How was Hayden supposed to have any kind of fun when he had years of student loan payments coming his way and only a one-page CV to deal with them? Once he found an actual job this sort of thing would be part of his past. The part he would be forgetting.

He swung out of the chair, grabbed the three books he hadn’t gotten to yet and headed for the hall. The photocopier, positioned under a rectangular window, hummed in the dimly lit space. He lifted the lid, set the book on the glass surface and started flipping through, scanning for the chapter he needed for his research. Research. Right. There was a euphemism. He jerked through the pages, black-eyed stares and ragged clothes flashed past. Good God. Zombies. Why did people waste their time with this sort of thing?

But Bob Keeler was convinced that because Rodney McKinnon, star of Zombie Rites, was coming to the comic convention, if the paper featured anything having to do with zombies, he’d sell thousands of copies. Especially if it something was fresh. The man was crazy. Sure, Boston was going to be overrun with comic book freaks, but those people were educated, right? They didn’t actually believe zombies were real. So why would they want to read about them?

Hayden paused at a drawing made by an eyewitness, a so-called zombie tracker. Apparently the witness spent an entire summer spying on a tribe believed to take part in hazing rituals that included a lot of sex. The drawing showed two men, bare-chested and wearing leather chaps. One, with a rope tied around his waist, was leaning against a tree while the other knotted the opposite end of rope to the tree, securing him like a dog he didn’t want to get away. Hayden lifted the book closer. They weren’t wearing anything under the chaps. And the tied-up guy had a huge boner.
 

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