Free Anything But Zombies by Gerald Rice

the most serious people he’d ever met and he doubted she’d be hazing anyone or flirting with someone so young. She was in her late forties and was a no-nonsense type of woman.
    â€œWhy do you think she’s hazing or flirting with you?” he asked, curious.
    â€œShe told me to get a six-inch penile splint from the penis room,” Eddie said with a stricken look on his face. “I mean, really? The penis room?”
    Dillon stared at Eddie for a moment and then doubled over, laughing.
    Eddie was twenty-one years of age and had just started working for them that day. The expression on his round, freshly shaved face was that of a frightened two-year-old who couldn’t find his mother in a crowded shopping area.
    â€œIt’s not funny.” Eddie crossed his arms, his face flushing.
    Dillon stood and looked at Eddie with a grin still plastered on his face.
    â€œOh, it’s funny,” he said.
    â€œShe said there was a penis room—how is that funny?” Eddie asked, his face going from flushed to dark red.
    â€œBecause there is a penis room and you thought she was lying to you,” Dillon said. He turned and started down the hall. “Follow me, I’ll show you where it is . . . right next to the breast room, across from the restrooms.”
    â€œWha—?” Eddie said and followed Dillon.
    â€œYou’re probably wondering why there is a penis room and a breast room,” Dillon said as Eddie caught up with him. “But if you think about it you’ll understand. I mean, what would be the first things to rot off a dead human body?”
    â€œOh, my gawd !” Eddie exclaimed. “That’s disgusting.”
    â€œWell, restoring a rotting human being back to a living human being is pretty disgusting. There are parts and pieces missing and they have to be regenerated by our equipment through cell growth. But sometimes . . . we need some help with implants of sorts to make sure things stay where they’re supposed to.”
    Eddie didn’t reply, but stood dumbly by as Dillon opened the door to the penis room—the size of a walk-in janitor’s closet—and showed him where to find the different-sized splints and other implant pieces that might be needed to aid in the restoration of a male Undead American.
    Even after the selection process and the explanation Eddie still looked confused.
    â€œWhat?” Dillon asked.
    Eddie looked at the six-inch splint in his hand. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and then turned to Dillon with a frown.
    â€œWhat?” Dillon asked again.
    â€œI was just wondering how she decides what size to give them,” Eddie replied.
    Dillon, never having given it much thought, shrugged.
    â€œMaybe she’s seen enough naked men in her time to be able to guess by body size what would be a good proportion.”
    Eddie looked down at the splint, then at his own crotch, then at the splint again.
    â€œWhat now?” Dillon asked, starting to get exasperated while still being amused by the innocence/ignorance of the young man.
    â€œDo you think she knows how big our penises are?”
    Dillon laughed. “Does it really matter? It’s not like she has ever asked to see mine, so I don’t care what her guess would be. Stop worrying about her thinking about your penis and get back to your job before she wants to cut yours off because you’re late helping her restore another’s. Although, if she gets angry and you want to smooth things over, you could offer to be a penis donor and see what she says—see if she thinks your penis is suitable.” He winked at Eddie. “Hell, maybe she’ll even like the idea. . . . Maybe they’ll even commemorate your sacrifice on the wall downstairs for all to see: Edward Harris, generous with his penis, giving it to the first Undead American who would take it!”
    He laughed again at the return of the stricken