Love in the Time of Zombies Read Online Free Page B

waitresses announces, “One minestrone coming right up.”
    Not that he gets up off the floor.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with him?” Cammie asks.
    It’s a good question, exactly the sort that I, the journalist, should be asking. But I’m too confused by what’s going on to ask good questions. All I can do is stand over the huddled man with my hand out.
    â€œHe thinks she wants to touch his dick,” one of the officers says, as she dips bread into a small ceramic bowl of olive oil.
    Appalled, I take several steps back and look at the woman. “ What? ”
    The other guard smiles. “Don’t take it personally. It’s just the way men are these days. After seventeen years of being hounded and chased and pampered and petted as an exotic rarity, they’ve lost perspective. They think all women want to touch their privates, all women are after them for sex.”
    â€œOMG.” Cammie giggles. “That’s insane.”
    â€œThe condition is called PNZSD,” Cantor explains, “Post Nonzombification Stress Disorder. An unsettling number of UHMs suffer from it.”
    â€œTherapy helps but it works much better if the therapist is a man, and there are only a dozen of those in the world still practicing,” says Ritchie. “Geyser & Meiser is working on a drug for it.”
    Cammie walks over to the booth and points to the bread. “May I?”
    Cantor slides over to make room and Cammie sits down. “So working security for the PGA. What’s that like?”
    â€œIt’s a good gig,” Ritchie says. “Reliable, interesting, great benefits.”
    â€œYeah, the health plan is to die for.”
    â€œI’m studying at the police academy,” Cammie says.
    â€œCool,” Cantor says. “Are you thinking urban security or maybe Zombie Investigation Bureau?”
    The server emerges with the minestrone soup for Larry, who, still quivering on the floor, peeks out from behind his chair and looks at me accusingly. I take another step back.
    â€œNot really sure,” Cammie says with a shrug. “Maybe urban security for the first year, then transfer to the ZIB.”
    â€œYou should do it,” Ritchie says. “I’m taking the ZIB test next month. It’s where the best opportunities for leadership are.”
    Cammie nods. “Everyone says that.”
    Cantor tears off another piece of bread. “It’s the truth.”
    â€œTotally,” agrees Ritchie. “Security is a good gig if you want to stability, but if you’re ambitious you should go into the ZIB.”
    â€œI am ambitious,” Cammie says.
    Cantor asks Cammie how ambitious, Cammie says very, and I realize that it could go on forever—their trivial, mildly banal conversation could continue and continue until the world finally ends.
    â€œStop,” I say, practically shaking from the madness of it all—their irrelevant chatter, the restaurant’s impeccable service, the human male’s quivering body, still on the floor in a lump. “Just stop.”
    Cammie and the two guards look at me like I’m the crazy one, but they stop. I look at Cantor, then Ritchie. “Are you telling me that all men are sniveling idiots?”
    Ritchie laughs and shakes her head. “Not at all. Some men are non-sniveling idiots.”
    Her colleague nods emphatically. “But trust us. You’re much better off with the sniveling variety because they at least keep their dicks in their pants. Non-snivelers take it out every chance they get.”
    â€œRemember Commando Carlos?” Ritchie says, giggling. “Pathological.”
    Cammie leans forward. “Seriously?”
    Cantor nods. “Oh, yeah. He’d whip it out thinking that it was the neatest trick in the world. We had to keep telling him to put it away.” Cantor shrugs. “Of course, the older ones are easier to handle. They remember what things were like