The other NYU kid. Right, forgot about him. He's trying to dig his way through the wall. I walk over to him. I'm just about to pop him in the jaw when he does the job for me and passes out. I look him over. No bites. Now normally I wouldn't do this, but I lost a little blood and I never got to eat my pizza, so I'm pretty hungry. I take out my works and hook the kid up. I'll only take a pint. Maybe two.

The phone wakes me in the morning. Why the hell someone is calling me in the morning I don't know, so I let the machine get it.

— This is Joe Pitt. Leave a message.

— Joe, it's Philip.

I don't pick up the phone, not for Philip Sax. I close my eyes and try to find my way back to sleep.

— Joe, I think maybe I got something if ya can pick up the phone.

I roll over in bed and pull the covers up to my chin. I try to remember what I was dreaming about so I can get myself back there.

— I don't wanna bug ya, Joe, but I figure ya gotta be in. It's ten in the morning, where ya gonna be?

Sleep crawls off into a corner where I can't find it and I pick up the damn phone.

— What do you want?

— Hey, Joe, busy last night?

— I was on a job, yeah. So what?

— I think ya made the news, is all.

Shit.

— The papers?

— NY1.

Fucking NY1. Fucking cable. Can't do shit in this city without them poking a reporter into it.

— What'd they call it?

— Uh, Gruesome quadruple homicide.

— Shit.

— Looks pretty sloppy, Joe.

— Yeah, well, there weren't a lot of options.

— Uh-huh, sure, sure. What was it?

— This thing I'm working on, brain eaters.

— Zombies?