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“Those hatches only open intermittently,” I said. “Dooley would have to be very quick to launch himself through, and even then he might get stuck. And what happens if the hatch suddenly closes again?”

“I would be chopped in half!” Dooley cried.

“You wouldn’t get chopped in half,” said Brutus. “The worst that could happen is that you get stuck. Big deal.”

“But I don’t want to get stuck,” said Dooley.

“Yeah, but look at the bright side,” said Brutus. “If you succeed you could go and find Odelia and save us all. You’d be the hero, Dooley. And we’d all be very grateful.”

“I could give it a shot,” said Tigger. “I’m pretty small, too.”

He was. Small and red. A little like me, though I’m big and blorange, of course.

“Look, even if this works, and either Dooley or Tigger manage to squeeze through, they’re still going to be stuck in this room with no way out,” said Harriet.

“I’m sure there’s a way out,” said Brutus. “And if there isn’t all they have to do is wait until some human comes in and sneak out.”

“No humans ever set foot in here,” said Missy. “This seems to be some kind of self-contained system, fully-automated. Designed to operate without human interference.”

“So what’s going to happen if I have to wee-wee?” asked Misty. “I mean, I feel a wee-wee coming on just now, and I don’t like to wee-wee without my litter box.”

“Just wee-wee on the floor,” said Buster.

“No way!” said Harriet, clearly horrified by this unsanitary notion.

“Where else are you going to wee-wee?” said Buster. “There is no other way.”

“We could hold it in,” said Harriet. “I think I can probably hold it in for twenty-four hours, until Odelia comes and saves us.”

“Everyone knows that’s not healthy, Harriet,” I said. “Bad for your kidneys.”

“Odelia should never have left us with these Peppard people,” Brutus grumbled. “She should have done her due diligence instead of simply trusting that snake oil salesman.”

“You believed the snake oil salesman,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, but I’m a cat, she’s a human. She’s supposed to be smarter than me.”

We all stared before us for a moment, thinking about our predicament, then suddenly I heard a tinkling sound followed by a satisfied little sigh. Misty had done her business and she clearly was relieved to have relieved herself. Then, after a beat, she said,“So now where do I sleep?”

All I could wonder was what would happen if I had to go number two.

Probably better not to go there.

[Êàðòèíêà: img_3]

Father Reilly was so glad to be back at his church that he clasped his hands together and raised his eyes heavenward to thank the Lord for looking out for him so very well.

He entered the church and walked along the nave when suddenly he thought he heard a sound. Almost like… a dog was lapping something up. It was dark inside the church, as he didn’t like to switch on the lights unless strictly necessary.

He glanced around, and then heard that strange sound again. Water rippling.

And then he saw it: near the baptismal font, half a dozen zombies were wrestling each other to dive head-first into the font!

The sight was so gruesome and horrifying that for a moment he stood frozen to the spot, then howled a terrified scream and ran.

But even as he was running, he suddenly was filled with righteous indignation. This was the Lord’s home! These zombies had no business defiling the House of Christ!

So he returned on his steps and picked up a chair and, screaming like a banshee, ran toward the feasting zombies while holding the chair aloft.

The zombies, though, if they were impressed by the on-storming priest, certainly didn’t show it. They simply went on bathing and drinking from the holy water.

And even when the priest hit one of the zombies on the head with the chair, the zombie merely shook his head and gave the priest a dirty look, then, as one zombie, they all stepped away from the baptismal font and began chasing after him!

And as he raced through his own church, he thought these zombies were a lot faster than Hollywood made you believe. Curse those Hollywood producers, he thought. They should have warned him that zombies could actually outrun their living counterparts!

Even before he’d reached the heavy oak doors, the zombie army had finally caught up with him and then they were all piling on top of him.

Yup. This was the end, all right.

Now he was going to turn into a zombie himself.

But instead, after roughing him up a little, they simply left him lying there and left.

So he just lay there for a moment, glancing up at the church ceiling. He saw Saint-Cecilia smiling down at him from her stained-glass window, and Saint-Joseph and even Saint-Peter. And as he waited for the transformation to take place, he soon realized no transformation was taking place at all.

And as he got up and dusted himself off and touched the black eye those ruffians had given him, he frowned. He fingered his face. No sores, no terrible skin. Nope. He hadn’t turned into a zombie.