"Bracelet, where the fuck is your bracelet, man?" S.T. had his out, but Harvey wasn't in any shape to be accessorizing. This was that old joke about the bears in the Whites and running faster than your buddy, except with a super-villain and a zombie. And one Sangamon Taylor, notorious terrorist and simultaneous humanitarian, who was too busy trying to see if there was any other way to move Harvey without dislodging the sword.

He shoved a few cereal boxes aside and squatted down next to Harvey. The neck wound wasn't going to bleed out instantly, but it was bad. He pulled his sweatshirt down over his hand and pushed on it. "We can't take it out. It's like a champagne cork, except in your stomach. Take it out, bad news. But all we have to do is keep you alive until morning." And then tie him up for a few nights while he tried to eat the rest of them, but that was minor.