Zombies Eat Lawyers by Kevin Michael, Lacy Maran Page A

stairs.
    "Don't make me hurt you," Steve warned, one last time.
    But Zombie Betty only had one thing on her mind. She lunged for Steve again. Steve moved to the side, then grabbed hold of the mail cart beside him, and steamrolled Betty with it.
    Steve rammed Zombie Betty into the wall, expecting that to do the trick. Betty fell to the ground and lay lifeless. Steve breathed a sigh of relief.
    "What the hell is going on here?" he asked himself.
    But Steve didn't have long with his thoughts.
    Zombie Betty started groaning again. Steve turned around and saw Betty starting to stagger to her feet.
    "You've gotta be kidding me."
    Steve looked around for a weapon, but found none. He then got an idea. Steve grabbed a box full of Betty's latest harassment case load, and slammed it on her head. With the blow to the cranium, Betty fell back to the ground, lifeless.
    "Case closed, bitch."
    Steve caught his breath, not fully believing what he just saw. He slid his smart phone out of his pocket and pulled up the internet, hoping the days Breaking News would give him answers. But just as his internet browser was opening, Steve heard a piercing scream.
    *********
    Dave Johnson's life was circling the drain faster than a goldfish gone belly up. He'd lost three cases in a row. His mistress left him for his life coach. And he'd just caught his wife getting wheel barrowed by an Icelandic pet psychic. It seemed things couldn't go worse.
    That was, until he got served court papers. See, Dave made his fortune on frivolous lawsuits. His business card even said "no case too absurd." So when he wasn't able to convince the court it was Sir Lunch-A-Lot's fault for making a client obese, the supposed victim retaliated by filing a lawsuit against Dave for incompetence. That was why Dave had made bourbon his best buddy. And why Rebecca Webster thought nothing of Dave stammering into the offices that morning looking like he'd slept in a gutter.
    Rebecca meanwhile held court over her Empire of gossip. She spent her work time complaining online about how much she hated her job. Whiny status updates went out to her thousand closest online friends. The fact was, Rebecca was overqualified to answer phones, but under qualified for anything less demeaning, the fitting result to getting a Liberal Arts degree from the University Of Arm & A Leg.
    Rebecca was typing up another status update online when Dave trudged in, groaning.
    "Sounds like someone could use a raisin bagel," Rebecca said, with fake cheer.
    But Dave had other cravings on his mind. He leaned over the desk with blank eyes and his mouth wide open. Rebecca tore herself away from social networking to offer Dave a bagel, then noticed how close he was to her, and misinterpreted it for a sexual advance.
    "Ew, booze breath. Gross," Rebecca uttered, pulling back. But staring deep into Dave's eyes, she realized something was different. That he wasn't just horny and hung over--or even alive anymore for that matter.
    Zombie Dave lunged across the desk at Rebecca and ripped into her flesh. She screamed for help, but the damage had been done. An online status update remained on Rebecca's computer. It read "just another boring day at the office."
    You'd think a yell like Rebecca's would send the cavalry coming. But the partners sat in their corner offices thinking about who to sue next, and what Caribbean Island to bask on after their multi million dollar payday.
    Elaine Boyle meanwhile sat patiently in her cubicle when Rebecca's scream reached fever pitch. Elaine had waited patiently all morning for the soothing dulcet tones of DJ Rick Smooth's cue to call so she could win an iCool tablet.
    Leanne Miller meanwhile furiously scoured the internet for a recap of the last episode of "Bitchy Housewives Of Boise." Her boyfriend had forgotten to DVR it before he took her out to the hip new French Asian Fusion joint across town. Sure "Chez Wang" had killer foie grass wonton, but that hardly made up for missing America's