The knock sounded around midafternoon. Just about the time for his nap. How rude, especially since he really needed the rest.
He'd spent the morning looking for more bits and pieces he'd missed. Apparently, he'd missed some stuff when raking, and a grieving widow happened upon a severed finger. The screams woke him from a sound sleep in the mausoleum where he'd first attempted to catch up on some z's.
Management called him into the office and demanded answers. Chris blamed it on groundhogs digging at the soil. Management ordered him to set more traps. He totally planned to bill them for it and use the money for beer.
Alcohol was his cure for the annoyance of the past few days. Cleaning up the zombies had proven a hell of a lot less fun than the fight. And even the fight had been overrat
