Chapter 22: U-Haul
Not even ten minutes later a fourteen-foot U-Haul pulled off Luke Road and the guy behind its wheel asked slowly, dragging his words out and stuttering, “You ne-e-e-d a l-i-i-i-f-f-ft, man?”
I did. But maybe not from that special needs fucker. I was in no position to judge a zombie, though. People were different. Some were hustlers, killers, and cops. Others were zombies.
Zombie was thin without any muscle, wore a crew cut, and had dirt on his face. He smelled like s**t. I thought he was a farmer at first, but after I climbed in the passenger-seat and closed the door, he said, “I’m a gra-a-a-ave dig-g-g-g-ger.”
I thought: The b***h in the Taurus only ten minutes up the road needs your help. “I’m trying to get to a garage,” I said. “My Mustang broke down a ways back.
