Harold selected skimmed milk, the one with the red plastic cap. He was the only one who drank it but if the others wanted something different it was up to them to buy it as far as he was concerned.
He headed toward the checkout, Dill trailing in his wake like an orphan boy.
Harold turned as the zombie caught hold of his arm. It took all of his courage and self discipline not to scream but he managed it, and further fought to keep his fear and loathing in check. “What?”
“Am I showing? People keep staring at me.”
“I don't think so. You look pretty normal to me. Except the eyes, of course. The lack of iris make you a little distinct.”
“Damn. I thought I'd get away with it. This was my big test to see if I could pass in public.”
“Pass? Pass what?”
“Pass for human.”
“Oh.” Harold led him through the gap between aisles to the clothing section and a range of gentlemen's shirts. “What size are you?”
“Okay...” Harold pulled out a dark blue shirt and pulled it free of its orange wrapper. “Here. Put this on. There's a changing room there.”
“You're wearing an oatmeal jacket. Between that and your bloodless skin you look like a corpse. This will add some colour in and people will think the paleness is only a reflection of the blue shirt. Now get a move on.”
“Right.” Dill entered the cubicle and closed the curtain behind him. After a few rustlings, he emerged. “I look like a college tutor.”
“Better than looking like a horror movie prop.” Harold stuffed the old shirt in the orange wrapper and headed for the automated tills.