Free Thinning the Herd by Adrian Phoenix Page B

her voice a near whisper.
    â€œWell,” Nick said, “we’re on the right trail, anyway.”
    â€œAh,” Galahad said, getting to his feet, “the obvious, boldly stated.”
    â€œWhat’re you saying?”
    A mischievous smile curled Galahad’s lips. “Why, nothing, Nick. Nothing at all.”
    Hal resumed walking. A few yards in, his catch pole tapped against something in front of him. Muscles coiled, pole ready, Hal trained the flashlight on the object. A body. Sans head. Tie-dye tunic, hemp necklace, ratty jeans, and dirty bare feet.
    â€œFound the rest of him,” he called over his shoulder.
    â€œGoody,” Galahad replied.
    Desdemona stopped beside Hal. She trained her flashlight on the corpse. “Gross.”
    Hal nodded. He poked the body with his catch pole. “Gross,” he agreed. “You wanna?” he asked, offering her the catch pole.
    â€œNoooo. Absolutely not, jerkwad.” Desdemona flicked her flashlight up, aimed it down the tunnel, and stepped over the body.
    Grinning, Hal hurried after Desdemona, passing her in two long-legged Mother, may I? strides. “If you change your mind . . .” he said as he passed.
    â€œI won’t. Don’t worry.”
    The smell of ganja permeated the air, puffing up from the ground with each step, filling his lungs with each breath. Hal felt giddy. Giddy. With a capital G . And hungry. With a big ol’ capital H . He stumbled over something, barely catching himself with his catch pole. He aimed the flashlight down. Another body. In two halves.
    â€œâ€™Nother one!” he called.
    Galahad, Nick, and Desdemona caught up with Hal, their flashlights trained on the corpse halves. “Yuck,” Desdemona said.
    Hal offered her the pole again. She shook her head but wrapped her fingers around the staff. A hot jolt of joy shot down the length of Hal’s spine. He was sure he glowed incandescent, his happiness stealing the darkness from the tunnel.
    Murmuring, “Gross. Yuck,” Desdemona poked first one half and then the other half with the pole. She said, “Gross. Yuck,” every time she poked the Indian-tunic-wearing halves. But the way she said the words suggested cool and wow instead. She poked the halves many times.
    Hal nodded. He knew how she felt. He remembered the first time he’d poked a dead thing. Admittedly, it had been a roadkill critter and not a dismembered human being, but still. After a few moments she handed the pole back to Hal, their fingers brushing in the dark.
    Nick giggled. A disconcerting sound, considering Nick never giggled.
    â€œWhat’s so funny, Nick?” Hal asked, stepping with grace between the halves but catching his heel against another unseen object. He fell. On his ass. Whatever he landed on, cushioning his head from another blow, farted.
    â€œThat wasn’t me,” he called out hastily.
    Laughter echoed throughout the tunnel. Hysterical, knee-slapping, can’t-breathe laughter. Hal poled himself upright, then angled his flashlight down. Another freakin’ body. This one was intact, however. One Birkenstock, the other foot bare.
    â€œAh! Found the other Birkenstock!”
    A fresh gale of gasping, helpless laughter. Smack. Smack. Smack. Someone was slapping their knee. Hal swung his flashlight around. Galahad, Nick, and Desdemona clung to one another, laughing, tears glistening on their faces.
    â€œWhat’s so funny?”
    â€œYou didn’t even mention the body,” Galahad gasped. “Just the stupid Birkenstock.”
    â€œNot true,” Nick said, struggling to keep a straight face. “He pinned the blame for the fart on the body, so he did mention it—in a roundabout way.”
    Hal chuckled. Okay. A little funny. “It really wasn’t me.”
    Everyone howled with fresh laughter—except Desdemona. Wiping tears from her face with the back of a pale hand, she edged past the