“Is she channeling Ann Coulter?” asked Blondella, hand covering her ears.
Fine, that one I let her have. And then prayed that aforementioned b***h somehow hadn’t escaped her fate. Maybe she was locked in a room somewhere for all eternity with Fox News on auto-loop.
In any case, Creature started to haltingly speak. “Must… defeat… enemy.” Another groan went up, the sound like a swarm of bees. “Listen… to the… fat… one.”
“Hey!” objected Kit.
“The dead don’t lie,” said Blondella.
“Ladies,” I interjected. “So not the time.”
Kit nodded. “Right,” she whispered, then addressed the zombies. Surprisingly, they looked more attentive than her usual audience. Or at least substantially more sober. “The nearby Army wants you dead, all of us dead. Or at least captured, enslaved. They see you as no l
