As Serious as the Grave

As Serious as the Grave by Kiernan Kelly

Torquere Press www.torquerepress.com

Copyright ©2007 by Kiernan Kelly First published in www.torquerepress.com, 2007 NOTICE: This eBook is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution to any person via email, floppy disk, network, print out, or any other means is a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines and/or imprisonment. This notice overrides the Adobe Reader permissions which are erroneous. This eBook cannot be legally lent or given to others. This eBook is displayed using 100% recycled electrons.

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Chapter One All things considered, Tyler Grayle was doing very well—for a dead guy. Better than some of his counterparts, at any rate. Take poor Will Fenton in cubicle seventeen for example. Will had a bad case of the grunge, having been dead for at least three months before reawakening. Poor guy couldn't get a date if his life depended on it—pun fully intended. Women tended to shy away from men with less skin on their bones than the Heart Healthy Chicken Platter at Denny's. Tyler himself had been dead for only a few hours before his reanimation, the popular term for what had happened to a fairly large percentage of the deceased population. It had all started five years ago when the Dante Comet passed within a few hundred thousand miles of the Earth. Afterwards, there had seemed to be no rhyme or reason as to which corpse might blink awake after rigor mortis released its hold, or when. Most went right on being dead. Some didn't. Animals had reawakened as well, which had delighted pet owners and pissed off the guys in the slaughterhouses. Personally, Tyler hated the term, reanimated. He thought it made him sound as if he were a caricature, like Wyle E. Coyote in the old Roadrunner cartoons, smacked in the head with an Acme anvil with little stars and birdies flying in circles around his head. In any case, Tyler had been more than a little pissed off when he'd awoken on the hospital gurney with a tag tied 3

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securely to his big toe, his face covered with a sheet, thinking that he'd been the victim of mistaken identity or someone's very ill-conceived sense of humor. He'd soon come to understand that it was neither. Doctors explained to Tyler that he'd succumbed to the viral infection that had landed him on his back in the hospital a week before, hooked up to whooshing and beeping machines within a spiderweb of IV tubing. Tyler later supposed that he should have caught on quicker—people had been reanimating for years. But still, it was one of those things that happened to someone else, not to you. Maybe his brain had been a step behind his body in the reanimation process, or maybe he'd been suffering from denial, but either way, he couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that it had happened to him. "A form of encephalitis," his balding doctor told Tyler afterwards, without looking him in the eye. The physician fidgeted with his clipboard, looking as if he'd rather be anywhere but in that hospital room. Then again, telling a man he'd be spending the rest of his life as a walking corpse might tax even the best of bedside manners. "Most likely contracted through a mosquito bite." "Is it serious?" Tyler asked. "You could say that," the doctor answered, his eyes never lifting to meet Tyler's. "Will I live?" "That's one way of putting it." As it had turned out, Tyler had been done in by something as innocuous as a mosquito bite, but he'd had the last laugh. 4

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The mosquito was most likely dead by now while he, Tyler, was alive and kicking. In a manner of speaking, that is. "Tyler! I need the Van Hilton reports! Get what's left of your worm-eaten head out of your ass and get on it!" Barry bellowed from the other side of the milky glass wall of Tyler's cubicle. Tyler rolled his eyes. "On it, Barry!" he yelled back. Barry Whittle was Tyler's immediate supervisor, three hundred pounds of bluster and bullshit, and a royal pain in Tyler's ass. Tyler noticed that Barry didn't bother to look over the wall of the cubicle at him, or duck around the corner to peek into the doorway. Barry would rather scream through the wall than look at Tyler. Barry is a necrophobic, pure and simple, Tyler thought. It was widely believed that he only tolerated the Living Challenged in his office because of the anti-discrimination laws that had been passed recently. Nobody, Barry included, wanted to end up in court being sued by the ACLU, especially not when the prosecuting attorney was likely to be Clarence Darrow or Johnny Cochran. Luckily for Tyler, his reanimation had come late, well after the worst of all the brouhaha over the dead coming back to life had settled down. When the first wave of the formerly deceased sat up and demanded explanations soon after the Dante Comet had passed by, they'd faced more than simple superstitious fear from the living.

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All across the nation the newly returned were met with axes and flamethrowers, and had been returned to the afterlife posthaste in little, stinking puddles of people goop. Home Depot and Wal-Mart sold out of kerosene and gas cans. Army/Navy stores had seen their shelves wiped clean of anything with a sharp edge. Movies like Night of the Living Dead and Last Man on Earth were shown in local libraries and town halls as training films. People like Stephen King and Clive Barker were suddenly sought-after experts, hot commodities on the talk show circuit. Tyler's death had come two years after the comet had passed. By the time Tyler cracked his eyes open underneath the gurney's starched white sheet, the worst was over. The numbers of fatalities coming back to life dropped to no more than a handful a month, rather than the many thousands that had burst from their graves day after day in the beginning. Eventually, authorities brought the bloodshed under control. Laws were put into place (mostly, Tyler was sure, because torching the dead wreaked havoc on the firefighting budgets of every major American city), and a good majority of the reanimated found places in society as useful and productive, if slightly decomposed, citizens. The last reported case had been nearly two months ago, almost five years after the churning, purple and yellow ball of gas streaked across the sky like a big, smoking bruise. Whatever virus, bacterium, or alien magick the Dante Comet had farted upon the Earth in its passing finally faded away, leaving the newly dead properly stiff and unmoving in their graves. 6

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There was still an awful lot of bigotry and prejudice to be dealt with, especially in the workplace. For example, Barry never passed on the opportunity to rub in the fact that his circulatory system was still in working order, with snide little comments like his "what's left of your worm-eaten head" remark. There's nothing wrong with my head, Tyler thought, although his fingers automatically flew up to check that everything was still intact. He'd heard stories of some people losing bits and pieces of themselves every so often. Urban legend, he reminded himself, nothing more. He didn't personally know anyone who'd sloughed off a piece of something vital after his or her Awakening—it had always happened to a friend of a friend of a friend. Still, he couldn't keep himself from checking every so often, just to reassure himself. "Payday," a voice called. Tyler's cubicle wall shuddered as the mailroom clerk, a skinny intern with bad skin and a prominent Adam's apple, banged his fist against it. Tyler accepted his paycheck, noticing that the kid's hand was shaking. No matter how long it had been since the undead had rejoined the ranks of the living, some folks were still gun-shy about having to interact with them. "Thanks, Steven," he said, smiling. Steven nodded curtly, quickly backing out of the office. Tyler watched the mail cart zip by the door to his cubicle, and shook his head. The kid had worked for the company for nearly six months, but Tyler still scared the shit of out him. If Tyler frightened him, he wondered how Steven dealt with 7

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someone like Will Fenton, who looked like a Rob Zombie wet dream. Turning his attention back to the computer monitor that glowed on his desk, Tyler typed in a string of numbers in rapid succession, and hit 'print.' The printer whirred and began spitting out the pages of the report. "Hey, Tyler, ready to go?" Looking up, Tyler saw Daniel Norris' bright blue, bespectacled eyes blinking at him from over the edge of the cubicle wall. A lock of his curling, thick black hair fell over his forehead, giving him a distinctly Clark Kent-ish look. "Be ready in a minute. Need to get the Van Hilton report to Barry before I can leave. He's been yammering for it all afternoon." "The meeting with the Van Hilton people isn't until the end of next week! Barry's just busting your balls, Tyler. Quitting time is five o'clock, and the fucking jack-off knows it. I swear, the man's asshole must weep with envy over the amount of shit that comes out of his mouth." Tyler laughed, nodding his head. "I know it. But it's printing now. I'll be ready in a minute." "Well, hurry up. There's a pitcher of Bud with our names on it waiting for us down at The Pit." "We don't have to go to The Pit again, Daniel." "We always go to The Pit. It's traditional on Friday nights." "In case you've forgotten, The Pit is a gay bar, Danny, and you're straight, remember? Why do you want to hang out there? We could go to the Ale House instead," Tyler offered. 8

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"Because you need to get laid. Just hurry up, will you? It gets crowded in there on Friday nights. I want to get there before we end up standing in a corner holding up the walls. I'll meet you in the garage." Daniel's head disappeared behind the cubicle wall, and Tyler shook his head, watching Daniel's shadow ghost behind the opaque glass as he walked away. Tyler scooped up the pages of the report and stapled them together neatly. After powering down his computer, he quickly cleaned off his desk and grabbed his leather jacket, depositing the report in Barry's inbox on his way out of the office. Barry, Tyler noticed, had already left for the night. Guess the world wasn't going to end if he didn't have the report in his fat sausage fingers before five after all, Tyler thought wryly. Not that Tyler had ever believed otherwise. Daniel was right—Barry was an asshole. "Night, Will," Tyler called as he passed cubicle seventeen. A line of cardboard evergreen air fresheners had been strung across the cubicle wall, poor defense against the odor that clung to it in a nearly visible cloud. Will was a sweet guy, but none too fresh. Will's answer was his normal sludgy, wet grunt. Poor guy— it was hard to be articulate when you didn't have lips and your larynx resembled Swiss cheese. Making his way out to the parking garage, Tyler felt a pang of loss as he passed between the rows of shiny sedans and SUV's. His own less-than-gently-used Chevy had finally died for good and real less than a month ago, and unlike its owner, there was no hope of resurrection for it. He hadn't yet 9

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found a suitable replacement that was decent and still within his means. Since its untimely death at just over 225,000 miles, he'd been carpooling with Daniel. Not for the first time since his reawakening, Tyler thanked whatever Powers watched over fools and dead men for Daniel Norris. He'd been Tyler's best friend for years before Tyler died, and had blithely continued their relationship afterward, as if there hadn't been twelve hours in between when Tyler had been stiffer than a monk's erection. A slightly tinny horn sounded, hurrying Tyler to Daniel's dark blue Honda. He tossed his briefcase into the trunk before folding his six-foot frame into the passenger side bucket seat. No sooner had he clicked in his seatbelt than Daniel had the car in motion, heading toward The Pit.

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Chapter Two "We need to get you laid." Daniel's voice was slightly slurred, although he remained remarkably upright for having drunk as much as he had. He stabbed a finger into Tyler's chest. "That's what we need to do." Tyler, who didn't care much for the taste of beer, had only had a glass and a half. Besides, there really was no point to it, anyway. The formerly dead had a difficult time getting drunk—impossible, in fact. Not having a working digestive system made eating and drinking more of a social nicety than an essential habit. Everything he ate or drank came out in pretty much the same condition as it went in. "Laid. I seem to remember that I knew the definition of that word once upon a time," Tyler said wistfully. "Forget it, Danny. We have this conversation every Friday night. Nobody wants to take a corpse to bed." "C'mon, Tyler! Not everyone is like Barry. Some people might not care," Daniel said. For a moment he paused, as if ready to say something else, but shook his head instead and turned his attention to the crowd. "Who looks good to you? C'mon, I don't have any experience at picking out men. You've got to help me out here." He gestured toward the crowd with his mug, beer sloshing over the sides. "Forget it," Tyler repeated, shaking his head. Honestly, Daniel meant well, and Tyler loved him for trying, but the last thing he needed was his best friend trying to pimp him out. Still, he didn't want to hurt Danny's feelings—that the man 11

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would willingly want to come with Tyler to a gay bar said something about the quality of his friendship. "What about him?" Daniel asked, pointing his chin toward a big, beefy guy in a sleeveless, mesh tee shirt shooting pool in a corner of the bar. Leaning over the pool table, the muscles in the man's huge arms bunched as he lined up his shot and pulled the cue stick back. His forearms were covered in tattoo sleeves, his head as bald as the cue ball he expertly sent rolling across the felt. More than a dozen silver piercings glittered in the overhead lights. Enough spikes, rings, and studs poked out of his eyebrows, nose, ears, and lips to fill a display case at Tiffany's. Not that Tyler was adverse to piercings. As a matter of fact, he was turned on by nipple rings and had seriously contemplated getting one himself before his unfortunate runin with the encephalitis-carrying mosquito. But this guy had so much metal he looked like a freaking android. Definitely not Tyler's type, even if Tyler were looking for a date. Which he wasn't, he reminded himself. "No. No thanks." "Well then, how about one of them?" Daniel asked, nodding toward a trio of younger men who sat at the bar. Much younger—like barely out of high school, should be carded before being served, younger. They were drinking bright blue, frothy concoctions, and no doubt debating the merits of the Playstation III vs. the Nintendo Wii. Again, Tyler shook his head. "They don't need a date, Danny. They need a babysitter." As he laughed, his gaze wandered over toward the front door. His laughter died away 12

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as it alighted on a man who'd just walked into the bar and was sliding his arms out of a pale gray London Fog trench coat. Handsome in a Ken doll sort of way, his jaw was sharp enough to slice deli meat, his cheeks smooth-shaven. Chestnut brown hair glowed with deep auburn highlights, perfectly cut to look carelessly messy. Stylishly long, its length was made for a man to twist the silken strands around his fingers, pulling his head back as Tyler rode him hard— Whoa. Where the fuck had that come from? Tyler shook his head. Damn. Celibacy is getting to you. It was a bad sign when you started to fantasize about a total stranger in a bar and got a roaring hard-on just by thinking about the guy's hair. "Tyler? You okay?" Danny asked, nudging him out of his thoughts. "Huh? Oh, yeah, Danny. I'm fine," Tyler replied, taking a deep, unsatisfying slug of his beer, his gaze zeroing back in on the stranger across the room. "Him? Really? That's the kind of guy you go for? The snooty briefcase type?" Danny asked. "I'll bet he's an ambulance chaser. He looks sleazy to me, Ty." Evidently, Danny had seen who Tyler had been staring— and salivating—at. "Who said he's a lawyer? Or snooty for that matter?" Tyler asked, trying hard to look everywhere else but at the man in question. "What makes you think he's a sleaze?" "Never mind. That's just me, running at the mouth again. Go on. Go talk to him." 13

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"No way," Tyler insisted. "I'd be wasting my time. He wouldn't be interested. In case you've forgotten, I'm lacking a vital part of the human anatomy. A pulse." "Of course he'd be interested. You're a good-looking guy," Danny slurred, glaring at the oblivious man across the bar. Tyler wondered where the hostility in Daniel's eyes was coming from. "Do you know him?" he asked, frowning. "No, no. I just hate it when you're too hard on yourself. He'd be crazy not to want you, dead or otherwise." Daniel took a deep slug of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Tyler looked over at the man again, and this time their eyes met. Heat shot across the bar like lightning, singeing Tyler's skin on its way to his groin. His cock jumped to rigid attention, straining the zipper of his chinos. Part of the mystery of the walking dead was the fact that the body carried on most of its functions as if it had no idea that its heart had gone on permanent vacation. They felt emotions, ate, drank, disposed of waste, and curiously enough, attained erections and climaxed. Some folk even believed that they were better lovers dead than they'd been while alive. Of course, Tyler hadn't been able to prove or disprove that particular theory since he hadn't gotten laid since his Awakening. After two years of celibacy, Tyler was seriously beginning to doubt that he'd even remember how. Oh, shit. I can't believe I'm doing this, he thought, handing his beer to Daniel. "Be back in a minute," he said. "No doubt with my tail tucked between my legs." 14

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He made his way through the crowd until he reached the man who'd caught his attention. "Hi," Tyler said, introducing himself. "I'm Tyler." "Paul. Nice to meet you." Paul had a smile that could melt butter at fifty paces, warm and inviting. His eyes took a nice, leisurely trip from Tyler's face to his feet and back again, with a stopover at his crotch. "Can I buy you a drink?" "Sure." Tyler smiled. "Whatever you're having is fine." Paul turned toward the bar, his hand raised to flag down the bartender. The barkeep glanced over Paul's shoulder at Tyler, a crease knitting his brow. Leaning over the counter, he whispered into Paul's ear, his eyes shifting toward Tyler. Suddenly, Paul's handsome face darkened, a deep frown line wrinkling his forehead as he turned back to Tyler. "Are you?" "Am I what?" Tyler repeated, although he knew damn well what Paul was asking. He felt his hard-on wilt like a wax tulip on a hot summer day. Damn it. I should have known better than to listen to Danny, especially when he's drunk and talking out of his ass, he silently berated himself. "One of them," Paul sneered. "Yes, I confess. I'm one of them—a number cruncher," Tyler replied. "There. My secret is out." He couldn't help but bait the guy—not all assholes looked like Barry Whittle, it seemed. They came in every size and shape, even in the form of pretty, well-dressed lawyer-types like Paul. "You know what I'm talking about. Are you one of them ... the undead?" Paul was practically hissing now, disgust 15

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dripping in his voice. The warmth in his expression had dissipated, his lips curling in a sneer. "What if I am?" Tyler asked in a low, dangerous voice. He felt a muscle twitch in his jaw as his body tensed. First Barry, now this guy. He'd put up with more than enough bullshit from the fully living, and his last nerve was just about shot. "Shit! Man, you people should be marked or something. If my friend here hadn't warned me, I might actually have fucked you..." He actually shivered, as if the mere thought of bedding Tyler was enough to warrant a bath with a stiff brush, bar of lye soap, and a bottle of Lysol disinfectant. Tyler's hands curled into hard fists as he fought the urge to smash one into Paul's contemptuous face. He hadn't been a violent man before he'd died, and hadn't shown any propensity for it since. Usually the thought of violence disturbed him, but tonight Tyler found himself willing to indulge if only to wipe the disdain from Paul's face. What made these assholes think that they were so much better than the dead? Pulse or not, they were all human. "Tyler?" A soft voice and a firm hand on his shoulder lowered Tyler's simmering rage by a degree or two, enough to clear the red haze that was clouding his vision. "Forget him. Let's go. He's not worth it." "Somebody ought to make sure that things like you don't mix with normal people," Paul spat. "It's bad enough that we have to work with you, but we sure as hell shouldn't have to socialize with you, too!"

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Around them heads swiveled, some people wide-eyed, some scowling. A few men took a step or two closer, although which side they supported was unclear. "Things?" Tyler repeated, his blood boiling again. "Things? I'm just as human as you are, you prick!" "Tyler?" Danny again, this time tugging on Tyler's arm. "Let's go, okay?" For all he'd drunk that night, Danny sounded dead sober, although Tyler barely heard him. All he could hear were Paul's taunts, and the grumbling agreement of the crowd behind him. "No. You were human. Now you're nothing but a walking corpse! It's unnatural! You're a fucking freak!" Paul screamed. His hands shot out, pushing Tyler back. Without warning, Tyler's fist plowed into Paul's face, knocking him to the ground. Paul sat up, looking dazed, cupping his nose. "You fuck! You broke my nose!" Blood streamed from under Paul's hand, soaking the starched collar of his Perry Ellis dress shirt. Tyler blinked, looking at his fist as if it belonged to someone else and wasn't attached to the rest of his arm. Everything and everyone suddenly sounded very far away. "Tyler! That's enough! We have to leave right now!" Danny yelled. Tyler felt himself manhandled toward the door, pushed outside into the cool night air. Danny had the both of them in his car and peeled away from the curb just as a mob surged out of the bar after them. Staring out of the car window into the dark, watching the scenery fly by without really seeing any of it, Tyler felt frozen. 17

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He'd struck another human being—that said human being was a total shit didn't matter in the slightest. Guilt flared, warring with the remnants of the anger that had already soured his stomach. "Why?" Tyler asked, staring at his hand. There were flecks of Paul's blood on his knuckles. "Why do the living hate us so much?" "Not all of the living hate you, Tyler, and the ones that do? Well, they're afraid, I guess," Danny replied. "Like you should be right now—I shouldn't be driving, Tyler. I'm pretty shitfaced." "Damn it, Danny! Pull over." Danny complied, coasting to a stop at the side of the dark road, throwing the car into park. He turned to look at Tyler. "Some people watch too many goddamn movies," he said softly. "They're afraid that if they let you get too close, you'll try to eat their brains." "Seems to me that most of the living don't have brains." "Hey! I resemble that remark." Tyler smiled for the first time since they'd left the bar. "Present company excluded, of course." He sighed, slumping back into his seat. "He's probably going to sue me." "Well, in all fairness, you did break his nose." "He deserved it." "That's beside the point. We can't go around rearranging the faces of everyone who deserves it. If that were the case then Barry's would look like a cauliflower floret by now." Tyler laughed, feeling his tension drain away. "You've got a point." He got out of the car and trotted around to the driver's 18

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side. "Shove over. I'll drive." He rolled his eyes, smiling, watching as Daniel maneuvered himself from one bucket seat to the other, nearly impaling himself on the gear shift. "Besides," Danny said, his voice slurring more as his eyelids fluttered closed, "He probably doesn't know your name. Can't sue you if he doesn't know who you are." By the time they reached Daniel's house, a tiny twobedroom saltbox with a slate walkway and a gray shingle roof, Daniel's head was lolling against the headrest. Tyler parked the car in the driveway, walking around to open the passenger side door. Daniel nearly tumbled out onto the ground, and only Tyler's strong hand gripping his upper arm kept Daniel from smacking his head on the pavement. Holding him up with one arm—no mean feat since Daniel was as tall as Tyler and outweighed him by a few pounds— Tyler managed to haul him up onto the porch and open the front door. Dragging Daniel through the house wasn't easy, but Tyler got him settled him on his bed, took off his glasses, shoes and socks, and covered him with a quilt. Then he sat on the edge of the bed and watched Daniel sleep. "What would I do without you, huh?" he said softly, brushing back that stubborn lock of black hair that insisted on falling forward over Daniel's forehead. His hair was silky, thick and soft under Tyler's fingers. Daniel's cheeks were dusted by a five o'clock shadow that threatened to cross over into scruff, his upper lip darkened by the beginnings of a mustache. Tyler let his finger trace the 19

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curve of Daniel's jaw to his mouth. His thumb passed lightly over Daniel's lips, soft and full and slightly parted in his sleep. How could he never have noticed how beautiful Daniel was? Maybe it was the thick, horn-rimmed glasses he insisted on wearing instead of his contact lenses that had kept Tyler from noticing. Or perhaps it was the fact that Daniel was not only Tyler's best friend, but as straight as a two-by-four and, at times, just as dense, that had colored Tyler's perception of him. But Tyler noticed now. Before he knew what he was doing, Tyler leaned down, his lips hovering only inches from Daniel's. "Are you fixing to kiss me, or eat my brain?" Daniel asked, cracking open his eyes and arching an eyebrow. "Neither! I was checking to see if you were still breathing or if you'd died from alcohol poisoning." Tyler bolted up, feeling his cheeks heat. "Bullshit." "You're drunk. Go to sleep," Tyler huffed, grateful that the dark room was hiding his flaming face. Tyler turned on his heel and practically ran out of Daniel's bedroom, closing the door behind him. Leaning against the wall, he shoved a hand through his hair and waited, shaking with an unsettling combination of embarrassment and need, until he heard Daniel begin to snore. What were you thinking? This is Daniel, for God's sake! He doesn't swing that way and you know it, Tyler's inner voice lectured sternly. With any luck at all, Daniel would dismiss the entire incident as an alcohol-induced dream. 20

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Tyler stripped off his clothes and flopped back onto the bed in the guestroom, but found that he couldn't sleep. Eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't stop thinking about what kissing Daniel would have been like.

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Chapter Three Tyler blinked his eyes open the following morning to find Daniel leaning against the doorjamb, dressed only in his underwear, chewing on a granola bar and smirking at him. Tyler couldn't ever remember Daniel having a morning after hangover, no matter how much he'd drunk the night before. Ever. Tyler remembered many times over the years when he'd cursed Daniel for his unique ability to drink like a fish without fear of being sick. It only used to take Tyler knocking back a couple to assure him of a killer headache and sour stomach. Of course, that had been back before Tyler had died. Zombies never got hangovers because they couldn't get drunk, even if they drank the entire fucking brewery. Sadly. Sighing nostalgically, Tyler brought his mind back to the half-naked man standing in his doorway. For an accountant, Daniel kept himself in fine shape. No desk jockey, he. Strong arms folded across his chest, biceps bulging. His deep chest was covered in soft black down, nearly hiding his umber-colored nipples. Daniel might not have owned a six-pack, but his abdomen was flat, hard, and dusted with dark hair that thickened into a straight line leading from his navel down into regions Tyler was better off not thinking about. Daniel's long, bare legs were nicely shaped; strong thighs and muscled calves. He had a tattoo along the side of his right calf, a leaping tiger that Tyler remembered him getting inked during a three-day bender several years ago. 22

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A substantial bulge filled out the front of his jockeys. Not that Tyler noticed that particular part of Daniel's anatomy. Not much. "What?" Tyler said, wrenching his gaze up to meet Daniel's. He frowned, although he knew exactly what Daniel was smirking about—catching Tyler in his near miss kiss the night before. Not that Tyler was about to admit to it. If he did, Daniel would lord it over him for the rest of his life—such as it was. Tyler was determined to play dumb and pretend that Daniel had hallucinated the entire episode. "Nothing." "Then stop staring at me. You're giving me the willies." "Zombies don't get the willies. They give them, remember?" Daniel said, grinning. "I'm not a zombie," Tyler said firmly, scowling at Daniel. "Zombies are shuffling lumps of flesh with bad breath and the intelligence of your average zygote. I am the previously deceased." "A.k.a. zombie. As a matter of fact, you're MerriamWebster's definition of zombie. It's all just semantics. Not that it matters to me. I like zombies. Always did. Did I ever tell you that I once watched Dawn of the Dead thirty-two times in a row—that's a fucking record, man. And as a kid, I was a zombie six years running on Halloween," Danny said, taking another bite of his granola bar. "Well, good for you. Now that we've established that you're undead-friendly, will you quit staring at me?" "Why'd you stop?" Daniel asked, his mouth full of halfchewed granola. 23

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"Charming, Danny. Didn't anyone ever teach you not to speak with food in your mouth?" Tyler countered, hedging. "Sorry, Mommy." Daniel swallowed, then repeated, "So, why'd you stop?" "Why'd I stop what? Breathing? There was this comet, and—" "We can play this game all day, Tyler." "I don't know what you're talking about, Daniel." "Yes, you do. You were going to kiss me last night." "Wow. You dreamt about me kissing you? What the hell was in that beer you drank last night?" "Hops and barley. But the beer doesn't have anything to do with it. It wasn't a dream and you know it, Tyler." Tyler's face crumpled into a fierce scowl. "I did not try to kiss you! Why would I kiss you? You're straight, I'm gay, and never the twain shall meet. Besides, you're my best friend. That would be ... ick." "Thanks a ton." "You know what I mean, Danny. You drank a lot, and you had a weird dream. That's all there is to it." "I've been a lot drunker than I was last night, but I never dreamed about you kissing me before." "Yeah, you caught me out, Danny," Tyler said sarcastically, summoning a smirk of his own. "I was trying to seduce you. I always knew you were itching to jump the fence onto my side." He waggled his eyebrows and twirled a nonexistent, villainous mustache.

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Danny looked ready to choke on his granola. Color spread up his neck to darken his cheeks. "Don't try to turn this around on me. You're the one who was puckering up, pal." Tyler rolled back over, giving up with an irritated growl. "Danny, let it go. You were drunk, I had just gotten into my first barroom brawl, and both of us were dead tired, no pun intended. Just ... let it go." He closed his eyes, hoping that Daniel would take the hint and leave him alone. I have more pressing problems than a kiss-that-never-happened, he told himself. Tyler might be up to his armpits in trouble. For all he knew at that very moment somewhere in the city, a lawyer-type named Paul with a broken nose and a hard-on for zombies was having a bench warrant sworn out for Tyler's arrest. Besides the fact that thinking about kissing Daniel was giving Tyler an erection—something he damn sure didn't want Daniel to see. He tried to push the thought from his mind, to force himself back to sleep by sheer willpower, but his imagination kept conjuring Daniel's face. His chest. His belly. His... "I lied." Daniel's voice was soft, but startled Tyler nonetheless. He'd been so quiet for a few minutes that Tyler had thought he'd left. "About what?" Tyler asked without turning to look at him. "What I said about never dreaming that you kissed me. I lied. I did. Do. A lot." Tyler groaned, wiping a hand over his face wearily. "Danny, they're just dreams. They don't mean anything." 25

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"Yeah? Even when I'm awake when I have them?" Daniel asked. The mattress dipped as Tyler felt Daniel's weight settle on the edge. Tyler rolled over, his eyes wide. "When did this start?" "A while ago. Before you, you know ... died. I just kept telling myself that it didn't mean anything. I mean, lots of men probably fantasize about having sex with their best friends, right?" "Well ... I'm sure gay men might, but I doubt that too many straight men think about it," Tyler said. "I'm rationalizing here, okay? Work with me." Tyler sat up, bending his knee and resting his forearm on it as he stared hard at Daniel, trying to determine if he was serious or just yanking Tyler's chain. Daniel looked pale, his hands were shaking, and he wouldn't meet Tyler's eyes. Not good signs. "You're confused, Danny. That's all. Spending all your free time with a dead gay guy has gotten you mixed up." "I don't think that's it, Tyler." "Danny, what are you saying?" "That I want to know why you stopped last night. Was it because I woke up, or because of the "ick" factor you were just talking about?" "Truth?" "Truth." "Because you woke up," Tyler said softly, defeated. He might as well get it out and over with, so they could put it behind them and go on with their lives. He only hoped Daniel wouldn't hold Tyler's near lapse in judgment against him. "If 26

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you hadn't, I think I would have kissed you." He averted his eyes, feeling his cheeks burn with his confession. "I don't know what I was thinking, Danny. I'm sorry." Silence fell between them. Daniel was quiet, staring down at his hands that were twisting fretfully in his lap. Tyler felt compelled to fill the empty air between them before it matured into a chasm that neither would be able to breach. He traced a finger across his knuckles, wincing as he remembered the feeling of his fist connecting with Paul's nose. "I think my mind went AWOL last night. Everything just hit me all at once, you know? Barry, the fight in the bar, the whole damn walking dead thing—" "Kiss me." "What?" Tyler sputtered as his head snapped up, his eyes wide as they met Daniel's. "No!" "Why not?" "Do you want the entire list of reasons, or just the top five?" "Tyler, don't make me beg." Daniel's big blue eyes were serious, staring at him unblinkingly from behind the lenses of his horn-rimmed glasses. That stubborn lock of hair curled over his forehead, giving his face an endearingly boyish cast. "I want to know what it's like. I need to know." Sitting so close together that he could feel Daniel's body heat against his skin, Tyler licked his lips, suddenly as nervous as a schoolboy. Was he really going to do this? It was just a kiss after all. Maybe he was making too big a deal over nothing. 27

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Tyler frowned, cringing inwardly as he admitted to himself that to be truthful, he wanted to kiss every inch of Daniel, explore his flesh with his tongue, map him out, taste him. Devour him. And that scared the bejesus out of him. "I really don't think this is a good idea—" Tyler's words were cut off as Danny ducked his head closer and pressed his lips against Tyler's. It was a schoolyard kiss, clumsy, furtive, with no demands, no expectations. Over almost before Tyler had even realized it was happening. And yet, Tyler's body reacted forcibly, a heat flowering low in his belly. Unconsciously he leaned in toward Daniel, wanting more, feeling oddly bereft when Danny pulled away all too quickly. Daniel's eyes were wet, his lopsided smile sad. "I think I wanted you from the beginning, Tyler," he whispered. "I just refused to admit it, even to myself. Didn't you ever question why I attached myself to you at the hip?" "I used to wonder why you never dated much," Tyler said, as odd bits and pieces of their relationship fell into place, everything suddenly making sense. "It's not like you got hit by the ugly stick. You could have had a lot more dates than you did. But you were always willing to go with me to The Pit, or stay home watching videos." Daniel blushed a furious red. "Dates never really worked out for me, if you know what I mean. The sex was ... blah." "Blah?"

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"Boring. Unsatisfying when it happened, almost a relief when it didn't. I tried, I really did. But even when I was in bed with some girl, all I could think of was..." "Was what?" "You." "Oh, shit, Danny..." A tear tracked a wet trail along the curve of Danny's cheek. Tyler ached to wipe it away, to kiss it away, but he didn't dare. Not yet. Daniel took off his glasses, setting them on the nightstand, angrily wiping his face with the back of his other hand. His eyes suddenly looked larger to Tyler, bluer, luminous, his lashes longer and darker. "You don't know what it's been like, Tyler. Hiding from you, hiding from myself. Every time we'd go to The Pit and you'd get yourself a date, I used to feel angry but didn't understand why. Now I know that it was because I wanted the guy you went home with to be me." Tyler didn't know which of them moved first, but he found himself welcoming Daniel into his arms. When Daniel leaned his head against Tyler's chest, trembling, Tyler tightened his arms around him. "This is going to change everything, Danny. You know that, right?" Tyler asked, smoothing his hand over Daniel's back. He felt the muscles under Daniel's skin twitch at his touch. "I can't help it, Tyler. I think I'm in love with you," Danny whispered, his lips moving against the skin of Tyler's chest. 29

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"Don't hate me, okay?" Tyler could feel Daniel's tears, hot and wet. He sounded desperate, clinging to Tyler. "Oh, Lord, Danny, are you serious?" Tyler felt his throat tighten, his eyes burning. He buried his nose in Daniel's hair, inhaling his scent. Shampoo, Gray Flannel cologne, and something else, something uniquely Danny. Intoxicating. Maddening. Wonderful. "As serious as the grave, Tyler." Daniel's voice hitched, his hands clutching at Tyler's back. Cupping Daniel's chin, Tyler tipped his face up. "I could never hate you, Danny. But it's still gonna change everything," he repeated in a hoarse whisper as he dipped his head down, claiming Danny's lips.

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Chapter Four Slow. Go slow, Tyler reminded himself as Daniel's lips gave under his, soft, warm, and eager. But it was so fucking hard. When Daniel parted his lips and invited Tyler in, he leaped at the chance, sweeping his tongue into Daniel's mouth. Daniel's body went rigid against him, his muscles tense, fingers digging painfully into Tyler's shoulder blades. Tyler concentrated on just kissing him, losing himself in Daniel's taste, refusing to allow his hands to wander although they itched to touch and explore Daniel's flesh. He felt Danny relax slowly, in increments, his tongue beginning to investigate Tyler's mouth, tentatively tasting him. Soft as velvet, Daniel's tongue slid over Tyler's, curling around it, furtively touching Tyler's palate, brushing along his teeth. Daniel's moan tasted as sweet as his kiss, nearly snapping the last vestiges of Tyler's self-control. Tyler's cock was raging, straining to break free of the material that kept it from touching Danny's skin. He wanted more than just a kiss. Tyler wanted all of Danny, every inch of his body, right now. Wanted to be sheathed inside of him, wanted to fuck him hard and fast until they both exploded into sizzling bits of orgasmic flotsam. Forcing himself to break their kiss, Tyler leaned his forehead against Daniel's, taking a long, shaky breath. "Danny?" he asked in a small voice, worried that a simple kiss had just destroyed a cherished friendship. "Are you okay?" "I'm scared." 31

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"I know. Tell me to stop and we'll forget that this ever happened. We'll go on with our lives just like we always have," Tyler lied, knowing that it would never be the same again, at least not for him. He could never forget how Daniel's kiss had made him feel. Knew that he'd spend the rest of his life aching for something he could never have again. That every time he'd look at Daniel, he'd feel the loss. "Don't stop," Daniel whispered. Tyler saw need shining in Daniel's eyes, behind the remnants of his tears. "Touch me." "No," Tyler said, closing his eyes and taking another deep breath, trying to steady himself. He was very close to losing it, to ripping the shorts off Daniel's body and having at him. Shaking with the effort, he lay on his back, stretching out to his full length next to Daniel. "You touch me. If this is what you really want, Danny, then I want you to set the pace. Whatever you want to do—or not do—is fine." Lifting up his ass, Tyler pulled his jockeys down with a quick jerk and kicked them off. "I don't know what to do," Daniel confessed, a dark blush staining his cheeks. His eyes were wide, roaming over Tyler's body, although Tyler noticed they flinched away when they reached his erection. "Do whatever you want, whatever you think you'd like for me to do to you," Tyler said softly. He reached up, gently trailing his fingers along Daniel's cheek. "There's no wrong or right to this, Danny." Sliding to the back of Daniel's neck, Tyler urged his head down until their lips met again. His cock twitched as Daniel's 32

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tongue swept along his bottom lip, and his hand smoothed across Tyler's chest, finding a nipple. Parting his lips, he allowed Daniel in, careful to let Daniel do the kissing. He's like a frightened deer—he's liable to run if you take over, Tyler thought, forcing himself to lie still. His hands dropped to his sides, fingers twisting in the cotton sheets. "Oh, God, Tyler," Daniel whispered against his lips. "I've got a fucking hard-on." "That's usually the way it works, when it works right." Tyler breathed. "Take your underwear off, Daniel. I want to see you." Daniel stood up, shimmying out of his jockeys. He paused before climbing back onto the bed, his face a confused mask of trepidation and longing. Tyler had seen Daniel naked before. In the changing room at their gym, sweaty and happily snapping towels. Running bare-assed from the shower into the bedroom when he'd forgotten to bring his clothes into the bathroom with him. Once, back when they'd been in college, he'd dropped his drawers and mooned the librarian. But Tyler had never seen Daniel like this—hard, engorged, drops of moisture glistening at the tip of his erection. All of his good intentions were forgotten the instant Tyler saw Daniel's proud, thick cock. Sitting up, Tyler reached for it, hoping that Daniel wouldn't turn tail and run, but unable to stop himself from touching him. Thankfully, Daniel didn't run. He was trembling, but he remained rooted to the spot as Tyler's fingers lightly grazed 33

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the soft, heated skin of his cock, sliding down to gently cup his furred balls. "I want to taste you, Danny," Tyler whispered. Tyler heard Daniel's answer in his soft moan and the slight thrust of his hips toward Tyler. His fingers entwined in Tyler's hair, pulling his mouth closer until his lips reached the tip of Daniel's penis. Daniel's scent, musky and masculine, filled Tyler's nostrils as he kissed the head of Daniel's cock. His lips came away wet with the beads of Daniel's precome, and he couldn't stop himself from licking them clean. "You taste good, Danny. Better than good," Tyler said, before dipping his head lower. He ran his tongue over the length of Daniel's cock, flicking it lightly under the ridge of the head. Slid it slowly over the rounded tip, tickling at the tiny slit, lapping at the pearls of wetness that gathered there. His lips closed over the swollen, purpled head of Daniel's cock. Daniel's taste flooded his mouth, thick and warm and fully male. Tyler almost didn't realize that the groan of pleasure he heard was his own as he took in more and more of Daniel's length. Sucking hard, Tyler drew in Daniel's penis to the root, then released him, receiving a growl of frustration for his troubles. Tyler was beyond caring; his own erection ached, hardened with a need that was maddening. "Lie down, Danny," Tyler said gruffly, fisting his cock. "Tyler..." "Trust me, Danny. Lie down." 34

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Tyler could see Daniel quaking as he did as Tyler had ordered, lying down on the bed on his back. His eyes were wide, obviously not knowing what to expect, and fearing the worst. Straddling Daniel's hips, Tyler forced himself to take a few minutes reassuring Daniel. He ran his hands soothingly over Daniel's stomach and thighs, kneading the tension out of them. He worshiped Daniel's erection with long, languid strokes of his tongue, then took Daniel's turgid shaft into his mouth again, sucking hard, pulling him in to the root. Letting go, Tyler nibbled his way down its length and back up to the head, teasing it with his lips. Only when he had Daniel worked up to a fevered pitch again did he scoot forward, aligning their cocks together, wrapping his fist around both. Slowly rocking his hips, Tyler let his erection rub against Daniel's, closing his eyes against the incredibly sweet friction. Daniel came without preamble, without a word of warning. His hips thrust his cock roughly into Tyler's hand once, twice, his head thrown back, the tendons in his neck standing out like steel cables. Liquid heat gushed over Tyler's hand as Daniel's guttural, visceral cry drew a matching reaction from Tyler. Tyler came hard, fast, staring down as his semen bubbled up over his fist and mixed with Daniel's, dripping down over his fingers onto Daniel's groin. For a long, frozen moment, Tyler couldn't move. It took a while before he could find his way back into himself, and when he finally did, his body didn't seem to be eager to listen 35

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to anything his mind told it to do. His limbs were too heavy, too sated and replete to move. Rolling off Daniel, Tyler spooned up next to him, draping an arm across Daniel's chest, fingers idly brushing through the hair that covered it. "Danny?" he asked, his voice breathless. "You okay?" "Holy shit. Holy fucking shit." Daniel turned toward Tyler, blinking as if dazed. His face was flushed with a stunned, if satisfied look, as if he hadn't really expected Tyler to fuck his socks off. Tyler leaned in and kissed him, long and sweet. "Well? What's the verdict? Good?" he asked, searching Daniel's eyes for the truth. Daniel grinned at him wickedly. "Not bad for a dead guy." "We're good, then?" Tyler chuckled. His fingers reached to push back that stubborn lock of hair from Daniel's forehead. "Better than good," Daniel said with a smile. "We're golden." "Guess we're a couple now, huh?" "We can register at Neiman Marcus." "China and crystal?" "I'd prefer leather and latex." "Ooh, baby steps, lover. Baby steps," Tyler laughed, playfully smacking Daniel's belly. **** They spent the weekend in bed. Not sleeping—Tyler had the distinct feeling that there wouldn't be much snoozing going on, at least for a while. Sex 36

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with him was too new for Daniel, and too amazingly sweet for Tyler for either of them to want to waste much time sleeping. Even necessary trips to the bathroom and into the kitchen for sustenance were grudgingly made and executed as quickly as possible. If it weren't for the fact that neither one of them could abide crumbs in the sheets, they'd have taken their meals in bed and peed in a bottle just so that they wouldn't have to leave the bedroom. Showers were the only concession they'd made. Over the course of two days they'd taken several together, and each one had produced enough steam to run a locomotive. Tyler half expected the water to evaporate from the heat their two bodies generated under the spray. He fancied he could hear the droplets of water sizzling as they hit their skin. He was enjoying getting to know Daniel on this new level. Tyler found him to be a different sort of person than the one he'd known for so long. Oh, he was still Tyler's Daniel, quick to laugh, fast with a comeback. But their intimacy brought a new dimension to their friendship as Tyler discovered Daniel's tender side—the parts of him that liked to cuddle, that liked to read aloud in bed, and that loved to lick the bowl clean of devil's food cake mix. Most of all, he enjoyed the part of Daniel that was hot-blooded—the insatiable Daniel, the seductive Daniel. Tyler hadn't yet entered Daniel's body. Oh, he wanted to, thought about it constantly as a matter of fact. There wasn't anything he wanted more than to share that closeness with Daniel, but he knew that Daniel wasn't ready for it. Not yet, maybe not ever. 37

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For all Tyler knew, Daniel might want to top, and Tyler wasn't certain of how he felt about that. Formerly deceased or not, Tyler didn't like to give up control and he knew it. He contented himself with Daniel's amazing blow jobs—the boy learned fast, and was eager and willing to practice his skills, Tyler noted with a satisfied grin as he watched Daniel's dark head bob over his cock. As he came again, his last coherent thought was a question: how many gallons of come could a man shoot in a single weekend before the reservoir ran dry? Then he was lost again, his brain shutting down, all energy redirected to his groin. "Turn on the tube, Tyler. Let's see if the world outside has managed to survive without us this weekend," Daniel said, scooting to sit with his back against the headrest of the bed. Considering the quantity Daniel had just drunk from Tyler's personal fountain, Tyler was surprised Daniel didn't slosh when he moved. He told him so, receiving a swat on the arm and a grin that was both pleased and embarrassed at the same time. Laughing, Tyler obliged, flipping through the channels of the television set that sat on top of Daniel's dresser. Finding the news, he crawled back onto the bed next to Daniel, leaning over him to grab a half-empty can of Coke from the nightstand. "In tonight's news, Samuel Chalmers, the Chairman of the Coalition for Re-Interment, has called for a nationwide boycott of businesses, both foreign and domestic, owned or operated by, or employing the Living Challenged. 38

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"Mr. Chalmers, outspoken critic of the newly adopted AntiDead Discrimination Act, stated on Friday that it is the intention of the Coalition to force Congress to repeal human status and citizenship for anyone who had at any point in their lives been officially declared dead." Tyler sputtered Coke onto the sheets, coughing. Beside him, he felt Daniel tense, muttering a shocked oath as they both stared wide-eyed at the television, not quite believing what they were seeing. On the screen, a bulbous-nosed man with a shock of white hair, cloaked in an impeccable, dark blue suit, was speaking before a forest of microphones. "They had their chance at life. God called them home, but through the devilish machinations of the Dante Comet they were granted the ability to refuse to go! Their very existence is against the natural order—an abomination to God and Country. "We took the coward's way out, folks. It's that simple. Faced with the onerous, painful task of returning our loved ones to their right and proper graves, we balked. We dropped the ball on this one. "And where has it gotten us? Good-paying jobs that should be held by the living are filled by the undead. Prices skyrocket as demand continues to rise while supplies dwindle in response to the swollen population. When will it end, ladies and gentlemen? I'll tell you when. When the rest of us are dead and buried, unable to come back to life, and the zombies inherit the earth! 39

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"We can no longer stand by and allow bleeding heart liberals to destroy our children's futures by catering to these unnatural creatures. We must repeal the Anti-Dead Discrimination Act, round up these foul creatures into camps separate from normal, untainted human beings, where we can keep them under control until we can decide how best to send them back to where they belong—the grave!" Daniel grabbed the remote, angrily jabbing it toward the television, clicking off the set. "Untainted? What the hell is that supposed to mean? You don't have a disease. You're just dead, that's all. He can't be serious! The undead are American citizens! They can't do that!" "Don't be too sure. They've done it before," Tyler said softly. "Hysteria and fear can do strange things to the even sanest of minds. They did it to Native Americans. They did it to African Americans. They did it to Japanese Americans during World War II. They can do it again, Danny." "Not you. Nobody's taking you anywhere." Tyler smiled, pushing Daniel back on the bed and laying his head on Daniel's broad chest. The steady beat of Daniel's heart under his ear reassured him, but at the same time reminded Tyler that he had no heartbeat to echo it. "Well, not today, anyway," he said, sadly. "We've got to do something! We can't lounge around in bed while they abuse the rights of thousands of U.S. citizens!" "Danny, nothing's going to happen today, okay? Nobody's going to burst through the front door and cart me off in chains. Relax." 40

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"How can you be so blasé about this? Don't you care that this guy wants to kill you and everyone like you?" Righteous indignation and fear colored Daniel's voice. "Of course I do. I don't want to die—been there, done that, got the souvenir mug and keychain set. But there's nothing we can do about it right now." Tyler sighed, looking up at Daniel, reaching to gently cup his cheek. "I want the rest of this weekend with you, Danny. I want to lie in this bed, drink Coke and eat chips, and make love until we can't walk. Please? We can deal with the ugly outside world tomorrow." Drawing Daniel down to his level, his kissed him until neither of them could remember their own names, let alone Samuel Chalmers for the Coalition for Re-Internment.

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Chapter Five Monday morning found them less than enthusiastic about going back to work. Tempted to call in sick and spend yet another day in bed together, they debated it at length. It was only their slim bankbooks that convinced them to pry themselves loose of one another's arms and go to the office. Tyler felt a subtle undercurrent of animosity in the air as he and Daniel walked through the lobby of the building to their office. There were no openly hostile incidents, just sidelong glances and narrowed eyes. People who had always before offered a friendly morning greeting were ominously silent, ducking past him or turning their backs as he approached. If he hadn't been dead, he would have shivered at the decided chill in the air. It was unnerving. By the time he and Daniel rode the elevator up to their floor, he'd convinced himself that he was imagining things. Chalmers' televised rant (Tyler hesitated to dignify it by calling it a "speech,") must have gotten to him more than he'd realized. It wasn't until he passed cubicle seventeen and saw that it had been emptied of any trace of Will Fenton that he realized he hadn't been seeing things. Something was up and whatever it was, it didn't bode well for Tyler Grayle. Will's cubicle, while never cluttered with personal items like photos or potted plants, still looked chillingly sterile to Tyler. The line of evergreen air fresheners was gone, the 42

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inside of the cubicle and Will's desk cleared of any trace of his existence. A rising sense of panic tightened Tyler's chest as he made his way to his own partitioned office. Stepping inside, he saw a Post-it note taped to the monitor of his computer. See me. Two innocent words written in Barry's jagged script that, together, seemed to spell disaster to Tyler. Tearing the note off his computer screen, he stared hard at it, as if he could change the words by the sheer force of his will. Sadly, they remained as crisp and bold as when Barry had scrawled them. See me. They were going to fire him. Tyler just knew it. His first thoughts were financial—how the hell would he pay his rent? His utilities? Buy another car? Who was going to hire a dead guy now, after Chalmers' necrophobic tirade?? Suddenly, a tight knot began to form in his gut. They were going to fire him because of something he had absolutely no control over. He hadn't chosen to die, and he certainly hadn't chosen to come back. They knew what he was when they'd fucking hired him! His condition had nothing to do with his capacity to perform his job. This was total bullshit! Muscles Tyler didn't even know he possessed began to tense, including one in his left eyelid that began to twitch. Still staring at the note, he bared his teeth. "Okay, now you really look like you're about to eat somebody's brain," Daniel whispered, coming into Tyler's cubicle. "You hear what happened to Will Fenton?" 43

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"They fired him," Tyler spat through gritted teeth. A tic formed in his other eyelid, giving his vision a strobe effect. "He was a good worker. Came in early, stayed late. Never made trouble for anybody, but they still canned him because he was undead!" Daniel put his hand on Tyler's shoulder. "No, Tyler," he whispered. "He's dead." "That's what I said! And so am I. That's no reason to fire us!" "No, hon. He's dead ... again. And he's not coming back this time." "What?" Tyler gasped, turning to look at Daniel. The Post-it note fluttered from his hand to the floor like a square, yellow snowflake. "Will's dead?" "Afraid so. They're saying that he was mobbed last night. Dragged out of his car and ... well, let's just say that the authorities aren't sure that they've found all the pieces." "Oh, my God." Tyler felt his stomach drop to his feet, and he sat down hard on his chair. "Who would do a thing like that? I thought all the violence was over years ago. There are laws, for God's sake." He looked up at Daniel. "You think it was because of Chalmers' speech?" "Don't worry. They're saying it was an isolated incident. You have to admit, Will looked like he'd been passed through a meat grinder. He was an easy target, Tyler. To look at you, nobody would even know you were dead," Daniel said, gently brushing his fingers through Tyler's hair. "That's not the point, Danny!" Tyler hissed, frowning. "Nobody should have to be afraid that some mindless mob of 44

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necrophobic assholes are going to murder them in their sleep!" "I know, I know. I didn't mean that, Ty. I just ... I'm scared for you. I don't want anything to happen to you," Daniel said softly. "I know." Tyler sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. "Barry wants to see me. I think he's going to fire me, Danny. He's been looking for an excuse, and this will be an easy out for him." "Don't worry about Barry. Let him fire you. We'll be okay," Daniel said, giving Tyler a quick hug. "You can move in with me. We're a couple now, remember?" Tyler smiled, despite the angry knot in the pit of his stomach. "Thanks. Listen, Danny ... maybe we shouldn't let anyone know that we got together." "What? Why?" "Because I don't want you sucked into this mess by association, that's why. I don't want you to lose your job or, God forbid, get hurt because of me." "Tyler Grayle, if you ever say something that stupid again, I'll kill you myself, slowly and as painfully as possible." Danny's eyes narrowed behind the thick lenses of his glasses. "You're mine. I plan on standing with you no matter what happens, but I'll be damned if I'll let you sabotage our relationship because you're worried for me. I'm a big boy, Tyler. I can take care of myself." "I know, I know. It's just that—"

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"Not another word, Tyler. I waited too fucking long to finally get you to let you go so easily. And I'm sure as hell not going back into the closet now that I'm finally out." Tyler felt a warm flush wash away some of the tension from his body. "I have to go see Barry. I'll call you as soon as I'm through." Daniel nodded then ducked in for another quick kiss. "Make sure you do. And if Barry gives you any trouble, tell him I'll plant my size ten boot up his size forty-eight rear if he doesn't leave you alone." "My hero." Tyler grinned. As shitty as his morning was shaping up to be, he reminded himself that Will Fenton's had been a helluva lot worse. Tyler had a lot to be thankful for— most importantly that Daniel loved him, and nobody could change that. He was still smiling as he left the cubicle and walked down the hall toward Barry's office. "You," Barry grumbled, his small, beady eyes darting up from a thick stack of papers he'd been reading when Tyler walked into his office. "Get in here, and close the door." Tyler did as he was instructed, albeit hesitantly. The last thing he wanted was to be in a closed office with Barry, where no one could overhear what was said between them. He wanted witnesses. "Sit." Barry was as terse as ever, although Tyler did have to admit that he hadn't expected Barry to offer him even the small courtesy of a chair. He slowly sank down, eyes scanning Barry's doughy face for some clue as to why he'd been summoned into Barry's office. "Guess you heard about Fenton, huh? Poor bastard." 46

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Tyler frowned, his stomach roiling as he was reminded of the violence that had befallen Will Fenton. "Look, I'm not much in the mood for small talk. You hated Fenton, every bit as much as you hate me, so why don't we cut to the chase? Fire me already and be done with it." "What? Whoever said that I hated you? I don't even know you that well, for God's sake. I liked Will—he was a good guy. A little drippy in places, but good." Tyler blinked, unsure of what game Barry was playing. "It's no secret that you hold no fondness for the recently dead, Barry." To Tyler's shock, Barry laughed. "Where did you get that idea? I don't have any problem with the undead." Sputtering, Tyler stood up, bracing his hands on the top of Barry's desk, glaring at him. "Ever since I was hired and assigned to this office, you've been needling me with stinging little barbs about my condition. 'Get what's left of your wormeaten head out of your ass ... ' Sound familiar?" Barry continued to laugh, as if Tyler had just told him a knee-slapper. "That's what you think? You really must keep your head up your ass if you haven't heard about me." "Heard what?" Tyler snapped, tired of playing games. Fire him, don't fire him—he really didn't care much at that point. He just wanted out of Barry's office. Barry shook his head, unbuttoning and pushing up his shirtsleeves. He bared the underside of his arms to Tyler. Two long, wide, jagged wounds sliced up the center of each forearm from wrist to elbow, neatly stitched closed with black silk. "I killed myself the day before the Comet passed. It was 47

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a combination of too much booze and too much henpecking by my goddamn ex-wife. The bitch. Never let me alone for a minute. Plus, she was cheating on me with our gardener." He chuckled again. "I think it was the fact that it was so fucking stereotypical that pushed me over the edge." "You're dead?" Tyler gaped, staring at the angry wounds on Barry's arms. The Living Challenged had a problem with healing, being dead and all. "Used to be, yeah," Barry said, rolling his sleeves back down. "I'm surprised that you didn't know." "Then ... why have you continually sniped at me over the years? Why all the rude comments and the sarcasm?" "I don't like you." "No shit, Sherlock. I thought it was because I was dead. Now I find out that's not the reason. So, why?" "Because you're ... you know..." Barry said. He flipped his wrist, letting his hand flop effeminately. "You hate me because I'm gay?" "I don't hate you. I don't like you, but I don't hate you, either. I just liked busting your chops." Tyler sat back down in the chair, feeling as if he had the wind knocked out of him. "But..." "Look, we've got more pressing problems that whether or not I've bruised your tender feelings over the years," Barry said, sounding like his old, snarling self again. "We've gotten threats. That fucking melon-head Chalmers has stirred up a hornet's nest with his speech on Friday." "So fast?" 48

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"Give some people a reason to hate and they'll jump on it like a horny teenager on prom night. They already got to Will Fenton. Of course, he was so obviously dead that a blind man could see it. If he were any more decomposed he would have had to use duct tape to hold himself together." "What kind of threats?" Tyler asked, ignoring Barry's comment about Will's condition. "The bad kind. The kind that make upper management squirm in their plush corner offices, make them second think keeping us in their employ." Barry hit a few keys on his keyboard, turning the monitor to face Tyler. "We've gotten emails and phone calls. Normally, we'd dismiss them as tripe, but this one..." Tyler squinted, reading the email Barry had opened on his desktop. Whoever had sent it had known the layout of the office, knew that Will Fenton was in cubicle seventeen, and described the car he drove, and the way he was killed. "Look at the time the email was sent. It was four hours before police say Will was murdered." "Oh, shit," Tyler breathed. In the last paragraph of the email, the sender had mentioned Barry and Tyler as being the next targets, and a warning to fire them before the killers started taking their aggression out on the fully living. "Have you shown this to the police?" "Of course. They're investigating, and the powers that be told me to forget about it, let the cops handle it. Personally, I have a problem with going about my business knowing that some asshole with a hard-on for the undead knows where I work and what I drive." 49

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"So ... what do we do?" Tyler asked, lifting his eyes from the monitor to meet Barry's. "Nothing. I just wanted you to be aware of it. I may not like you, but that doesn't mean I want to see you get dead again," Barry said gruffly. He turned the monitor around to face him, looking at the screen. "I don't want to have to hire someone else, train them and all. I've got better things to do with my time." Tyler sat still, a million questions racing through his mind. Who were they? Did whoever sent the email know that Tyler's car had broken down and that he carpooled with Daniel? Did they know where he lived? If Tyler were being watched, then they would know where Daniel lived now, too, after Tyler had spent the weekend there. The sender had threatened to go after fully living employees. More than any other, the thought that Daniel might be hurt because of his association with Tyler was the most frightening. His fingers tightened on the arms of the chair, knuckles whitening. "There has to be something we can do. We can't just sit around, waiting for someone to kill us!" "There's plenty we can do, Grayle. We can hole up in our houses, wait for them to break the doors down and haul our dead asses out into the street. We can arm ourselves, turn the city into a fucking war zone. Or we can be careful. Watch each other's backs." "I vote for turning the city into a war zone," Tyler said, only half-joking. If arming himself was the only way to keep Daniel safe, Tyler would gladly transform himself into fucking Rambo. 50

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Barry snorted. "Just keep your eyes peeled. Don't do anything stupid, like wander around dark alleys. Keep your car doors locked. Use your head. And call me immediately if you see anything or anyone suspicious inside the building." "Yeah. Okay," Tyler agreed, nodding. "Don't worry about it, Grayle. They'll catch whoever it was that killed poor Will, and things will go back to normal." Tyler sighed, nodding. As he left Barry's office he couldn't help but worry. After all, things hadn't been normal since the Dante Comet had sped by, fucking life—and death—up for everyone.

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Chapter Six "Tyler." His name floated to his ears, Daniel's voice husky and thick with need. No doubt—Tyler had been teasing Daniel's body for nearly half an hour, nipping and licking him inch by inch until Daniel was little more than a quivering pile of nerve endings. "Yes?" Tyler said, flicking his tongue over a sharp hipbone before teasing the delicate flesh with his teeth. "Come on, Tyler. Stop torturing me." "Nope. Sorry, no can do." Tyler swept his tongue over Daniel's hip to his groin, giving Daniel's engorged erection a long, languid lick from root to tip. Daniel's cock bobbed, a single bead of wetness glistening at its tip. "Please?" "Sorry." "Tyler!" There was desperation in Daniel's voice now, an edgy hunger. "Yes?" Tyler smiled against Daniel's skin, then resumed his torturous ministrations, nibbling his way down the inside of Daniel's thigh to the soft, sensitive skin behind his knee. "Fuck!" Daniel's hand strayed to his cock, but Tyler slapped it away. "Hands off. That's mine," he growled, sliding himself up along Daniel's body until he could reach his lips. Pressing down, he molded Daniel's lips to his own, thrusting his tongue into Daniel's willing mouth. He poured every ounce of passion he could muster into his kiss, rubbing his cock along Daniel's 52

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thigh, knowing he was pushing Daniel to the brink. He could feel Daniel there, teetering, needing only the slightest push to spin off the edge. Leaving his lips, Tyler captured the delicate skin of Daniel's throat, just over the pulse point, suckling hard, marking him. "Give me," he whispered, feeling his own need break free of his control. "Give." "What? Anything you want, Ty. Take anything, just let me come ... for God's sake have pity!" "I want to be inside you, Danny. Give me that. Tell me I can. Tell me you want me," Tyler pleaded. The last of his words drew out in a long, breathy groan as he let his cock rub tantalizingly along Daniel's length. "Oh, God, Tyler! Yes! Just, please..." "Say it, Danny. I want to hear you say it." Tyler whispered hoarsely, even as his hand reached for the nightstand for the lube and condom he'd purposely left there. "Fuck me! I want you to fuck me, Tyler!" The words sounded coarse as Danny's lips shaped them, profane and utterly provocative. Tyler's balls tightened painfully, spurred by the verbal foreplay. "Spread your legs for me, Danny," Tyler urged, sitting up, positioning himself between Daniel's legs. He bent Daniel's legs at the knee, spreading them wide, pushing Daniel's knees up to his chest. Daniel's furred and puckered opening nestled between his cheeks. Using his thumb, he slicked Daniel's hole with lube until it glistened, then slowly pushed a single finger inside Daniel's body. 53

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Oh, God. Just having his finger alone inside Daniel was nearly enough to make Tyler come. A few quick rubs against Daniel's thigh and it would all be over. Tyler took several long, deep breaths, willing himself to wait, forcing himself to think of things other than the tight asshole clenching around his index finger. "Tyler?" Danny's voice was small, strained, his eyes wide. "Hurts." "I know. Give it a minute, lover. Give your body a chance to get used to me, okay? It'll get better. Promise," Tyler said. He leaned down, taking Daniel's softening cock into his mouth. Sucking hard, taking it in deep, he soon had it back to its full, hard state. Daniel's hips thrust up, wanting more—Tyler's cue to push him a little farther. He added another finger, holding still until he felt the tight muscles of Daniel's ass begin to relax. Tyler's head bobbed up and down over Daniel's cock as he added another finger to the mix. Daniel's cries were not of pain—they were of passion. Tyler knew he was ready to come at any moment, tasting the bitter salt of Daniel's precome on his tongue. Releasing Daniel's cock and pulling his fingers from Daniel's ass—receiving a long, angry groan from Daniel in the process—Tyler reared between Daniel's bent legs. "Ready?" Tyler asked, tearing open the condom package with his teeth, rolling the latex down over his stiff erection. He watched Daniel's face as he entered him. Saw his big blue eyes widen, heard the long, raspy groan that slipped from Daniel's lips as Tyler pushed his thick cock inside him. 54

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Felt Daniel's body tighten around him like a vise, hot silken walls trying to squeeze the come from him. He pulled Daniel's legs over his shoulders, propped himself up by one arm, and took Daniel's cock into his free hand. "Come for me, Danny. Give it," he ordered as he began to move inside Daniel's body. He fisted Daniel's cock in time to his thrusts, both gaining speed as he pushed toward his own climax. "Hurry, Danny. Not going to last long," he breathed through clenched teeth. "Tyler!" Danny's voice reaching Tyler's ears as his seed coated Tyler's fist and his own stomach in thick white ribbons. Two more hard thrusts pushed Tyler to the edge. He slipped out of Daniel's ass, ripping off the condom and taking himself in hand. He jerked his cock hard, groaning Daniel's name as he came, adding his sperm to the pool on Daniel's stomach. Stars imploded, blindingly bright behind his eyelids. Blistering energy streaked through Tyler's body, until he imagined it pouring from his every orifice, lighting him up from the inside out. When he finally floated back down into himself, his body felt strangely heavy, leaded, weighted down with bothersome flesh. Collapsing next to Daniel on the bed, both of their bodies still shuddering with pleasant aftershocks, he sighed contentedly. "Thank you, Daniel. That was ... you were ... shit. I don't have the words to tell you how I feel." Daniel turned toward him, smiling softly. "There are only three that I need to hear, Ty." 55

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Tyler returned Daniel's smile, leaning over for a tender kiss. "I love you. Are those the three you were talking about?" "Yup. Them's the ones. Say it again, Ty." "I love you. I. Love. You. Love you, love you, love you—" "Okay!" Daniel laughed, shoving an elbow into Tyler's ribs. "Enough, already. I get it!" "Aren't you forgetting something?" Tyler teased, nipping at Daniel's lower lip. "Um, nope. Don't think so." Daniel grinned impishly. "Daniel!" Tyler gasped, feigning being wounded. "Okay, okay. I love you, too." His kiss told Tyler that he meant it. Pulling the covers up over them, Tyler slipped his arm under Daniel's head, drawing him close, and let his eyelids drift down. Sated and exhausted from their latest go-round, he fell asleep almost immediately. **** The sound of breaking glass woke him. Luckily for Tyler, the he'd never slept like ... well, like the dead. When he'd been alive, sleep had always been a problem. Dying hadn't changed that aspect of his life at all. He still slept fitfully. Tensing, Tyler picked his head up off the pillow, listening intently. There. The squeak of a rubber sole on the linoleum floor of the kitchen reached his ears. He sat up, covering Daniel's mouth with his hand as he gently shook him awake. 56

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"Shh," Tyler whispered close to Daniel's ear. "Someone's in the house." Daniel's eyes grew large and round. "Shit!" he mumbled behind Tyler's hand. "What do we do?" "Stay here." Tyler climbed over Daniel, scanning the bedroom for anything he could use as a weapon. "Not a chance!" Daniel hissed, clambering up after him. Tyler planted his palm in the center of Daniel's chest, pushing him back on the bed. "Stay put!" he growled. "If they're who I think they are, then they're after me, not you." "No way, Tyler!" Daniel countered, shaking his head. "I'm not going to stay here while you—" A loud thump outside the bedroom door silenced him. They both looked toward the door, watching the knob slowly begin to turn. Tyler grabbed the lamp from the nightstand, wrenching the cord free from the electrical outlet, holding it over his shoulder like a baseball bat. He backed himself up to the wall, trying not to let his shaking hands drop the lamp. The door flew open and a tall, thin man wearing a black ski mask stepped inside, a gun in his hand. Before the intruder could point it in Daniel's direction, Tyler swung the lamp hard, smashing it into the man's masked face. Teeth and blood mixed with broken glass as the lamp shattered, knocking the intruder flat on his back. The gun fired, a bullet digging into Tyler's left arm, just below the shoulder. He grunted, pushed backwards by the impact. 57

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"Tyler!" Daniel's scream rang out, momentarily drowning out the pain-filled bellows of the man on the floor. The decibels of the man's cries inched up a notch as Daniel kicked the gun out of his hand and stepped on him in his haste to get to Tyler. "I'm okay, Danny," Tyler said, frowning as he touched the hole in his flesh the bullet had made. He dug in for a minute, grunting as he worked the bullet out and flicked it to the floor. "Goddamn it. You put a fucking hole in me, you son of a bitch!" he said irritably, his foot nudging the man on the floor none too gently. "Tyler, you've been shot!" Daniel cried, his eyes flitting from Tyler's bullet wound to his face and back again. "I'm dead, remember? It would take more than a .22 slug to hurt me, Danny," Tyler said. He put his non-injured arm around Daniel and hugged him for a moment, before turning his attention to the man who'd shot him. "Okay, you bastard. Who are you?" Bending down, he pulled the ski mask, wet with blood, over the man's head. Tangling his fingers in the mop of blond hair, Tyler pulled the man's head up from the carpet. "Steven?" Tyler blinked down in confusion at the face of the young mailroom clerk from his office. Steven's face was splattered with blood, and he had a conspicuous gap where his two front teeth used to be, but Tyler recognized him anyway. "What the hell?" Steven's only answer was a groan as his eyes rolled out the back of his head and he passed out. Tyler let his head fall back to the carpet with a hollow thud. 58

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"I don't believe it," Daniel breathed, hunkering down next to Steven's limp body. "The mail clerk? He tried to kill us!" "Too bad he's unconscious. I have a few questions I'd like to ask him before the cops get here," Tyler said as he picked up the telephone and dialed 911. "Do you think he's the one that killed Will?" Daniel asked, wrapping his arms around Tyler's middle. Tyler hung up the phone after describing the situation to the operator and turned, drawing Daniel into his arms. "Maybe. He wasn't alone, though. Will was jumped by a mob. They tore him apart, remember?" "Yeah," Daniel said, shivering. "I don't think I'll ever forget." Sirens wailed in the distance, getting closer as Steven began to moan. He blinked open his eyes, groaning in pain. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," Tyler hissed, squatting down next to Steven. "Now, before I kick the rest of your teeth down your throat, why don't you tell me who you're working with?" "Fuck you," Steven spat, his swollen lips distorting his words until he sounded as slushy as Will Fenton used to sound. Tyler gripped Steven's jaw, letting his fingers dig into the bruised flesh. He ignored the small part of him that was pleased by the look of fear that stamped out the glitter of hate in Steven's eyes. "Wrong answer." His fingers slipped to Steven's throat, wrapping around his windpipe. Just a little squeeze, he thought. A little bit of pressure, and this sad sack of shit would see exactly what it felt like to be dead. 59

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"Tyler," Daniel's voice sounded far away. "Tyler, let him go." "No! He could have killed you, Danny." "He didn't. Let him go, Tyler," Daniel repeated. His fingers gently pried Tyler's from Steven's neck. "Don't be like him. Let the cops take care of this, Ty." Tyler tensed for a moment, then allowed Daniel to pull him away. Pushing up, he sat down on the side of the bed, shaking. "Is this what we have to look forward to, Danny? Fucking assholes breaking in, trying to kill us in our sleep?" The sirens were louder now, just outside the house. Danny stepped over Steven to let the police into the house. "No, because we're not staying here, Tyler. We'll go somewhere else. Somewhere safe." "And where is that, Danny? Where is safe?" Danny didn't answer, and Tyler knew why—because there wasn't anywhere safe. Not for people like Tyler. Not for the people who loved them. Not anymore.

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Chapter Seven "Ready?" Daniel asked, slamming the trunk of the Honda down, rocking the car on its tires. "As I'll ever be, I guess," Tyler said. He took a last look at the house where he and Daniel had lived for the past six months. "Seems strange to be leaving, doesn't it? Like we're only going on vacation and we're going to come back." The lemon yellow Sold sign that was stuck in the front lawn belied his words. They couldn't stay anymore. Not with things progressing the way they were. The city was no longer safe. Tyler had serious doubts that anywhere else would be any safer, but he kept them to himself. No use in worrying Daniel anymore than necessary. "I still can't believe Steven tried to kill you for your job," Daniel said as he slid behind the wheel of the car. He waited patiently until Tyler belted himself in, then pulled away from the curb. "What the hell made him think the company would promote him? He's an intern, for God's sake." "He was an intern. Now he's an inmate. His lawyer was an idiot, too, trying to claim that Steven couldn't be charged with attempted murder because the victim was already dead," Tyler said, shaking his head. "Yeah," Daniel agreed. The car bumped and shimmied its way onto the interstate, heading west. "The scary thing was that he wasn't the only one. There was an entire platoon of assholes in the office who thought that bumping off the undead would further their careers." 61

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He and Daniel had pooled their resources, cashing in their IRAs and pensions. Daniel sold his house, and Tyler had withdrawn his life savings, combining their funds to purchase a rambling cabin in the mountains of Montana. Neither knew a goddamn thing about roughing it in the wild, but they figured they'd learn. It was better than staying in the city, where the violence seemed to be escalating at a frightening rate. They passed a deer, nibbling delicately at grass growing at the side of the road. One antler was broken off, and there was a huge, gaping hole in its side. "You know, Montana has a lot of wildlife. I wonder how many dead ones are going to be roaming around our place," Daniel said, as they sped by the undead deer. "I don't know. What's the difference? A few dead raccoon or deer won't mean anything. There will be plenty of live ones too, you know," Tyler said, cocking an eyebrow at Daniel. "I was just thinking that Montana is where they have those big dinosaur digs." Tyler looked at Daniel, his jaw dropping. "Oh, shit. You don't think ... There haven't been any reports of..." "I just don't want a T-Rex skeleton knocking over our garbage cans looking for food," Daniel said, grinning. "Although that would be kind of cool." "Great. You and me in Jurassic Park." "It could be beneficial. We could train one as a watchdog." "A watch-dino."

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"Yeah. It'd be great. Nobody would fuck with us. Who'd want to mess with the guys who had the trained T-Rex?" Daniel laughed. "You're a nut. I love you, but you're certifiable." "I have to be. I'm running away to Montana with a dead guy." "Well, you got me there," Tyler said, laughing. He stretched out, folding his arms behind his head. For the first time since he'd heard Chalmers' speech on television and had found out that Will Fenton had been murdered, for the first time in months, Tyler completely relaxed. Things just might be okay after all. Life, for lack of a better term, was looking up. ~End

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