Zombies Don't Forgive by Rusty Fischer

lover?” She does that whole oozing amoeba thing again, sliding under his arm.
    But even Stamp looks uncomfortable and shoots me a quick apologetic look past Val’s blonde spikes. “W-w-well, not every night.”
    â€œYeah,” Dane adds a little gruffly, shuffling closer. “I mean, Stamp’s home some nights like a good little boy, so you must get pretty scared staying out here alone, huh?”
    Val shrugs and loops her arm almost violently through Stamp’s. “Not really. I’m pretty tough, right, Stamp?” It sounds almost like a warning. She tugs him toward her and nearly folds him in half with the effort.
    He looks a little startled, then embarrassed.
    My throat clenches. Sentinel or not, zombie or not, Val is not someone Stamp should be with. And I’m not saying that as his ex. I’m saying it as his friend.
    Suddenly I can’t help but wonder why sweet Stamp has gone so sour. Has it been just to get away from us, like Dane says? Or did he always have an edge as a Normal that I missed because I was so caught up in being a zombie?
    Or maybe I’m just reacting the way most girls do when they see their ex’s new girlfriend. I honestly can’t fathom how a guy who was ever attracted to me, even in the slightest, could be attracted to a girl like Val.
    â€œSo what is this new job of yours?” Val says, stepping in so that Stamp is pushed to the background.
    Dane and I share a look because, well, it’s the kind of move he taught me in the same scenario: protect your weaker link. So does that mean she has Sentinel training, or is she just an alpha witch? I’m getting alpha-witch vibe, but maybe that’s just me.
    â€œYou guys must be
really
eager to please if you’rewandering around deserted areas in the middle of the night.”
    â€œReader Response Corp,” Dane blurts, reading the name we made up for the top of the form. “They do surveys, customer satisfaction mostly, on all kinds of retail products.”
    â€œReally?” Val whips the clipboard out of Dane’s hand so fast he barely has time to react.
    I watch Val’s face as she scans the six stapled pages of questions we worked hard to write. (Well, Brittni did, mostly.) Things like this:
    Would you prefer to watch a thriller or chick flick on a first date?
    How often do you go to the movie theater in a month? Please circle the appropriate answer.
    Once.
    Twice.
    Three times.
    What is your favorite movie snack food? Please select one of the following items.
    Val’s face is priceless as she reads them. She goes from triumphant, clearly thinking she’s going to stump us and reveal some blank page BS that we just threw together, to petulant that we’ve stumped her, to finally looking downright impressed.
    â€œWow. This is quite an elaborate survey for big-screenTVs. How ever did you know I had one?”
    â€œWe didn’t.” I sigh, trying to out-act her. “But most people do these days. Do you? If you did, it would be great if you’d answer some of these. Maybe we could even go inside and—”
    But Val’s not having any of that. Instead, she has whipped out her cell phone and is reading the number on the survey form, the one right under the completely false Reader Response Corp logo Brittni helped us design.
    â€œVal?” Stamp looks at us uncomfortably, bordering on shooting us major WTF face. “Honey? Who could you be calling at this hour?” In his voice I hear the gentle, almost timid boy I fell in love with back at Barracuda Bay High. In that second of concern for her, for us, I hear the heartbreak that his existence has become since I saved his life—you know, by killing him. Again.
    He never wanted any of this. He never deserved any of this. And now he’s in danger because he’s running away from this.
    I shoot Dane a look, and he looks at me as if he’s thinking,
Calm down.
After all, the number