Zombies: The Recent Dead by Paula Guran Page B

deal nailed out pretty good, were shooting up in some pre-ordained arc to the sky. Then someone, somewhere, fucked up. I never heard an explanation that made much sense to me. People talked a lot about a variety of things, but then people always talked a lot, didn’t they? Either way, you go past Noqualmi cemetery now, or the one in Elum, and the ground there looks like Swiss cheese. A lot of empty holes, though there are some sites yet to burst out, later waves in waiting.
    Few of them didn’t get far past the gates, of course. I took down a handful myself, in the early days.
    I remember the first one I saw up here, too, a couple weeks after the thing. It came by itself, blundering slowly up the rise. It was night-time, of course, so I heard it coming rather than seeing anything. First I thought it was someone real, was even dumb enough to go outside, shine a light, try to see who it was. I soon realized my error, I can tell you that. It was warmer then, and the smell coming off up the hill was what gave it away. I went back indoors, got the gun. Only thing I use it for now, as shells are at a premium. Everything else, I use a knife.
    Afterwards I had a good look, though I didn’t touch it. Poked it with a stick, turned it over. It really did smell awful bad, and they’re not, something you’re going to consider eating—even if there wasn’t a possibility you could catch something off the flesh. I don’t know if there’s some disease to be caught, if that’s how it even works, but it’s a risk I’m not taking now or likely ever. I wrapped the body up in a sheet and dragged it a long, long way from the property. Do the same with any others that make it up here from time to time. Dump them in different directions, too, just in case. I don’t know what level of intelligence is at work, but they’re going to have to try harder at it if they ever hope to get to me—especially since I put in the wires.
    I have never seen any of them abroad during the day, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t, or won’t in the future. So wherever I go, I’m very careful. I don’t let smoke come out of my chimney, instead dispersing it out the doors and window—and only during the day. The wires go through to trips with bells inside the cabin. Not loud bells—no sense in broadcasting to one of them that they just shambled through something significant. The biggest danger is the shed, naturally—hence trying to make it air-tight. Unlike just about everything else, however, that problem’s going to get easier as it gets colder. There’s going to come a point where I’ll be chipping dinner off with a chisel, but at least the danger of smell leaking out the cracks will drop right down to nothing.
    Once everything’s secured for the night, I eat my meal in the last of the daylight, with the last hot cup of coffee of the day. I set aside a little food for the morning. I do not stay up late.
    The windows are all covered with blackout material, naturally, but I still don’t like to take the risk. So I sit there in the dark for a spell, thinking things over. I get some of my best ideas under those conditions, in fact-there’s something about the lack of distraction that makes it like a waking dream, lets you think laterally. My latest notion is a sign. I’m considering putting one up, somewhere along one of the roads, that just says this way , and points. I’m thinking if someone came along and saw a sign like that, they’d hope maybe there was a little group of people along there, some folks getting organized, safety in numbers and that, and so they’d go along to see what’s what.
    And find me, waiting for them, a little way into the woods.
    I’ll not catch all of them—the smart guy in the car would have driven straight by, for example, though his girl might have had something to say on the subject—but a few would find my web. I have to think the idea through properly—don’t know for sure that the others can’t