potential visitors of toxic contamination if they ventured beyond the posted signs. It was all neat and tidy. Problem taken care of.
And for twenty-five years, Jonesboro stayed that way, abandoned and dead, lying in peace beneath the lake. Only recently had land development started around the Jonesboro lake, leading to the community known as Jonesville, in which Alan had purchased his new home at such a outstanding price.
Alan took all of the incriminating microfiche with him and burned it. No sense letting the secret out. He didn’t need a town meeting being called and the government getting involved again. No way was he going to have his home taken away because of some mishap years ago. Far as he was concerned, those that couldn’t handle the living dead creeping around their backyards could just pack up and go, but Alan was holding his ground.
He wasn’t concerned with rotting corpses. The smell would take some getting used to, but at least the dead were fairly quiet. They shambled around, bumping into stuff, and if a man was unlucky enough to get close, one of them might take a bite from his skull, but by and large, living with the dead wasn’t bad.
* * *
The next few weeks brought a lull in walking dead activity. Besides the occasional ambling stiff that wandered out of the lake and onto Alan’s property (which he quickly dispatched with a shotgun), Alan didn’t see much of the corpses at all. He even thought the zombies were staying where they belonged, rotting at the bottom of the lake.
But the respite was brief. The calm before the storm, actually, though Alan didn’t realize it at the time. When the dead began to rise from the dark, murky depths of the lake with alarming frequency once again, the last of the living fled Jonesville, giving up their homes. Some of them even joined the ranks of the walking dead, but through it all, Alan held his ground. He wasn’t going to be driven away. No thoughtless neighbors were going to force him to give up his residency in Jonesville.
Alan began to lose sleep. He sat up late into the night, staring out at the lake, blasting any maggot-infested thing that rose from the cold black water. His shotgun never left his side. He even kept it with him when he answered nature’s call. He took it with him when he went for groceries too.
Old Jim Millstone, the owner of the only store in the community, had long since left Jonesville, leaving everything behind. The grocery supply dwindled, but Alan wasn’t deterred. He could pick his groceries up in Fayetteville when he needed to. The drive wasn’t all that bad when you got right down to it. Behind the wheel of his car, he could easily dispatch anything that ambled into his path.
Cora began to lose a grip on her sanity. She couldn’t take it any longer, and she finally came to the conclusion that leaving Alan was her only option. He was far beyond any help she could give. As far as she was concerned, Alan could stick around and defend his precious house, but she wasn’t about to continue with an effort that amounted to nothing more than useless. She tried once again to talk Alan into leaving everything behind, but when he refused to listen to reason, she told him she would be leaving and taking their child with her.
Alan wouldn’t hear of it. The nerve of her, thinking she could up and abandon him after he’d worked so hard to give her and their son a better life. What about the wedding vows? What about all that for-better-or-worse bullshit?
They fought. There was a lot of screaming. When Cora grabbed her bags and his son, Alan brought out his shotgun, trusty and handy as it was, and blew her head off. He dragged her to the lake and tossed her into the water.
No chance she’d be coming back. Not with her head all but gone. The movies had gotten that part right. A bullet in the head kept the dead from rising again.
It was the least he could do for Cora.
Killing his son wasn’t so easy. Alan hated to do it, he
And for twenty-five years, Jonesboro stayed that way, abandoned and dead, lying in peace beneath the lake. Only recently had land development started around the Jonesboro lake, leading to the community known as Jonesville, in which Alan had purchased his new home at such a outstanding price.
Alan took all of the incriminating microfiche with him and burned it. No sense letting the secret out. He didn’t need a town meeting being called and the government getting involved again. No way was he going to have his home taken away because of some mishap years ago. Far as he was concerned, those that couldn’t handle the living dead creeping around their backyards could just pack up and go, but Alan was holding his ground.
He wasn’t concerned with rotting corpses. The smell would take some getting used to, but at least the dead were fairly quiet. They shambled around, bumping into stuff, and if a man was unlucky enough to get close, one of them might take a bite from his skull, but by and large, living with the dead wasn’t bad.
* * *
The next few weeks brought a lull in walking dead activity. Besides the occasional ambling stiff that wandered out of the lake and onto Alan’s property (which he quickly dispatched with a shotgun), Alan didn’t see much of the corpses at all. He even thought the zombies were staying where they belonged, rotting at the bottom of the lake.
But the respite was brief. The calm before the storm, actually, though Alan didn’t realize it at the time. When the dead began to rise from the dark, murky depths of the lake with alarming frequency once again, the last of the living fled Jonesville, giving up their homes. Some of them even joined the ranks of the walking dead, but through it all, Alan held his ground. He wasn’t going to be driven away. No thoughtless neighbors were going to force him to give up his residency in Jonesville.
Alan began to lose sleep. He sat up late into the night, staring out at the lake, blasting any maggot-infested thing that rose from the cold black water. His shotgun never left his side. He even kept it with him when he answered nature’s call. He took it with him when he went for groceries too.
Old Jim Millstone, the owner of the only store in the community, had long since left Jonesville, leaving everything behind. The grocery supply dwindled, but Alan wasn’t deterred. He could pick his groceries up in Fayetteville when he needed to. The drive wasn’t all that bad when you got right down to it. Behind the wheel of his car, he could easily dispatch anything that ambled into his path.
Cora began to lose a grip on her sanity. She couldn’t take it any longer, and she finally came to the conclusion that leaving Alan was her only option. He was far beyond any help she could give. As far as she was concerned, Alan could stick around and defend his precious house, but she wasn’t about to continue with an effort that amounted to nothing more than useless. She tried once again to talk Alan into leaving everything behind, but when he refused to listen to reason, she told him she would be leaving and taking their child with her.
Alan wouldn’t hear of it. The nerve of her, thinking she could up and abandon him after he’d worked so hard to give her and their son a better life. What about the wedding vows? What about all that for-better-or-worse bullshit?
They fought. There was a lot of screaming. When Cora grabbed her bags and his son, Alan brought out his shotgun, trusty and handy as it was, and blew her head off. He dragged her to the lake and tossed her into the water.
No chance she’d be coming back. Not with her head all but gone. The movies had gotten that part right. A bullet in the head kept the dead from rising again.
It was the least he could do for Cora.
Killing his son wasn’t so easy. Alan hated to do it, he
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