Free Mark Henry_Amanda Feral 02 by Road Trip of the Living Dead

probably has people who would miss them.
    Hold on.
    “How’d you pay for these pizzas, Fishhook?” I asked.
    “Put ’em on the room bill. The front desk guy seems a little scared of you.” He winked. “Might be he suspects somethin’.”
    “Bullshit, motels don’t have room service contracts. Nice try.”
    He shut the box on his lap and rubbed his scarred stomach. Wendy made like she was throwing up. “Alright, but I promised not to say. A guy came looking for the owner of that Volvo out there.”
    I rushed to the curtain and peeked outside. “Holy shit! What’d you tell ’em?”
    Wendy turned the deadbolt.
    “I told him I’d tell him what I knew for some food. That’s when he called the pizza place.”
    “So?”
    “So what?”
    “What do you think, what did you tell him?”
    “I told him you two traded your car for some guy’s Camaro and then took off toward Spokane leaving me stranded and hungry.”
    “Serious?” Wendy asked.
    “Yeah. And that you guys were a couple of lesbians.” He glared past her toward the TV and hollered, “Argh … I knew it was her cousin.”
    I shut the curtain and collapsed on the corner of the bed. “Did he believe you, do you think?”
    “He totally bought it, had you both figured for muff divers, now get out of the way, I can’t see the fight.”
    “I meant about us leaving.”
    “Totally.”
    I wanted to believe the guy, but he didn’t seem all that reliable, considering his mental health when we first found him. But now, he was alert and articulate. Or as articulate as a guy can be who watches Maury.
    Still.
    We had five pizza boxes of proof in front of us.
    33 I’d seen that look on TV before, but mimicry isn’t my strong suit, so it’s hard to say whether I nailed it or not.
    34 You didn’t think I’d be freshening up or lounging about in that rat trap on wheels, did you? If so, you’ve got some serious catching up to do.
    35 A rhetorical question, obviously. I don’t need to hear it from you, too.
    36 What? I’m sure the kid did something to deserve it. They’re not all angels.
    37 … or dickies … or turtlenecks … or mushroom caps … or squash blossoms … call me picky.
    38 Swear to God!
    39 If you didn’t love Wendy before, you do now. By the way, that’s not a question.
    40 A Rule: Men hate to dress up. Go rural and this rule is am plified. Thus men’s dress shirts are less likely to be polluted by yellow armpit piss. You’re welcome.
    41 I wouldn’t be caught dead in someone else’s foot sweat. Oh … wait.

Chapter 6

Dust Devils and Dirty
Mothers
    Don’t be misled by the recent vampire research touting “beef as the new human”; the statistics don’t add up. Live pig is, and will always be, the closest meat, both in texture and flavor. Still, there are side effects …
    —
Undead Science Monitor
(Winter 2007)
    There’s nothing that says celebration more than an impromptu hunting party. This one was to commemorate the official start of our road trip, rather than the clarification that we were definitely being hunted and probably would end up shredded balls of dead meat at the hands of a snarling talon-clawed wolf thing. That said, a party is never an inappropriate reaction.
    First we had to lure Gil out of the RV.
    “Yeah we’re sure. He’s gone,” I said.
    “You’re basing this on something a schizophrenic tap told you?” Gil crossed his arms over his chest and slunk back against the musty camper cupboards.
    “Listen.” Wendy put her hand on his arm, gave it a reassuring squeeze. “He knew enough to send the guyoff in another direction, we totally have time to pull together some food.”
    “If you’re sure.” His eyes were full of concern.
    “We’re sure. Now come on.”
    Wendy and I rustled up a pair of migrant cow-town drunks outside a cinderblock gym that advertised “Mexercising” and “Personal Traners” without the “i”— which, despite the not-so-subtle racism and misspelling, was far more