A good night for zombies?
“Son, I’ll tell you a good night for zombies,” said Sarge. He wasn’t really a sergeant, but since It had happened, he’d taken on the role and we followed him like he was a combat vet. By now, we all were I guess. Sarge had big green eyes that bulged a little and looked entirely too reptilian in the weird half-light of the moon.
He went on, “the hot nights are the best. A stinking breeze rolls over everything, gets stuck in back of your throat. Makes you want to puke, but you can’t because that can of pseudo-meat is the only thing you’ve put in your belly for two days. When it’s hot they scrabble faster, you know? Like the warm limbers them up. They get more mobile. When you’re sweating something awful, desperately trying to find out how they know you’re there… wondering if the it’s your scent? Body heat? Something else? You’re tucked away in a bolt hole, listening to them moan aimlessly, peaking out your shadowed peep hole, watching them devour your buddy…”
The Sarge got real quiet then, for a long while. It scared us to see him drift off like that.
Suddenly, he perked up and inhaled deep through his nose.
“Smell that? Looks like Junior is right. It is a good night for zombies…”
