Mark Henry_Amanda Feral 02 by Road Trip of the Living Dead

of them, instead of the seven that were left. “Did you just eat two more?”
    He smiled again, this time licking a thin trickle of blood from his chapped lips. Brown bubbles of saliva cluttered the corners of his mouth.
    “Did you hear me, Gil? We’ve got a problem here.”
    Gil stood next to the table staring down at the man, who in full, unobstructed view reached out, picked up three more fishhooks and popped them into his gaping maw. His head bobbed like a chicken as he swallowed the sharps down.
    “Well that’s that,” I said, holding up my hands as though turning myself over to the cops. I imagined the effects of chowing down on the human fishing line would not be pleasant. I’d be lucky to survive it and with no reapers around to play doctor, I certainly wasn’t going to risk it. “He’s all yours. I’m not going to chip a tooth on that shit, or snag my lips, or anything else, for that matter.”
    Gil frowned, but lunged toward the man’s throat, anyway, pulling back the filthy winter coat and exposing the grayed flesh underneath and scars—so many scars—all of them circular and dashed. Obvious.
    Gil gagged and let go.
    “Jesus! He’s barely alive. He’s been used so many times.” He pivoted and threw open the camper door. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
    I reached over and pulled the jacket back, again. He wore no shirt underneath and the scars covered his neck and torso, as though he’d made the error of swimming in a moray eel’s nest. The man had been around vampires; that was certain. He’d probably been driven insane by their feeding, escaped, and retired from service out here where no one would look, let alone bother to camp. He looked away as my eyes took in the abuse of his body.
    “Well, buddy.” I shut his jacket, patted his shoulder and slid out of the booth. “Today’s your lucky day.” Although, it wouldn’t be if any of those hooks shredded his insides, or maybe that would constitute a lucky day for someone who’d lived through such a trauma. Then, to Gil, “Did you try to crank this piece of crap?”
    “Unh uh. Here.” He tossed me the keys. His face was even paler than normal. 32
    I left the old guy to sort the remaining objects and took a seat behind the wheel. The camper cranked right up on the first turn. I could see the Volvo through the windshield. Beams of sunlight were filtering through the trees.
    “You better find a place to sleep, back there. It’s about that time.” I watched as Gil wandered through the RV opening cabinets and two doors in the rear. One led to a bedroom that would be bright and sunny due to the large window at the back, the other led to a toilet/shower combo that after giving it a shocked look and a glower, he wedged himself into it and locked the door behind him. I think he even cried himself to sleep, or at least that’s what I’d tell Wendy, later.
    27 Reapers: the supernatural world’s cleaning crew. They fix all the little messes that could expose our presence (but only in larger metropolitan areas where they can extort the most money from a side-business of zombie healing). Nasty little bitches.
    28 Suck circles: A group of vampires (sucks, colloquially) that get together for conversation about books, film, and music, and not, as you presume, some dirty blowjob party. Why must my readers have the filthiest minds?
    29 Useful skills? Some would say yes. Crime scene investigators, dogs, certain therapists.
    30 And if you’re not, please try to keep up with the rest of the class. You’re dragging down our scores. Thanks.
    31 Todd Oldham: Fashion/Interior Designer. In love with kitschy retro in a totally unwholesome way.
    32 Pretty pale considering he got no sun, and had developed a sensitivity to bronzer.

Chapter 5

The Inexplicable Allure
of Cowtown Couture
    Several very fashionable boutiques have begun to cater exclusively to our otherworldly population, in fact, just this week former supermodel Giallo opened EMACIATED in the