Free Best New Zombie Tales Trilogy by James Roy Daley Page B

like her food a little more… well, alive.”
    When they were done with their ice cream, they went back out to the car to find that Natalie was making no noise at all.
    “The Vicodin’s wearing off,” Randy said.
    “I’ve got twenty bucks,” Liz said. “You guys got any money?” They said they did. She said, “Let’s go see Dicky.”
    Kirk and Randy agreed a visit to Dicky Parks was in order. Dicky had gone to Anderson High School a couple years ago. He’d gone through his junior year twice when he finally dropped out. Everyone they knew got their drugs from Dicky, or from Dicky’s father Wyatt, with whom he lived.
    Kirk had known Dicky and Wyatt as long as he’d known Natalie, or most of his other friends at school. Natalie had tried to help him find a job after he dropped out of high school, but he had no ambition, and the fact was, Dicky wasn’t very bright. Then they learned why he wasn’t interested in a job––Dicky was selling drugs with his dad, and making good money at it. He always gave them a discount. Dicky had once told Natalie that they were the only people from school who treated him like a human being. “Most of ‘em,” he’d said, “they’ll buy my shit, but they won’t even look at me to say hi at the mall.”
    Natalie had a way with people, all kinds of people. She was friendly to everyone and anyone. She belonged to no particular clique at school, but was accepted by all of them. She hated the way everyone grouped up socially at school and turned their backs on others, and she refused to participate. Thinking of her made Kirk’s chest ache. He thought of the stumbling creature in the trunk and missed Natalie all the more.
    Dicky and Wyatt lived on a spot of land at the end of a long road––it was paved, but far too narrow for more than one vehicle at a time––in an area known as Churn Creek Bottom just north of Anderson. They lived in a couple double-wide mobile homes that had been patched together. Their nearest neighbor was three-quarters of a mile away. Wyatt’s shiny white 1965 Mustang was parked under a rickety-looking carport. The Mustang was Wyatt’s most prized possession––sometimes it was a little creepy how much he loved that car. But Dicky’s pickup truck was not there.
    Wyatt came to the sliding glass door and smiled. “Hey, you guys. Come on in. Dicky’s not here. I don’t know when he’ll be back. Could be any minute, could be midnight.”
    Wyatt was in his forties. He kept his head smoothly shaved and wore a goatee of black and white hair. He had a gut, but his tattooed arms were muscular. His voice was coarse and loud, which some people interpreted as anger––it was just the way he talked. He wore a white T-shirt, a pair of baggy blue sweatpants and sandals.
    Kirk was surprised when Wyatt gave him a hug and slapped him on the back a few times. “Man, I am so fuckin’ sorry about Natalie. I’ve been sick about it since I heard. She was a hell of a girl and I’m gonna miss her.”
    “Thanks, Wyatt,” Kirk said.
    “Now, here’s what I wanna do.” Wyatt disappeared down a short hall for a moment and came back with a baggie filled with marijuana. “You know how, when somebody dies, all their friends bring gifts of food to the house? They bring casseroles and spaghetti and fried chicken and macaroni and cheese and potato salad and pies. Well, I can’t fuckin’cook, so here’s what I’m bringin’.” He handed the baggy to Kirk. “That’s a gift from Dicky an’me for all three a ya, so be sure to divide it up evenly, no favorites. That’s the premium Wyattweed, too. Enjoy it in good health.”
    “Wow, Wyatt,” Kirk said as he took the baggy taut with buds.
    They spent the next ten minutes thanking him. They decided to have some, so Kirk opened the baggie and they smoked a little in one of Wyatt’s bongs. Liz declined and said, “I’m driving, and I can’t drive if I’m smoke weed. Got any Vicodin?” Wyatt said he did, and gave