As he got to the last bunch of grapes on a branch off the main vine, he remembered Kurt Lewis’ request. With a shudder, he steeled himself. The grapes were still in his hands when he went outside, without the bat. He had been tempted to bring, so very tempted, but he will be brave and stupid and maybe his peace offering will be more effective at this point anyway. Or so he assumed/hoped. Kurt Lewis better not had been lying.
Earl the zombie looked up from the Earth he was digging in and waited for Peter to speak. The dead man was close to the house now, and the light from inside illuminated more than the streetlight had. The zombie was about fire and a half feet tall, a little shorter then Peter, but his back was also a little bent as if a disk had slipped. It was hard to tell what age he had been when he died, his flesh being dirty enough to hide the folds of flesh; but he had certainly been a full-grown man. He did not wear shoes nor gardening gloves; but his torn pants covered his important bits and his shirt worn thin over time still covered his torso. His eyes were an unnerving milky blue.
“Kurt Lewis is coming over tomorrow around ten o’clock.” Peter said, not sure how to make small talk with a zombie. That script was never covered by society, unless you count running away and pleading for it not to kill you - though begging for death while facing the possibility of being eaten alive seemed quite acceptable. “Want some grapes?”
Earl the zombie nodded, holding out his hand so Peter could drop them onto his palm. He seemed to be aware that Peter was afraid, probably used to the reaction by now, and was perfectly willing to wait until Peter made the move to keep him calm. Or maybe he was just waiting for Peter to get closer so he can wrap his arms around the man and squeeze the life out of him. Either or.
The first step was the hardest for Peter, but he got past it and had to deal with the next ten. The image of zombies trying to hug the life out of their victims in horror films kept playing in his mind; except that he was the one about to die and the only thing he had to attack the zombie with was grapes. Grapes. Juicy, large, seedless red grapes that a man had told him were part of a zombie’s diet over the phone. And what kind of name was Kurt Lewis anyway? It must be fake or the man would have never survived school.
“Here you go.” He dropped the grapes into the zombie’s palm, imagining his head being
squeezed so hard the skulls cracks and his brain oozes out like some kind of desert for zombies. He was never going to watch another zombie movie. Never, ever again. They kept giving him creepy thoughts.
“T’anks.” Earl grunted.
Peter took the opportunity to go back into the house.