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The worst part about being confined inside a camp like this, without a phone and any other means of communication, was the lack of information. They had no idea what was going on outside, and no way of knowing what had happened to their loved ones.

Dan Goory approached and bent down to whisper in her ear,“I hope you’re taking notes. When this is all over I’m putting out a monster edition of theGazette. Pun intended.”

“If this will ever be over,” she said.

“Oh, now don’t you go all Debbie Downer on me, honey,” he said with a smile. “Of course this will be over at some point. They’ll simply get rid of all the zombies and soon life will be back to normal. With a monster circulation of theGazette as a consequence.”

He patted her on the back and was off to get a second helping of the triple slop.

“At least someone is looking at the bright side of this mess,” said Chase.

“Dan is a newspaperman. And a newspaperman recognizes a chance to make headlines when he sees it,” said Marge. “Speaking of which, what happened to Libby and Jonah?”

Odelia had to admit she’d completely forgotten about Doctor Clam’s television crew. “And what happened to Doctor Clam?” she said. “I haven’t seen him around either.”

Lots of questions, and no answers. For a reporter it was not a fun time!

Then again, maybe Dan was right, and she should start taking notes. She could interview people at the camp, and start working on a series of articles about the day the zombie apocalypse touched down in her town.

At least it would take her mind off things.

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“Get behind me, you guys,” said Vesta. “I’ll give this zombie a poke in the snoot if he comes any closer.”

She’d picked up a tree branch and was ready to hammer the zombie until he thought better than to attack an innocent and sweet old lady out for a walk with her five cats.

“Excuse me!” said the zombie. “Um, can you please tell me where I am?”

It was the first time Vesta had ever heard of zombies actually talking, but she wasn’t going to let a minor detail like that diminish her vigilance.

“Not one step closer!” she yelled. “I’m warning you! I have a weapon and I’m not afraid to use it!”

The zombie hesitated. He looked just like all the other zombies she’d seen on the television: really bad skin and a staggering gait. Though he did look a little more intelligent than his brain-devouring buddies. In fact it wasn’t too much to say that he looked keen to make her acquaintance. “Um, I’m sorry,” he said, halting in his tracks. “I seem to have gotten lost somehow. So if you could please point me in the direction of the nearest town, I could call my wife and ask her to come pick me up. Or if I could borrow your phone for a second? I seem to have misplaced mine.”

“Your wife? What are you talking about?”

This was the first she’d heard of a zombie asking to call his wife. Then again, even zombies had wives and husbands, presumably. Zombie wives and zombie husbands.

“Well, I seem to find myself in something of a pickle,” the zombie explained. “I remember being dropped off at the clinic, but then I seem to have lost a chunk of time until I woke up just now, feeling a little disoriented, and frankly a little dizzy, too. I don’t think I’ve eaten for a while.” He took another step closer.

“Oh, no!” she said, heaving that tree branch higher. “You’re not coming anywhere near my brains, you zombie!”

“Brains?” He laughed. “Oh, but I’m not interested in your brains, ma’am. In fact I don’t think I’ve ever eaten brains in my life.” He shivered. “I don’t think I’d like it. But I could go for a nice burger, or even a slice of pizza and a mega-sized Coke to wash it all down.”

She lowered the branch. This was some weird-ass zombie.

“Be careful, Gran,” said Harriet. “It’s probably just a trick to make you lower your guard. The moment you drop that stick he’ll pounce on you and scoop out your brains!”

Gran raised her makeshift weapon.“Do you have a name?” she asked, starting to think this dude might not be as zombieish as the rest of them.

“Ned,” he said. “Ned Gorecki from Milwaukee. If I could just call my wife Marla and ask her to come pick me up, I’d be much obliged. Pretty sure she’s worried sick by now.”

“I don’t get it. If you’re from Milwaukee, what the hell are you doing on Long Island?”

“I’m still on Long Island? That’s good to know. Well, a friend of mine tipped me off about becoming a medical volunteer. Said there was this clinic looking for volunteers and they were offering eight thousand dollars a week. And since the Gorecki family bank account is in a bad way right now,I figured I might as well give it a shot. So I applied and was immediately accepted into the program, which started on a Monday.” He frowned. “What day is today, by the way? I seem to have lost track of time completely.”

“Friday,” said Gran.

“Oh, my. That means I lost an entire week. How peculiar.”

Gran was starting to get an idea of what was going on here.“You don’t happen to remember the name of this clinic, do you?”