The Zombies Of Lake Woebegotten Read Online Free PDF

rendezvous (which he pronounced “randy-voos” for the comical value), something that struck Dolph as a little too close to paying for a lady’s affection, though Eileen saw it differently: “Most guys would buy a gal dinner first. You just buy dinner after. It’s like you get to eat your dessert first. Isn’t that every little boy’s dream?”
    Dolph went to the door to take down the “Back in fifteen minutes sign,” and that’s when he saw the dog trying to eat Clem.  
    Clem didn’t look that worried yet—the dog was trying to bite his ankle, and Clem was shaking his leg like he was trying to fling a glob of manure off his heel, trying not to spill the paper cups or diner to-go sack he held in his hand, the result looking like a peculiar sort of spastic modern dance, or else a dance not modern at all, but old: like a dance by St. Vitus, maybe, or else the tarantella. It wasn’t a very big dog, looked like old man Levitt’s miniature pinscher, though something had gone funny with its back legs, and they were all twisted up.
    “That poor dog,” Eileen said, standing with him by the doorway. “What’s wrong with it?”
    Dolph shrugged, pushed open the door, cleared his throat, and said, “Need a hand there?”
    “No, I wouldn’t put you to any trouble.” Clem was dragging his leg now, with the dog’s jaws fastened firmly around his pants and, judging by the pained expression on Clem’s face, maybe some of the meat underneath.
    “No trouble. I could at least take that bag from you.”
    “That’s okay, I’ve got it.”
    “I’m happy to,” Dolph said. “I’m already outside.” He didn’t want to stay out here much longer without his coat, either, but Clem was a good Lake Woebegotten Lutheran boy, which meant he’d refuse any offer to help at least twice, maybe three times, though since he had a dog biting him, Dolph was hoping he’d settle for the bare minimum of two.
    “I suppose if you’ve got a hand free,” Clem said, and Dolph strode over and took the lunch bag and the beverages from him, and then they both stood looking down at the dog, which looked like its back half had been run over by a car, which might explain why it was so cantankerous, but didn’t explain why it wasn’t in a ditch licking its wounds and gradually freezing to death. Its jaws were working methodically, though it was trying to chew through a layer of denim and a chunk of boot leather and probably thick socks under that. Dolph didn’t speculate on the possibility of long underwear. That was Clem’s business.
    “Guess I should just reach down and pull it off me.” Clem didn’t sound excited about the prospect. He bent, grasped the dog’s upper and lower jaws, and grunted. “He’s on there good.” With much prying he got the jaws open and flung the min-pin, whose name was Alta for some reason, toward a convenient snowbank. Alta landed on his ruined back legs, but didn’t howl or growl or make a sound, just came crawling forward again, relentless, jaws working, eyes oddly fogged-over.
    “Reckon it’s rabid?” Clem asked.
    “I don’t know. Usually you see some frothing and such with rabies.” Dolph shook his head.  
    “Fella at the diner was talking about zombies,” Clem said. “Could be a zombie dog.”
    Dolph didn’t say anything for a long moment. Zombies. He was willing to bet Clem still believed in the tooth fairy, but zombies were a stretch even for him. “It could be rabies I guess,” Dolph said. “If it weighed more than eight or nine pounds it’d be scary. We should call old man Levitt, let him know.”
    “You should just put it out of its misery.” Eileen joined them on the sidewalk, and with her cheeks rosy from the cold, Dolph thought she looked as pretty as Helen of Troy, and judging from the bulging grocery sacks in her arms, she was fresh from looting Sparta.  
    “Hate to put down another man’s dog. But maybe…” Dolph went inside for a moment and came back with a red