and Arrick's sandwich at the same time.
Reaching into her purse for some cash, Abby mumbled her assent. "Anyway, I think they want to organize some protests and I think it's important."
Now Arrick mumbled assent as he bit into his sandwich.
"Would you like to come along?" she asked.
He stopped in mid bite and lifted his eyes toward her. She could see that he was trying to think of a way to politely refuse, weighing the truth against the lies.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I just thought, since you'd been affected by them, too, you might…"
"It's quite all right," he said around a mouthful of food. "I'm just not the protesting type. I'd prefer to let the authorities do their work."
"You sound like my husband."
He smiled.
"Well, okay, John. Don't be a stranger then."
"I promise," he said.
She got up and went to the front to pay her check. She handed the waitress a couple of bills and left, heading east toward the train station.
***
ARRICK ate his sandwich in blissful silence. It wasn't that he hadn't been glad to see Abby. He liked her very much. When he'd seen her sitting there, he couldn't help but approach. He'd been desperately curious about Suzanna's affair with Larry and Abby was his best opportunity for ever getting answers. And now he had them and was free to relax in peace. Ever since his encounter with Suzanna, or the thing that she had become, he'd been retreating more and more into himself. He wasn't sure if it was because of Suzanna's illness or his own. Even after a month, he was still expecting to develop an unnatural craving for human flesh. For now, though, the corned beef on his sandwich was just what he wanted.
Arrick was situated so that he was facing a wall filled with pictures of all of the famous people who'd eaten in the deli. He recognized some of them. DeNiro, Pacino, Woody Allen, the Clintons. But most of them were contemporary Hollywood superstars. He didn't really follow the movies. From where he sat, he couldn't see the counter behind him, but he could see the waiters and waitresses coming out of the kitchen. He could see the front door opening and closing. He was just taking another bite when he caught whiff of something out of the ordinary. At first, he didn't know what it was. It was both alluring and disturbing at the same time. Bringing his head up, he looked all around until his focus found the door. A woman was on her way out. She was just a girl, really, barely twenty one, if even that. She was wearing a quilted bronze coat that went to her waist. It was zipped up to the top and the strings from the earflaps of her red knit hat bounced against her shoulders. On his way in was a man in a long knit coat. Arrick could see the expensive pants and the cuffs of the suit's jacket sticking out of sleeves. He hadn't been dead long.
The girl had pushed open the door and was holding it for him to come through. Obviously she didn't smell it. Maybe he'd only been dead a few minutes. Arrick couldn't see any bit marks and the man's face looked almost as if he were alive. But there was no expression and the eyes were empty. The trouble with New York is that no one ever looks anyone in the eye. If she'd looked up at his eyes, she'd have known. Arrick watched as he stumbled into her arm, the one holding the door. At first, she seemed perturbed, but then pointed down and began to say something. Arrick would later see the wound at the man's ankle and know how he had been infected. The zombie grabbed the girl by the shoulders and spun her into the door. Caught completely off guard, she didn't even fight back as he dipped his face and tried to bite through her hat.
The reaction time of the people around the incident astounded John Arrick. No one even really noticed the confrontation until the zombie, frustrated with its own inability to get through the hat, shoved the girl to the floor, ripping at her jacket in the process. As she fell, it
Reaching into her purse for some cash, Abby mumbled her assent. "Anyway, I think they want to organize some protests and I think it's important."
Now Arrick mumbled assent as he bit into his sandwich.
"Would you like to come along?" she asked.
He stopped in mid bite and lifted his eyes toward her. She could see that he was trying to think of a way to politely refuse, weighing the truth against the lies.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I just thought, since you'd been affected by them, too, you might…"
"It's quite all right," he said around a mouthful of food. "I'm just not the protesting type. I'd prefer to let the authorities do their work."
"You sound like my husband."
He smiled.
"Well, okay, John. Don't be a stranger then."
"I promise," he said.
She got up and went to the front to pay her check. She handed the waitress a couple of bills and left, heading east toward the train station.
***
ARRICK ate his sandwich in blissful silence. It wasn't that he hadn't been glad to see Abby. He liked her very much. When he'd seen her sitting there, he couldn't help but approach. He'd been desperately curious about Suzanna's affair with Larry and Abby was his best opportunity for ever getting answers. And now he had them and was free to relax in peace. Ever since his encounter with Suzanna, or the thing that she had become, he'd been retreating more and more into himself. He wasn't sure if it was because of Suzanna's illness or his own. Even after a month, he was still expecting to develop an unnatural craving for human flesh. For now, though, the corned beef on his sandwich was just what he wanted.
Arrick was situated so that he was facing a wall filled with pictures of all of the famous people who'd eaten in the deli. He recognized some of them. DeNiro, Pacino, Woody Allen, the Clintons. But most of them were contemporary Hollywood superstars. He didn't really follow the movies. From where he sat, he couldn't see the counter behind him, but he could see the waiters and waitresses coming out of the kitchen. He could see the front door opening and closing. He was just taking another bite when he caught whiff of something out of the ordinary. At first, he didn't know what it was. It was both alluring and disturbing at the same time. Bringing his head up, he looked all around until his focus found the door. A woman was on her way out. She was just a girl, really, barely twenty one, if even that. She was wearing a quilted bronze coat that went to her waist. It was zipped up to the top and the strings from the earflaps of her red knit hat bounced against her shoulders. On his way in was a man in a long knit coat. Arrick could see the expensive pants and the cuffs of the suit's jacket sticking out of sleeves. He hadn't been dead long.
The girl had pushed open the door and was holding it for him to come through. Obviously she didn't smell it. Maybe he'd only been dead a few minutes. Arrick couldn't see any bit marks and the man's face looked almost as if he were alive. But there was no expression and the eyes were empty. The trouble with New York is that no one ever looks anyone in the eye. If she'd looked up at his eyes, she'd have known. Arrick watched as he stumbled into her arm, the one holding the door. At first, she seemed perturbed, but then pointed down and began to say something. Arrick would later see the wound at the man's ankle and know how he had been infected. The zombie grabbed the girl by the shoulders and spun her into the door. Caught completely off guard, she didn't even fight back as he dipped his face and tried to bite through her hat.
The reaction time of the people around the incident astounded John Arrick. No one even really noticed the confrontation until the zombie, frustrated with its own inability to get through the hat, shoved the girl to the floor, ripping at her jacket in the process. As she fell, it
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