Bennie was fascinated with zombies. If it weren’t so macabre, his mother would say that he loved zombies. He had books about them, watched movies about them, drew pictures of them, not to mention talked about them non-stop. His mother had only just convinced him (with a brief grounding, and absolutely no dessert) that zombies were not proper conversation at the dinner table, least of all for a six-year-old boy. She blamed his class field trip to the zoo. The new open-air zombie exhibit was the first thing he’d seen—all of them milling about and eating donated cadaver flesh.
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