Free The Making of Zombie Wars by Aleksandar Hemon

your language, young man,” Janet said sans conviction.
    â€œCamelfuckers,” Noah repeated.
    â€œSecret word, Noah! We don’t use it in front of other people. We talked about secret words, didn’t we?”
    Mom looked up at Noah, then at Joshua, and rolled her eyes—this was some kind of signal to him, but he could not decode it. She’d moved to a downtown condo after the Wilmette house had been sold as part of the divorce settlement; she’d wanted to be able to walk to theaters and museums and Symphony Center; to date and have lunches with her fellow ballast board members. But lately she left her condo only to go to her hairdresser or book club. Janet was worried that she was depressed and developing an addiction to sleeping pills. Janet worried meant Janet called Joshua to complain.
    â€œHow’s your father?” Mother asked him.
    â€œRachel!” Janet said. She’d started calling her Rachel after she’d had Noah, the title of Mother now available to her as well.
    â€œI don’t know,” Joshua said. “Haven’t talked to Bernie for a while.”
    Janet was shaking her head to indicate her disapproval and worry. The Levins were a family whose communication system was founded on decoding secret words and silences. What was not actually uttered was always what mattered more. It was like poor-man’s psychoanalysis, except they were not particularly poor. The first time he’d taken Kimmy to a family dinner she’d quickly recognized, smart as she was, that they’d been reading her and talking about her in the Levin code. Moreover, Mother had randomly rolled her eyes; Janet had kept topping off Kimmy’s wineglass, intent on getting her loose and tipsy; Doug had ogled her shamelessly. What would the Levins say about Ana?
    â€œHe’s on a cruise,” Janet said. “I told you that.”
    â€œWith his big-tits babe?”
    â€œRachel! She’s older than you.”
    â€œWhere did they go, Joshua?” Mother said. “Where are they cruising?”
    â€œMom, please,” Joshua said. “I don’t know.”
    â€œIsrael,” Mother said. “The Holy blasted Land.”
    â€œWasn’t there another suicide bombing there last week?” Janet asked.
    â€œHe probably didn’t even leave the cruise ship,” Joshua said.
    â€œHe probably didn’t even leave her tits,” Mother said.
    â€œTits,” Noah said, smashing the top of his cr è me br û l é e with a spoon.
    â€œSecret word, Noah!” Janet said. “Could you cut it out, Rachel, please?”
    â€œI hope they’re booked on the Titanic ,” Mother said. “I hope she ends up holding his hand as he turns to ice, like that boy in the movie.”
    â€œTits,” Noah said.
    â€œAll right, you’re in time-out, young mister,” Janet said.
    Time-out meant that Noah was afforded more time to plan another irritating thing to do or say. It was clear from his impish grin that his mind was now thinly stretched between camelfuckers and tits . What is it with boys? How do they slide into fucked-upness so quickly, with such natural ease? Joshua refilled his glass with Ch â teau Margaux then put the bottle down. Janet pointedly picked it up to add wine to Mother’s and her glasses, as Marcel hurried over to snatch the bottle from Janet’s hand.
    â€œMerci bien, monsieur!” she said with a courtly nod, thereby pretty much exhausting her French vocabulary. She’d convinced Doug to marry her in Paris; neither of them could understand what the official had been saying, so they hadn’t answered properly when she’d asked them if they’d take each other for better or for worse, or whatever they said in France. It’d been a running joke between Doug and Jan that they were not sure they’d been married. Doug, priapic as he was, had certainly behaved as if they were merely good