He was six feet tall, hollow-cheeked and gaunt, and he possessed an expression of clever malevolence. He was reading about the retrieval of a time capsule in Wall Hollow, Tennessee.
Turning to the photograph of the assembled Lanthanides, mugging for posterity with a mud-caked pickle jar, the old man burst out laughing. 'What a bunch of fuggheads!' he snorted, and turned to an article about a New Orleans jazz festival.
The message on the computer screen read: 'THANK YOU FOR HELPING ME VERIFY THE DEATH OF PAT MALONE BY FINDING THAT OLD OBITUARY COLUMN IN THE LIBRARY. JAY OMEGA.'
He glanced at it and laughed again. 'Fuggheads.'
Sharyn McCrumb
Вы читаете Zombies of the Gene Pool
