What to Expect When You’re… Dead, Chapter Seventeen

The Zombie Chronicles

Chapter Seventeen

Partners in Crime Fighting

I have a side-kick, the zombie has a side-kick. That’s frickin’ hilarious don’t you think? But I’m getting a bit ahead of myself here. In my desperate attempt to kill the boredom I joined the neighborhood watch and even though, as I had said, I was a bit unsure about the whole situation it turned out to be one of the best things I could have done.

At first I figured I’d have to convince my neighbors that already knew my bucket had been kicked some time ago that I could be trusted and capable of doing the job, but come to find out I wasn’t the only corpse on the block; just the newest one. Before I knew what was happening they were shaking my hand had signed me up for permanent night watch. I suddenly got the feeling that I’d been set up. I didn’t realize that the reason there were so many incidents of teen vandalism was because many of my neighbors were either too afraid to confront the kids (and their aggressive or dismissive parents) or too tired to stay up walking the streets at night. Me being undead fit perfectly, I was awake already and unless one of people out there had excellent aim it wouldn’t hurt in the least if someone took a shot at me. Of course I wouldn’t be too happy about that, I have enough holes in my body already thank you very much and without being able to heal I don’t need anything leaking out. Not a pretty sight I assure you.

Anyway, I was surprised to find out that night that just four houses down was old guy who was dying from some illness then suddenly felt better; because he was dead and a woman two streets over that walked away from a fatal car crash between her and an elm tree. Or more accurately she hobbled away from it having broken her leg in two. That’s where the whole side-kick thing comes into it. With these two slower but still agile undead at my side our neighborhood watch has now formed the Zombie-Watch.

It’s a bit cliché to see us walking down the side-walk. One, ‘Is he or isn’t he?’ dead guy in basketball shorts and a hoodie with two slower foot scraping zombies in tow must be a sight, but it seems to work for us. There’s still this media induced belief that a bite or scratch from one of us will turn you into one of the walking dead so most people prefer not to take their chances with us. I guess the media is good for something, even if they did get it wrong; and still continue to (but that’s for another day). Technically we’re on the schedule for different nights, but since they’re just as bored as I was we usually do it together just to have something to do and some who understands to do it with, but I’m the one that got the side-kick. I’m the one that got the dog!

A dog? Yep you heard me; a dog. I never thought I’d be able to have a pet that wasn’t in a bowl of water and more importantly not able to treat me like meals on wheels two leg edition. What makes him so special? He’s a retired police dog, cadaver dog to be specific, trained not to disturb human remains. Dead isn’t food! Perfect for me right? Of course I do feel for the poor fella, he’s a bit confused that the corpse he was trained to sniff out is still up and moving, but he’s getting used the idea the more we’re together. I just hope he doesn’t forget his training one day and turn me into a chew toy. Ouch!

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