Dawn of the Jed Read Online Free PDF Page A

and cloudy. A storm to rain on everyone’s parade.
    “You’re not cold at all with just shorts on?” Luke said as we crossed the street with no particular destination in mind. “Or is your good cheer keeping you warm and comfy?”
    I shoved my hands into my pockets, realizing my shorts didn’t have pockets. Stupid shorts. So I tucked my hands under my armpits instead, but felt my duct-taped shoulder give a bit, not ready to accept any other duties beyond barely staying together.
    Fine. I’d just be cold.
    Noticing my futile warmth-seeking attempts, Luke stopped.
    “Let’s go back to your room so you can put on something more seasonal,” he said. “I’d suggest pants, the kind that reach your ankles. You might even want to go as far as outerwear. A jacket, say. Studies have proven that such articles of clothing can keep you warm. Of course, research was limited to those prone to breathing. Not sure if it would apply in the case of the circulatory-system deficient.”
    “I don’t know what’s worse,” I said. “Your constant sarcasm, or the fact it’s been enhanced now that you know a little biology.”
    “I have to admit I thought biology would be worthless. Not anymore. It has really added an edge to my zombie trash-talking. Public education—it does a brain good.”
    I didn’t even want to think about school. Sure, the fall semester ended on a great note. But our football victory would only heighten Robbie’s anti-zombie feelings. Last semester he tossed me in trash cans, stuffed me into a trophy display case that was right across the hall from the principal’s office, framed me for smoking, and stabbed me. He stuck a screwdriver in my stomach as if I were a pincushion. Had he done that to any other member of the planet’s six billion people, he would have faced twenty years in prison. More if I’d died. But Robbie didn’t even get detention. That’s mostly due to the fact I didn’t report it. Why would I? It left a mark no bigger than a pimple. Principal Buckley would probably say: “Don’t blame your acne on Robbie.”
    And now I didn’t even have my greatest weapon: fear. Robbie was convinced I was a zombie thanks to a few simple Internet tricks. A phony Wikipedia page filled with fake zombie-infection studies, which looked authentic. I also created several science-based Twitter accounts that announced various breakthroughs. For example, this one from @UndeadStudiesForum: “When cleaving zombie skulls, beware blood spatter near nose, mouth. #rapidcellinfection #youremeat.”
    Luke, Anna, and I pulled off the perfect prank in Woodshop. Using a finger severed by the bandsaw, I soaked Robbie in fake blood. Robbie took it for real blood and ran out screaming like a little girl. His answer when he returned to school? That stabbing. Simple but effective.
    Winter break was supposed to let me escape all that. Two weeks of late nights and bad TV and hanging out with Luke. The argument with Mom and Dad was bad enough. Now I had Robbie on the brain.
    “Uh oh, you just got that look,” Luke said, bringing me back to the land of the living (dead).
    “Huh?”
    “That ‘Robbie on my brain-dead brain’ look. You get a little slack-jawed, then your eyebrows go up, and your eyes slowly close,” Luke said. “But the clincher is that fine sheen of Ooze on your forehead. Oh, hey, that’s new.”
    “What?”
    “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think your nose is slipping.”
    I grabbed my nose between thumb and forefinger. It was a little loose, like a tooth about to come out.
    My nerves acted up again. Mom, Dad, Robbie. I needed to clear my mind.
    “I’m going to the park,” I said. “I need to sit down, relax, and get past this stuff.”
    “Want company?”
    “Sure.”
    “Cool. But are we just going to talk about your feelings? Which is OK. I just want to be prepared.”
    “You know what I really want to talk about? What a d-bag you can be sometimes.”
    “Sweet. My efforts have not