Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum 24)

“No!” I said. “No shooting.”

Chucci made a hard left onto Myrtle Street and an immediate right into another alley. I stayed with him until he suddenly turned left into a backyard, raced between two houses, and came out on Clifton. I didn’t react fast enough to follow him through the yard. By the time I got to Clifton he was gone.

I drove around the Burg, looking for the silver Honda, while Lula called the plate in to Connie.

“Connie says the car belongs to Little Pinkie.”

I drove past Little Pinkie’s house. Car wasn’t there. I drove past the gym. Car wasn’t there either.

I gave up searching for Johnny and went to feed Ethel. The sky was overcast, and by the time we reached Diggery’s road, the sun was hidden behind the trees.

“It’s not nighttime,” Lula said, “but it’s dark enough back here in the woods that it’s spooky.”

I thought it was spooky in full daylight. It was like being in a second-rate goblin forest. It wouldn’t surprise me to find flying demon monkeys living in one of the yurts.

I parked in Diggery’s front yard, let myself into the double-wide, and arranged the chickens on the small kitchen table. I heard the whisper of a sound from the bedroom, and a chill ran down my spine. Ethel was on the move. Her head poked into the hallway, and at the same time Lula barreled through the front door and slammed it shut.

“They’re out there. The zombies are coming to get me. I got out of the car for a minute to stretch my legs, and I saw them. They were heading for the car, so I ran in here.”

I looked out the window. I didn’t see any zombies.

“I don’t even have my gun,” Lula said. “I left my purse in the car.”

“I don’t see them,” I said. “You must have scared them away.”

“Maybe they went invisible. Crack the window and see if you can smell them.”

“I can’t smell anything but rotisserie chicken,” I said.

Lula caught sight of Ethel oozing closer, hunting down dinner.

“Holy hell!” Lula said. “I’m caught between a giant snake and the zombies. I gotta get out of here. Give me one of those chickens.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

“I’m gonna give it to the zombies. They can have chicken brain.”

“These are supermarket chickens,” I said. “They don’t have heads.”

“Say what?”

“Look at them. No head. No brain. Didn’t you ever notice that supermarket chickens don’t have a head?”

“I never thought about it. Maybe the zombies won’t notice.”

“Of course, they’ll notice,” I said. “These are rotisserie chickens.”

Ethel was almost entirely in the hall, looking bigger in the small space than when she was curled in the tree.

“That’s the biggest freaking snake I’ve ever seen,” Lula said. “I’m gonna get diarrhea.”

“That would be bad,” I told her. “The bathroom is on the other side of Ethel.”

Lula was dancing around, waving her arms in the air. “I got to get out of here. I got to get out of here.”

I opened the front door, and Lula rushed through it and down the makeshift stairs. I stepped out of the double-wide, locked the door, and came up behind her. She was standing dead still in the middle of the yard. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was open. No sounds were coming out of Lula, but there were low, guttural moans coming out of the woods surrounding us.

“W-w-what the hell is that?” Lula whispered, pointing to the patch of scrubby bushes beyond the car.