Zombie Moose came about after I read an article about a young moose in Sweden who ate some fermented fruit, got drunk, and ended up stuck in a tree. Literally. In a tree. I saw the picture from the newspaper. Its feet weren’t even touching the ground. I told my oldest about it. She thought it was as funny as I did. Mix in some inept small town politicians and I just couldn’t pass up the silliness.

Chapter 1

“Quinn, have you called Mrs. Menard yet? I’m almost there, and I don’t want to surprise her.”

“Just called the mad, old cow. She’s expecting you,” Quinn Crawford said.

Gaige LaRoche maneuvered the oil delivery truck down the narrow road to Mrs. Menard’s place. Despite the heat of the day, Gaige rolled up the truck windows. His glance flicked from the yard to the truck’s rearview mirror before backing into his customer’s driveway.

Mrs. Menard was in her eighties, and to protect herself from robbers and murderers, she employed

a long stick. If you surprised her, she would lean out the window and pound on the nearby 1bee hives with the stick, sending the bees into an angry frenzy. It took Gaige only once to learn that he needed to make certain she knew he was coming.

Gaige sweltered in the hot truck, his eyes locked on Mrs. Menard’s front door as it barely opened. Mrs. Menard’s vicious Teacup Chihuahua shot out the door like a lightning bolt to attack his truck. Gaige looked down at the growling dog, whose lips were pulled back from its razor sharp teeth. Over and over again, the little beast hurled itself at the vehicle, it’s beady black eyes fixed on Gaige, who rolled down the window and waved at Mrs. Menard as she approached to retreive her pet.

Over the barking of the tiny dog, Gaige shouted, “Is that a new collar for Mr. Biggies? Sure is cunnin’.” Mrs. Menard beamed. She called to the attack dog, picking him up before Gaige exited the truck.

Mrs. Menard peered at Gaige through thick glasses. “You’re that boy who did the protest over those clam flats in North Bath,” she said. “You ain’t here to protest, are you?”

Gaige managed a smile. “I’m here to fill up your fuel oil tank,” he shouted.

“Oh, yes, that nice boy called and said you were coming,” Mrs. Menard said.

Gaige handed Mrs. Menard a dog biscuit as Mr. Biggies quivered and snapped. “Oh Mr. Biggies, you’re right lively today.” Gaige smiled at Mrs. Menard, “That is one wicked adorable dog,” he said. Still beaming,

• Mrs. Menard and the snarling Mr. Biggies went back inside.

Gaige returned to the truck to call the dispatcher. “Quinn, just got the okay. By the way, Mrs. Menard thinks you’re a boy.”

“Nice. Thanks for the shot to my ego,” Quinn laughed then making her voice as deep as she could said, “Give me a call when you’re done.”

Exiting the vehicle, Gaige slipped on a longsleeved white shirt and placed a mosquito net over his head before resettling his hat. Careful not to make any sudden moves, Gaige made his way gingerly around the bee hives to the fill spout for the oil tank. He looked toward the kitchen window where Mrs. Menard stood, sending a smile her way in reassurance. Sweat running down his back, he could feel the prickle of thousands of little bee eyes watching him, waiting for him to make them angry as the oil trickled into the basement tank.

Mrs. Menard continued to peer out the kitchen window at Gaige, who occasionally looked her way and kept smiling to remind her he wasn’t there to murder her. After what seemed to be years, he finished the fill and carefully treaded his way around the hives to the truck.

Mrs. Menard was waiting on the porch with a plate of cookies while Mr. Biggies remained inside yipping and clawing at the closed door. Mr. Biggies was able to multitask and while he was attacking the door, he was also plotting the murder of Mrs. Menard. He just wanted to practice by murdering Gaige first.

“Here boy, have some cookies,” Mrs. Menard said, thrusting a paper plate at him.

Gaige surveyed the cookies arranged on a Christmas doily under plastic wrap. “Did you bake these just for me, Mrs. Menard?” Gaige said as he warily eyed the stale looking cookies.

Mrs. Menard’s eyes shifted away from him. “Someone gave these to me and there are too many for me to eat.”

“Ah. Well, thank you, Mrs. Menard.” Gaige took the plate.

“Go ahead and have one. They’re good.”

Glancing at the bee hives, Gaige rolled up the mosquito net covering his head. Forcing a grin, he peeled back the plastic wrap and took one. Mrs. Menard beamed at him as he took his first bite and nearly broke a tooth.

“I always like a crispy cookie, don’t you?” she said.

Gaige nodded as he tried to swallow the jaw-breaker of a cookie, wondering if the sharp edges were lacerating his throat. Mrs. Menard eyed him, and satisfied he had downed the petrified treat, she returned to the house, closing the door firmly behind her. Gaige set the plate of ancient cookies on the truck seat then lowered the netting back over his face before returning to finish winding the hose into the truck.

Sliding behind the steering wheel, he picked up the mic. “Quinn, I’m going to stop by my apartment before the next run.”

“Still looking for that job offer, huh?”

“No. It’s lunch time. I’m just around the corner. I thought I’d run by and grab a bite.”

Gaige could just about hear the twinkle in Quinn’s eyes.

“Uh huh. I bet you have enough rejections to paper your kitchen by now. Why don’t you apply to that pet food company if you’re so bent on getting a scientific type job? Didn’t the company recruiter say that they would be interested in talking with you after you graduated? I heard they pay pretty well.”

Gaige slumped in the seat, letting his head thump against the steering wheel. Gaige had a degree in animal biology with a focus on evolutionary biology and ecology. It wasn’t the economy that had prevented him from getting work befitting his degree. In high school, Gaige had gained infamy in the scientific community when he had led a failed effort to prevent a residential development from being built near a clam flat. It was a huge media event that wrongfully painted Gaige as an environmental kook and publicity hog.

“Thanks for the encouragement,” he moaned.

“No problem,” said Quinn. “By the way, did Mrs. Menard give you any treats?”

“A plate of holiday cookies. I hope they’re only from last Christmas,” he groaned.

Quinn laughed. “Made you eat one, did she?