Free Return of the Jed by Scott Craven Page B

ground in my other pants?
    My chest thumped hard against dirt and dust.
    There it was.
    The world spun around me, my legs flailing in ways suggesting they would soon depart. When the world finally stopped, my view was filled with stars.
    Thank goodness they were real stars, not the fake stars generated by severe head injuries. And they were beautiful. I couldn’t help but smile.
    “Kid, hey kid.” The same voice, more annoying this time. “Snap out of it.”
    Something was in the way of those stars. A fuzzy blob. Move, you stupid blob, you’re blocking the view. I pushed at it but it stayed there, being a jerk.
    I kept shoving but it refused to move.
    “I’m not sure what all that wriggling means,” the girl said. “But I wish you would stop because it’s kind of freaking me out.”
    My eyes focused on the blob. A face. Right, I was running and everything just collapsed.
    I fell. That’s what happened. Then I tumbled about a mile into the deepest canyon on the face of the planet. I lifted my head to see two things: how far I’d fallen, and if I’d retained the more valuable portions of my body.
    I could barely make out the top of the cliff in the moonlight. By my foggy-brained calculations, I had fallen at least six feet. Maybe seven. Or about five thousand feet fewer than it felt like.
    Now my body. Torso? Check. Legs? Check. Feet? Check. Though the right one was turned backward. Arms? Dang they were still missing in action.
    The blob said something again. “I, uh, …” My brain wasn’t ready for a conversation.
    That voice was becoming clearer. And more annoying. It was the girl.
    “You back?” she said. “Because I have some really bad news, and I don’t want you to freak out.”
    Once again, hands dug under my shoulders and lifted, helping me sit up.
    If I had hands, I would have pressed them to my skull because I had such a headache. So I was not happy when someone lucky enough to be hand-enabled chose that moment to slap me across the cheek.
    First thing I was going to do when I got my arms back was rub my butt because it really throbbed after that fall. But then I was going to punch someone because I was so tired of being abused, even in a misguided attempt to snap me out of it.
    I came around enough to notice a second person staring at me as if I were a zoo animal. And not a cool animal like an elephant. It was more of a “What the heck is that?” look a mole rat would get.
    He spoke. “Marisa, I don’t think you should be slapping someone who’s disabled. The Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Double Amputees is going to be all over you for that.”
    “He’s not disabled. He’s undead. Big difference.”
    Finally, a familiar voice, which brought me around faster than physical abuse.
    “Luke,” I said. “Where were you?”
    I felt a cold breeze against my neck, then the familiar scent of decay. I knew it was Tread before I felt his rough tongue scrape my chin.
    “Tread took off in another direction so I had to chase him down,” Luke said. “I knew you’d miss him a lot more than these.”
    He dropped his backpack, and there they were. My arms. My small, lightly muscled, and very beautiful arms.
    “My arms!” I squealed, sort of like a girl, not that there’s anything wrong with that. “Just put them on fast before the anger that’s been building in me goes away. Because I really need to punch someone.” After I rubbed my butt, but I wasn’t going to tell them that.
    But first, I felt my right foot snap into forward position. I silently thanked Luke, best zombie repairman who ever lived.
    He pulled out my arms one at a time and laid them on the ground. He turned the pack upside-down, several rolls of duct tape and the staple gun tumbling out.
    “Wow, those look incredibly real,” said the kid who thought I was disabled.
    “They are real,” Luke said. “Only the best duct tape and staples for my main man, Jed.”
    “No, not those things. These things.” He pointed at my