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Show Anting Alone Page 165 clenched fists when open fingers would've protected any grown guy's gonads more completely. "Worried about your dissertation-typing fingers, eh?" Sam yelled. He felt the zombies close in a little tighter as he said that. He turned to tell the one right behind him to leech off - and caught a metallic glint from behind the branches of a nearby bush. Sam set his libations of wine and dope down on a strangely hollow-sounding rock within Axelrad's reach and went to pull the branches aside to have a look. Time to find out once and for all what's doing up here. Three or four zombies followed, their neck- and arm muscles visibly tightening. Just as his hand touched what felt like a plastic leaf, Sam heard a whimper behind him. "Don't, Edwine. Please don't. Come away from there." Something was making the kid act even twitchier than usual today. "What're all these nuts-and-bolts things hanging out of the bushes, Ax?" yelled Sam. He tugged on the plastic leaf and stared down several of the living dead. He neither came away nor lowered his arm. "Um, anthropological equipment." "Oh, so it's anthro you're doing. I thought the only technological advance anthropologists deigned to use was the fucking duckblind." Sam looked around and asked, very ingenuously, "Whom on earth could an anthropologist possibly be interested in studying around here?" Axelrad replied in a whisper. "These individuals all around us," he said, with a trembling wave of his little arm. |
