Zombie Jamboree

Zombie Jamboree

Rindall Hunt leaned against the tallest tombstone in Browen Cemetery. Naturally the name carved across the base of the obelisk spelled BROWEN. Herbert John (born 1825, died 1899) slumbered on the south side of the plot. As far as Rindall knew, he'd never risen on Halloween, called or not. Neither had his second wife, Deborah Jane, RIPing on the opposite side of the stone. But his first love, Elizabeth Marie, who'd died in childbirth at the age of twenty-four, moved around so often that nothing grew on her grave but weeds.

Rindall slammed his hand against the monument, wincing at the clacking sound that reminded him his digits hadn't quite fleshed out yet. He bellowed, "Rise and shine, Bets. We've got work to do!"

"What's taking her so long?" Josh Payley paced the length of her grave. His stride was barely a shamble because he'd been dead the shortest amount of time, which meant he pulled himself together faster. The only gaping hole left on him was his nose.

Rindall shook his head. Josh had to be reminded of everything at first. It was like that skull fracture had killed part of his memory for eternity. Rindall said, "She's old, which means it takes her brain longer to reform."

Plus, Bets liked to look her best when she emerged. Almost as good as the day she'd died. Josh, on the other hand, had been aboveground within five minutes, spitting beetle larvae and shaking worms out of his cracks.

"So what's the plan?" Josh asked as he hopped to the top of a nearby monument and teetered across it.

"A big failure if you fall," Rindall snapped. "How many times do I have to warn you about your reckless risks? I mean this; you break it, you dangle it."

"Dude, tell me you weren't this big of a wuss when you were building skyscrapers."

Rindall snorted. "Not until I took a dive off one. Now get the hell down. Seriously, I'm not taping any more of your parts back together tonight."

"This is why your wife hired that dude to kill you. You know that, right? Although"—Josh paused, giving Rindall the once-over—"it might also have something to do with those threads. Even if it was the seventies, you should've known better than to buy a powder-blue suit."

Rindall threw up his hands. "Can't we get through one invocation without—"

A stirring at Rindall's feet brought them both to the head of the stone. Just like in the horror flicks Josh had devoured in life and relentlessly retold in death, Elizabeth Marie Browen's hand punched through the earth as if it was furious that somebody had allowed the crabgrass to spread so far. The second fist emerged quickly after, its fingers rising to give the guys a ladylike wave.

But it wasn't just a premature hello. Bets was signaling. Get me out! I have business to attend to! Also, my feet are stuck in the coffin again!