Killing the Darling Zombie Chicken
I’m doing revisions on NinChicks for Christa (yes, that’s my agent I’m talking about there…and still squeeing over as you can see from this post on the cabinet!) and, ahem, recently cut my whole zombie chicken thread out of the novel. Since it doesn’t play a crucial role in the plot, we decided it was too distracting and would have to go. Maybe there’ll be a next book, in which it can play a more major role.
Anyway, here’s part of the excerpt. In case you’re ever in need of identifying a zombie chicken and want a reference point on how it’s done.
“I came to warn you of a raccoon spotted earlier on patrol!” I say angrily. “The raccoon that’s taken Opus!”
“That’s what you say now,” a white duck says. “But I say that’s zombie chicken talk. You just wanted to get inside the Shack and feast on our spinal cords!”
“Naw, silly,” the brown goose next to her says. She’s huge, towering over the others, and I can’t help scooting back a couple steps. She follows me, and steps behind me so I can’t escape. “Zombie chickens don’t eat spinal cords, its brains they want. That and livers.” She swings her head around and peers into my near eye at close range. “This one’s got too much blue to his blood, means he’s starving for livers and brains. Yep, looks like a pretty hungry zombie to me.”
“He’s not getting my liver,” the white duck growls, thrusting her hand shovel at me.
“Get the zombie chicken!” the tiny pullet yells. She whips out a sharpened pair of scissors and advances on me, the rest the crowd closing in behind her.
As you can see, these chickens were well-prepared–so long as the zombie let them get a good look in his eyes! And if you’ve ever wondered how a zombie chicken is made, I can help you out there, too. If you’ve got the stomach for it. 😉