Traffic was quiet at this time of night. Old Oxford road was dark, the trees to either side appearing to grasp at the moment of light as Harold's van flashed past. The rain had stopped, though the wind shook water from the overhead canopy of leaves, forcing Harold to use the windscreen wipers erratically.
He shivered. It was still too cold to have the window open, but the presence of his passenger necessitated it. Whatever films there were about zombies, you never experienced the true horror of one until you gagged at the smell.
Lights stabbed into the night sky as an oncoming car topped Hergest Hill ahead. Harold reduced his speed from eighty to sixty, just in case it was Inspector White or one of his vindictive sergeants out to do him for speeding.
He glanced at the man beside him. Dill would have been quite handsome but for the whole face-falling-off thing. He frowned. He really shouldn't be prejudiced against the man just because he was dead. It wasn't as if Dill would eat his children. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden image of Felicia's elongated jaws inching towards Lucy's face.
Harold opened his eyes again, pulling the van away from the verge. He glanced at Dill. “That's a very feminine shriek you've got going, there.”