By Joe R. Lansdale
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Extra info for Christmas with the Dead [hc]
Back in the garage, Calvin gathered up the six, large, plastic, snow men and the Santa, and pulled them into the house. He plugged them in and happily discovered they lit right up. But the strings of lights were still a problem. He searched the garage, and only found three spare bulbs— green ones—and when he screwed them in, only one worked. If he put up those strings they would be patchy. It wasn’t as if anyone but himself would care, but a job worth doing was a job worth doing right, as his dad always said.
There was plenty of food in the store, as most of the town had seen the storm and been affected by it, and had immediately gone into zombie mode. For them, it was no more cheese and crackers, salads with dressing on the side, now it was hot, fresh meat and cold dead meat, rotting on the bone. As he cruised the aisle, he saw a rack with bags of jerky on it. He hadn’t had jerky in ages. He grabbed bags of it and threw them in the cart. He found a twelve pack of bottled beer and put that in the cart.
They are our company. He got a beer from inside, came back out and pulled up a lawn chair and sat down. Buffy lay down beside him. He was tempted to give those poor sonofabitches outside the wire a few strips of jerky. Instead, he sipped his beer. A tear ran down his face as he yelled toward the dead. “Merry Christmas, you monsters.
Christmas with the Dead [hc] by Joe R. Lansdale