SHOUTED A MAN’S VOICE. “THIS IS THE HUMAN-Paranormal Joint Task Force!” The Goon Squad? What the hell was the Goon Squad doing in my apartment? I squinted toward the doorway. Pointing two guns at my head, that was what. “Whoa, whoa. Take it easy.” I slowly raised both hands. “What’s the problem?” Somebody found the light switch. A blinding glare, and I could make out the features of my visitors: one human, one really big zombie. The human stepped forward, his gun steady. “You’re the problem, you damn freak.” The zombie behind him, so tall he stooped in the doorway, growled. Not a pleasant sound. “Shut up, Sykes,” said the human, who seemed to be in charge. “And cuff her.” “Hey, wait a minute—” I began, but the zombie picked me up and flipped me over like he was a short-order cook making flapjacks. In two seconds he’d cuffed my hands behind my back. In another three, I was half-standing, half-hanging from Sykes’s superhuman grip as he dragged me over to his partner.
