Three shallow depressions sat in the dirt in the basement, each about six feet long. Gertrude and Zorn stooped around in the semi-dark. They sniffed in corners and prodded the dirt. Debris sifted in the ancient fireplace. Zorn poked at the rotting wood stairs that lead up into the kitchen, ending in a newly boarded up aperture.
“How did we not see these before?” Gertrude asked.
Zorn knelt down and ran his hands over the dirt.
“We weren’t exactly given the time. Besides, that one and that one are fresher. More fresh?” He looked to Gertrude for confirmation, but Gertrude only shrugged. “They weren’t here when we were here. I mean, they were here, the zombies, but the depressions, they were not here, made here—formation—the zombies didn’t come out. You understand.”
“Do you see them?” Top
