16
‘Those glaistigs?’ I heard Jay mutter near my ear. ‘I get the feeling they’re disinclined to accept defeat.’
‘Dance-off’s still on,’ I agreed.
‘And I’d say we’ve been bested,’ said Zareen.
I shook my head. Vehemently. ‘If there’s one rule I live by, it’s this: never accept defeat in a dance-off against legions of the undead.’
And hey, we tried. Jay played the Bee Gees and Donna Summer and we threw some shapes. We were a perfect disco-dancing dream team, but we were outnumbered a thousand to one and those glaistigs are smart. Why bother coming up with your own routines when you could just copy the other guy?
Everything we did, they did too.
I’ll say this: if you’ve never witnessed five thousand mostly-decayed corpses perform a Saturday Night Fever routine in perfect unison, you ha
