught it. Footsteps racing up to the door I’d almost fallen through. Footsteps that abruptly stopped. “Fine! You stay down there!” The door shivered in its frame as Jessica unleashed a wood-splintering frenzy. “You stay down there until you die again! Idiot! Pull that Sharpie shit again and I will beat you until candy comes out!”
Lovely, just what I needed, a new title: Betsy Taylor, Undead Piñata. Much better than Betsy Taylor, Registered Republican. I sloooowly relaxed as I heard the footsteps retreat, then turned back to Marc. “So. You want a field trip to Hell, huh?”
“In so many words, yup.”
“We never talk anymore.”
“We talk constantly.” He was grinning at me and easing the door to the tunnel closed. He knew I wasn’t river-bound, not anymore. He also knew I was trapped like a rat.
“Still. I’ve neglected you. Let’s catch up.”
“Because you know you’re stuck down here for hours.”
“‘Stuck,’ oh, Marc, that hurts!” I put every ounce of whiny hurt into my tone that I could. “Why would you want to hurt me?”
“So. Many. Reasons.”
“I’m thrilled to be in this cement-lined, dusty, spider-infested shithole with you.” I slung an arm across his shoulders, turned him around, and started walking him back to the other end. “So! How’s the dating going?”
“Fine until we get to the ‘I’m a Virgo,’ ‘Hey, neat, I’m a zombie’ part.”
“Superficial men.” I shook my head. “What’s the world coming to?”
He laughed at me, but that was fine. I had it coming.
CHAPTER
TEN
“Do you even know how many harmful chemicals lurk inside the average Sharpie?” Jess was raging, physically restrained by DadDick, who looked a) wide awake and b) like he wished he was anywhere else.
“Not the scented ones,” I whined. “Is it more than three? It’s probably more than three chemicals.”
“Oh good God.” Sinclair had his eyes closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Madness reigns.” Then, at Tina’s near-imperceptible flinch, he added in a mutter, “Apologies.” She shrugged and smiled; she loved—as he did—that these days he could break commandments with impunity and still be welcome at church. A lesson for all of us! Or something.
“And excuse me for wanting you to get on the stick and name your babies already. Pretty soon they’ll be in kindergarten and when the teacher asks their name they’ll be all ‘sorry, Mom hasn’t filled out that paperwork yet.’”
“Pretty soon?” she
“I don’t think taking you to Hell will help your zombieness,” I said, appalled. Truthfully I had no idea what Hell would do to him. And no interest in experimenting with him to find out. At all. No.
“Yeah, but it couldn’t hurt, and you kill a couple of birds with the same rock.”
“Marc, okay, first—gross. Second, I don’t even know how I would get you there. I just learned to get myself there—and back, but that was after wandering around the place for what felt like weeks . What if I can’t get you there? Worse, what if I can, but can’t get you back?”
“My risk,” he replied firmly.
“Too big of one,” I said, just as firm.
“I’ll sign a waiver.”
“I’m not giving you a waiver to sign, you zombified crazy person! We’re going to forget we had this conversation.”
“Mm-mm.” He was looking at me with his usual focus, as if I were a disease he’d just diagnosed. Which maybe wasn’t that far off—it was my fault he was a zombie, after all. Just like how in the old timeline, it had been my fault he had become the thing in everyone’s nightmares, the monster under all the beds. Just thinking of it made me want to vomit. “You say that a lot. And it never works.”
“Look, we need to talk about this later. I have to . . . oh.” I’d started to take a step down the hallway and froze. “Oh God.”
He cocked his head but couldn’t hear what I did, and even I had barely caught it. Footsteps racing up to the door I’d almost fallen through. Footsteps that abruptly stopped. “Fine! You stay down there!” The door shivered in its frame as Jessica unleashed a wood-splintering frenzy. “You stay down there until you die again! Idiot! Pull that Sharpie shit again and I will beat you until candy comes out!”
Lovely, just what I needed, a new title: Betsy Taylor, Undead Piñata. Much better than Betsy Taylor, Registered Republican. I sloooowly relaxed as I heard the footsteps retreat, then turned back to Marc. “So. You want a field trip to Hell, huh?”
“In so many words, yup.”
“We never talk anymore.”
“We talk constantly.” He was grinning at me and easing the door to the tunnel closed. He knew I wasn’t river-bound, not anymore. He also knew I was trapped like a rat.
“Still. I’ve neglected you. Let’s catch up.”
“Because you know you’re stuck down here for hours.”
“‘Stuck,’ oh, Marc, that hurts!” I put every ounce of whiny hurt into my tone that I could. “Why would you want to hurt me?”
“So. Many. Reasons.”
“I’m thrilled to be in this cement-lined, dusty, spider-infested shithole with you.” I slung an arm across his shoulders, turned him around, and started walking him back to the other end. “So! How’s the dating going?”
“Fine until we get to the ‘I’m a Virgo,’ ‘Hey, neat, I’m a zombie’ part.”
“Superficial men.” I shook my head. “What’s the world coming to?”
He laughed at me, but that was fine. I had it coming.
CHAPTER
TEN
“Do you even know how many harmful chemicals lurk inside the average Sharpie?” Jess was raging, physically restrained by DadDick, who looked a) wide awake and b) like he wished he was anywhere else.
“Not the scented ones,” I whined. “Is it more than three? It’s probably more than three chemicals.”
“Oh good God.” Sinclair had his eyes closed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Madness reigns.” Then, at Tina’s near-imperceptible flinch, he added in a mutter, “Apologies.” She shrugged and smiled; she loved—as he did—that these days he could break commandments with impunity and still be welcome at church. A lesson for all of us! Or something.
“And excuse me for wanting you to get on the stick and name your babies already. Pretty soon they’ll be in kindergarten and when the teacher asks their name they’ll be all ‘sorry, Mom hasn’t filled out that paperwork yet.’”
“Pretty soon?” she
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