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typing his latest manuscript, “Billy Bud 1991,” which he
claimed was about “man’s inhumanity to man, a psychical allegory depicting the
suppression of spiritual freedom through capitalistic coercion.” It
was also about “the resulting self parasitism of corporate tyranny.” To
the publishers, though, it was about bullshit. Lois watched Night of the Living Dead on cable. “It’s about zombies,” she said. “It’s not about zombies!” Zyro
yelled back. “It’s about the hunted within the sanctuary of the
hunter! It’s about the cyclic futility of the black race trapped in
a white supremist world! It’s not about zombies!” Lois Hartley sighed. It’s about zombies, you asshole.

    • Two more students named
Stella and Liddy were playing Strip Twister with a third student
named David Willet. They played lots of games together. Others were
Grease the Cucumber, Eat it Off, and Human Sandwich. David Willet’s
nickname was “Do Horse,” which he’d earned the first time he
took his clothes off in the locker room.

    • A handsome young man
named Wilhelm exclaimed, “Gott! Was ist
dies scheiss?” The TV picture had winked
out. “Willy, what’s wrong?” his new American girlfriend, Sarah,
asked. “Your Americana television ist piece of scheiss.”
“It’s Japanese,” Sarah scolded. “Das right, you
Americana do not even support your own economy.” Sarah’s cat, Frid,
purred from atop the refrigerator. “Forget about the TV,” Sarah
cooed. She dropped her robe and was nude beneath.

    • A man named Sladder drove
hurriedly toward the campus power station. “Dag power failures,” he
muttered. “Blam it!” But suddenly a headache developed. It was so
intense he had to pull over and stop.

    • Nina McCulloch’s roommate
and friends were still in the next room doing drugs and ministering
to Satan, the Great Deceiver. Please
forgive them, God, Nina prayed. “They’re
coming to get you, Barbara,” she heard from the TV. They’re coming to get you Nina, she thought sleepily. She dreamed of something
huge falling—Satan. But the closer it got, the smaller it
became.

    • A sleek shadow moved
quietly down the main hall of the admin building. A flashlight
played over muskets and powder horns, an exhibit of colonial
relics. Keys jingled; the shadow unlocked the last display case. A
large object was removed. The shadow moved away as the object cast
its own shadow in the moonlight—that of an impossibly large
ax.

    ««—»»

    Penelope dried off and
examined herself nude in the full length. She combed her hair
out to dark red lines. Light freckles covered her like fine mist.
Her breasts were large, pale nippled. Last Christmas her
grandmother had called her a “breeder,” eyeing her breasts and wide
hips. “You have a breeder bosom, dear. You’re going to make some
wonderful babies someday.” Make.
Babies. What a thing to say at Christmas!
The image caused her to clench.
    Her pubis was a slant of shiny russet fur;
pink peeked out from its cleft. She bared the tender opening with
her fingers and shivered. How could babies come from something so
small?
    There was nothing to do in the dorm, and no
one around to talk to. Sarah and the Erbling sisters were the only
other girls on the floor for the summer sessions, but they were all
too busy with boys to bother with Penelope. Her horse posters
stared at her. The lights reflected too brightly off the walls; she
felt trapped by its blaze, spied on by imaginary peepholes. She
dressed quickly, got into her ZX, and left.
    She felt lonely even in crowds. Most of her
friends were only cursory; they were friendly but they really
didn’t consider her a friend. They kept their distance because they
thought she was weird. Her only real friend, she guessed, was Mr.
Sladder, and he was an old man. At least he was nice to her. At
least he cared.
    She drove off the campus
proper, opened up the ZX. The engine purred softly, her red hair
danced in the