Blood Soaked and Contagious by James Crawford Page B

something moving past me in the air. I pivoted to face that direction just as Shawn rounded the corner, and allowed myself the luxury of snapping the scythe blade into place with a flick of my wrist.
    A man lay on the ground about six feet away from me, arms flailing in the air. His eyes were huge, and his mouth gaped open in silent agony. I looked down and saw why he was unable to do more than wave his arms around. His right leg was bent in the wrong direction at the knee.
    Then I saw the length of his fingernails. They were claws. Zombie. I moved again.
    I covered the distance, put my foot on his shattered kneecap, and knelt down on my other knee. The scythe blade stopped one quarter of an inch inside his left nostril. All I had to do to make his afterlife a living Hell was shift my weight forward or backward.
    “Good evening, you eavesdropping, cow-fucking, sad-ass excuse for a zombie with a sense of humor!”
    He gasped, clearly unable to form words. It really wasn’t a huge surprise, and I felt fairly thankful for it because I hate screaming. That is to say, I hate the sound of someone screaming in pain. Shawn’s sister screaming in the throes of mad, valkyrie orgiastic pleasure is something I could tolerate. It is difficult to keep the mind on one thing when you’ve slid open the mental drawer on something else.
    Shawn was standing at 9 o’clock to my 6 o’clock alongside the snoop. Jayashri and Baj approached from my 4 o’clock and stood quietly behind me. The zombie saw them and became very still, hands stretched out to his sides, claws sinking into the twilight dirt. I wasn’t about to turn around to find out why.
    I heard Baj clear his throat.
    “Would you like to tell us why you were in my home, spying on us?” Baj’s voice was incredibly calm, controlled, and civilized. If he wasn’t already doing the genius thing, he would have made an incredible news anchorman.
    Shawn added, “You’d better tell us if you were transmitting, or just planning to hightail it back with everything you heard.”
    “Oh, those are excellent questions!” I chortled, wishing I could clap my hands in glee for the extra effect. “I think, yes I do, you should answer every single one of them or I’ll just cut the left side of your nose away. That would suck a lot!”
    “I wasn’t transmitting anything. I didn’t have to,” our snoop gasped.
    “Nose!” I squealed, bugging my eyes out. I can’t resist good over-the-top theatrics!
    “Okay! Hightower already has surveillance equipment trained on your house. I was sent over to get context for the recordings. Personal observation. Would you please get off my knee? It’s not like I can go anywhere like this.”
    “No.” I answered him using the flattest tone of voice that I could muster, a phenomenally cold, lead doors-sealing-your-doom sort of voice. After all, I didn’t want to get off his knee if it hurt. As a matter of fact, I probably would have enjoyed breaking the other one for a matched set.
    “Gentlemen, if Hightower has been listening, he may not have any more information than we gave this one. On the other hand, if we are being watched, they are aware we have found the rat in our home.” Jayashri made complete sense in a coldly calculating, yet delightfully musical way. It made me feel strangely warm inside as well as sent a torrent of images through the back of my brain.
    For a moment, I was horrified that I’d imagined her using that voice in intimate situations. I needed to keep my brain on the moment. Zombie, scythe in nose, threatening, interrogation, we’re all gonna die, until my brain showed me Shawn’s sister and Jayashri in SS uniforms with riding crops. If my day kept going like that, I would need to teabag myself in ice water at the earliest convenience.
    Jaya came over beside me and crouched down.
    “Uh. My greatly adored daughter of the Ganges... Is that a Heckler and Koch MP5 in your hands, or are you just much scarier than I ever