a blog about libraries, writing, and the Zen of Skee-Ball
Thursday, June 14, 2007
I am in Gloucester once more, after having been awakened shortly before dawn. Don't ask me how I could have fallen asleep with an army of living dead chewing its way through New England all around me, but no sooner had I sent out my last dispatch than the day's physical and emotional exhaustion caught up with me. Dreaming that the ghouls had found me at last I started awake to find that a big German shepherd was licking my face while two men in uniforms trained their guns on me and laughed. 'It's okay,' the one said. 'If he doesn't attack that means you're still one of us.' They were part of the Coast Guard rescue operation my wife had told me about - though she was still at the hospital with Baby Exile and hadn't read my email, one of my readers had relayed the message to the rescuers. I prepared myself to hear the worst about my daughter, but as we made our way back to the copter one of them said: 'You mean your wife didn't tell you? She isn't just fine - she's immune!'