Transformation: Zombie Crusade VI by J.W. Vohs, Sandra Vohs Page B

you are; Simon, why the hell did I let you talk me into bringing this buffoon with us?”
    The prematurely balding thirty-something looked up from the tattered paperback he was reading at the mention of his name. “What are you two arguing about now?”
    “Josephina here wants to go back to the houseboat,” the older man snapped. “You won’t object if I give him one of our flashlights and send him on his way, right?”
    Simon sighed. “Look, Judge, I know he gets on your nerves, but he does a nice job cooking for us and cleaning up after us, and I’d feel bad if he got lost or eaten or some such thing.”
    “Hey, don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Joey interjected.
    “Just stop arguing with the Judge, okay?” Simon stood and stretched. “You’re alive today because he let you come with us—it’s his boat, his supplies, his rules. Got it?”
    “Fine, Simon, but only because you’ve always been good to me. We were a great team when we presented our cases in court—”
    “You didn’t present anything, Joey-boy,” the Judge corrected him. “You were a lowly case manager for the Department of Child Services; you don’t even have a college degree for Christ’s sake.”
    “Simon worked for the same agency,” Joey protested.
    “At least Simon here made it through law school. You just pranced around the courthouse in skinny jeans, trying to act important when you didn’t know your butt from a hole in the ground.”
    “That’s not completely fair,” Simon offered with a smirk, “he really did know his butt from a hole in the ground.”
    The Judge rolled his eyes, “Well, you should know.”
    Flustered by the direction of the conversation, Joey raised his voice, “And I knew enough to get you to sign off on emergency removals from the good neighborhoods. I knew enough to keep myself out of the hood!”
    Simon chuckled. “It really was pretty impressive how all of your cases were middle-class parents who lost their kids at the mall one time, or who forgot to fasten a car seat. My favorite was the professor who fell asleep on his couch and his two-year old wandered down to the neighbors where she was mauled by a Chihuahua. How many stitches did she need?”
    Joey puffed out his chest. “Thirteen. Thirteen stitches and thirteen months of supervised visitation after thirteen weeks of the little girl being in foster care. That guy thought he was too good to need services for his daughter, but I showed him that no-one thinks he’s better than me and gets away with it.” He looked at the Judge. “I made up a bunch of quotes from the neighbor and said that the professor didn’t show any remorse for his daughter’s injury—you granted me an emergency order to put the girl in foster care. It was awesome. Did I ever thank you for that?”
    The Judge reached out and grabbed Joey by the front of his coat. “You do realize that knowingly providing false information to the court is a federal crime, don’t you?” 
    Joey shook himself free. “I don’t think that matters anymore, do you?”
    Simon shrugged, “So I guess that proves Joey is smarter than you gave him credit for, Judge—” He paused and held up his hand, “Hey, do you guys hear that?” A low rumbling sound was barely audible over the crackling of the fire. “That sounds like an animal to me.”
    The judge picked up his shotgun. “You idiots need to shut up. I’ll go have a look around.”
     

    Luke and Gracie lay wrapped around each other in a tangle of sheets and blankets. Gracie nuzzled Luke’s neck. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve worked up quite an appetite. How about I bring us a picnic in bed?”
    Luke’s stomach growled loudly in reply. “Sounds good to me—I’m craving some of that wedding cake, which is weird. I haven’t had much use for sugar lately.”
    Gracie pulled on her robe and kissed Luke on his forehead. “Steak and cake—dinner of champions,” she replied. “I’ll be right back. I’m