The Undead Day Twenty Read Online Free PDF Page A

say, seeing as she was also a zombie, which came about from being bitten on the arse by Darren.
    ‘Twat.’
    She appears not to have taken offence and instead has called him a twat in that sleepy murmuring way. He bites down into her neck which makes her squeal, scrunch up, roll over, laugh and beat him off all at the same time.
    ‘I’m a zombie…’
    ‘Get off!’ she squeals again and giggles at his mouth descending once more to her neck.
    ‘Is this in bad taste?’ he asks her, pulling back a few inches.
    ‘What?’ she asks, still giggling and blinking her eyes open.
    ‘Being a zombie.’
    ‘Um…nah,’ she says, smiling a flash of white teeth.
    ‘Cool…you okay?’
    ‘Mmmm,’ she says, stretching all languid and just so fucking sexy it makes him stare down and want this second to become infinite. ‘Is it early? I bet it’s early. Go back to sleep…’
    ‘But…’
    ‘If it’s twat o’clock I…’ she trails off, stretching to look at the window and the sky that snitches on Howie by being all dawn-like with purples and blues and pinks. ‘Fuck’s sake,’ she groans then reaches out to pull him down to squash his face into her boobs then commences a rather hard patting stroking like motion on his face. ‘Go back to sleep,’ she pats / strokes while he suffers death by boobs. ‘Actually sod off, it’s too hot,’ she rolls away to lie face down and grooves into the bed with a long sigh of more sleepy murmuring.
    ‘Fancy a coffee?’
    ‘In bed?’ she asks, her voice muffled from the pillow.
    ‘I’ll bring it up.’
    ‘Awesome,’ she flaps a hand in his direction.
    He slides off the bed and pulls his trousers on, grabs his clothes, kit, bag, weapons and with his arms full of gear he heads down to the bathroom.
    His ablutions , as Dave calls them pass without incident. Other than some weirdo staring at him from the mirror. Howie doesn’t like the look of him so he avoids eye-contact in case he mistakes it as an invite to commence conversation. Instead, he urinates, brushes his teeth and showers under freezing cold water that feels divine after such a hot steamy night. Not steamy as in sex-steamy. Steamy as in just bloody hot and sweaty.
    ‘Fuck,’ he mutters under his breath standing nudey in the bathroom and realising he has no clean pants or socks. He puts yesterdays on with a grimace then curses again when he realises he’s down to his last clean top too.
    He comes out to nod at Paula emerging from her room.
    ‘Morning, Mr Howie.’
    ‘Morning, Miss Paula.’
    The leaders of the living army. The fearless warriors of heart and sinew that hold their band of fighters together with grit in their eye and a snarl on their lips.
    ‘Run out of pants and socks,’ Howie says.
    ‘Okay,’ Paula says.
    The leaders nod at each other as the door opposite opens to reveal a man mountain silhouetted by the light of the window behind him. A Viking from days of old. A Berserker of Biblical strength.
    ‘I’m out of boxers,’ Clarence says.
    ‘Okay,’ Paula says, trying not to think of seeing Clarence in his boxers a few minutes ago.
    ‘And socks,’ Clarence adds, remembering her asking him if he needed socks a few minutes ago and trying not to think of her in underwear.
    ‘Okay,’ Paula says.
    ‘HAIRBANDS,’ Marcy bellows, sleepy, languid and now not murmuring but shouting from the bedroom.
    ‘OKAY,’ Paula calls up.
    ‘Arrows,’ Roy calls out, sleepy, languid and stretching in bed.
    ‘Okay,’ Paula says.
    ‘Knives,’ Dave calls out from outside the front door, on watch but listening as ever to the motion of every living thing near him.
    ‘Okay,’ Paula calls down.
    ‘My last clean top,’ Howie says, plucking his tight black wicking top away from his chest as though Paula wouldn’t know this was the top he was referring to.
    ‘Okay,’ Paula says.
    ‘Mine too,’ Clarence says, also plucking his top out from his body.
    ‘Think I’m on my last one,’ Roy calls out.
    ‘How