Free Mr. Elkins and the Zombies of Elbert County by Thom Adorney Page B

behind him. Ruth let out a sigh.
    “I’ll have to get more string from the shed.”
    Then, just as one was leaving the arc of light in our backyard cast by the porch lamp, Seth nodded his head to the southwest again, and, sure enough, there came another. I dug my hands a little deeper into my pockets, feeling the chill of the evening, and blew out a little puff of air, wondering if I could see my breath. Sure enough, I could. I looked closely at the zombie and noticed that no steam came out from his mouth or nostrils, which triggered two thoughts: either zombies don’t breathe, or, when they do, they’re so stone cold that no vapor is formed. I looked at Seth and Ruth and blew out a little breath so that they could see the steam. They took notice and nodded, barely taking their eyes off the zombie.
    This one carried on like her predecessor. It was the first she-zombie that I’d seen. There’s something about seeing some young man’s former sweetheart as a walking corpse that awakens one to the mortality of life. After all, whoever had loved her in her wakeful days would certainly find his lips hard pressed to even mouth the words, “I love you” to this poor creature, let alone kiss her. Time spent underground takes its toll on a person.
    As she shuffled across the yard, stumbled once, and righted herself, I noticed the look of concern and pity on Ruth’s face. I could tell she was deeply troubled. “Poor soul,” she whispered, slightly shaking her head as the she-zombie traipsed off into the shadows. The three of us stood there awhile, quiet, watching for more zombies. You may know this feeling, but when the night is disturbed and the disturbance ceases, you just get the sense that it’s done. The breeze settles or picks up, or the clouds hide or reveal the moon. We knew when the show was over, and, without saying a word, walked back into the kitchen. None of us had much to say.
    “Not something you see every day,” Seth commented, staring over his coffee cup at nothing in particular.
    “No, it isn’t,” added Ruth. “Poor girl.”
    You might imagine that, after such a scene, one wonders where to go with it. I certainly was. After considering several scenarios in each direction, I decided it was best to do nothing. After all, you don’t necessarily want to tell the neighbors or the police or the minister for fear of the repercussions. Fate would play its hand and tell them if that’s what needed to happen, and, sure enough, the cards were dealt.
    You may be asking yourself how the news got out, not that we were being overly secretive. It’s just that most people aren’t inclined to ask, “Seen any zombies lately?” along with other seasonal banter about the frosts and nighttime temperatures and local high school football highlights.
    What finally brought it to folks’ attention was a drawing by Cecelia that raised some eyebrows at school. While it was a little hard to decipher, as is most artwork by first graders, by her account it was of a zombie going through our yard at night, tangled in plot lines and beanpoles just like I’d described. It was part of a class activity along the lines of “What October Means to Me.” Her teacher, Mrs. Peevey, apparently was trying to elicit responses from the children that associated October with autumn colors, bird migrations, jumping into piles of leaves, and that sort of thing, in an attempt to embrace the newly enacted school board policy to disassociate October from Halloween. (Apparently, a small group of parents had irritated the school board to no end to stop endorsing this “pagan rooted tradition.” They wouldn’t agree to it as a holiday. “There’s nothing holy about worshipping demons!” charged one of the parents, who, in my opinion, is as overly pious a woman as there ever was. All I can reckon is that she somehow lost the perspective that Halloween’s just a fun sort of celebration, along the lines of the Easter bunny and Santa Claus. In