Zombie Raccoons & Killer Bunnies Read Online Free PDF Page B

crossed himself as he knelt beside his employer.
    “Dios mio!” he exclaimed. “I call the ambulance.”
    “Did you see that raccoon?” Pilkington gasped out, trying to lift his hand, but twenty pounds of steel held it down.
    “No, Señor Pay,” Ruiz said, his round face creased with pity. “I see only a curse. Lie still. I get help.” The Mexican foreman got up and ran for the office.
    Pilkington felt the pain in his limbs sift away, to be replaced by a numbness that left his mind clear at last. Granny was right, devil take the old witch. It had been stupid to start a blood feud over a couple of tomatoes
or a few raccoons. He never realized how horrible and disproportionate the punishment he had inflicted on other living creatures was. He looked up at the raccoon and saw an instrument of justice. Pilkington swore that if God let him live, next time he had a problem with a critter, he would be more understanding. This raccoon could have been his death, but it showed him more mercy than he ever had.
    The raccoon almost smiled at him. Then it turned and waddled out of sight.

BUNRABS
    By Donald J. Bingle
    Donald J. Bingle has had a wide variety of short fiction published, primarily in DAW-themed anthologies, but also in tie-in anthologies for the Dragonlance and Transformers universes and in popular role-playing gaming materials. Recently, he has had stories published in Fellowship Fantastic, Front Lines, Imaginary Friends, If I Were an Evil Overlord, and Gamer Fantastic. His first novel, Forced Conversion, is set in the near future, when anyone can have heaven, any heaven they want, but some people don’t want to go. His most recent novel, Greensword, is a darkly co medic thriller about a group of environmentalists who decide to end global warming . . . immediately. Now they’re about to save the world; they just don’t want to get caught doing it. Don can be reached at [email protected], and his novels can be purchased through www.donaldjbingle.com .
    “I t’s a myth,” clucked Doris as she picked at her salad. “I don’t believe it, not for one instant.”

    “You’re just a spring chicken, dear,” responded Doris’ Aunt Clementine as she absentmindedly primped and groomed herself while they sat gossiping. “You don’t understand how dangerous the world can be, how vicious.” Clementine readjusted her sitting position, shifting forward and cocking her head to one side, bringing it closer to Doris. “Why do you think your mother treasured you oh so desperately before she was taken from us? You were the only child she raised but not the only child she might have raised. It’s so sad, really.”
    Doris swiveled her head, looking about for someone else to greet or bring into a new conversation. She hated being cooped up with her old biddy aunt when she became melancholy like this. She acted quite addle-minded. Doris was convinced it was something in the old bird’s diet; she’d heard there was something in commercial feed that can make your mind go when you get older. Dioxin, scrapie, or something. No doubt, that was what was happening to her aunt. Oh, she didn’t mind that the dear old girl was consorting with a young stud less than half her aunt’s age, but lately Clementine had begun to ramble constantly about danger and conspiracy theories. Really, she said the most outrageous things. It had gotten worse during the last part of winter, and now, well now she hardly shut up about it.
    Doris looked out the open door toward the yard, but no one was approaching. She figured she might as well humor the old hen. Maybe if Clementine finished her story without too much aggravation, she would nap most of the afternoon.
    Doris fixed Clementine with a steely gaze. “So, I would have had siblings, if they hadn’t been taken from Mother. Is that what you’re saying?’

    Clementine bobbed her head and clicked her tongue. “Yes, taken they were.”
    Doris had heard this part before. “And you say they were