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bolted from the scene.
    In one shot the camera actually caught the field reporter being jumped on from behind by what looked to be two older ladies in housecoats and slippers. I snubbed out my cigarette and turned the volume back down. I had more pressing matters at hand, but the background noise would be a welcome, albeit disturbing, comfort.
    I dragged the three remaining sheets of plywood into the living room and went back down the hall for the ladder. I hated to be boarding my windows like this. It looked so dark in the house now and it made me feel gloomy. It’s not like I wasn’t gloomy already, but if this was going to be my “fortress of solitude” I’d have to do what I could to make it safe. Well, if the plan went without a hitch it wouldn’t actually be “-of solitude,” but I could think of a better name later.
    I also wondered, while walking back to the kitchen table to retrieve the hammer, if I was starting to lose it. Go crazy. Shy a few marbles. Not playing with a full deck. Screws loose. I expected this though, had actually thought about it at great length, while drawing up my Zombie Plan. Anyone who survived something like this and expected to make a new life for themselves living in a world full of the walking dead would have to be on their way to a shithouse rat state of mind.
    I glanced down partway through my ruminating to see Gus watching me very closely with his head tilted to one side. I smiled and patted him on the head, then went back to work. With any luck, I would have these three sheets in place and get some patrolling in before dark.
     
    * * *
     
    I looked at my watch and saw I had forty-five minutes before Ben should be calling, so I decided to patrol as much as I could behind the barn. The pistol I was wearing, a .45 Colt, was heavy and threatening to pull my pants down, but I didn’t feel safe going without it. I tried to decide which rifle to take from the ones I had strategically placed upstairs, but none felt as comfortable as my old .243. So I retrieved it from my bedroom, making up my mind that as soon as I got back I would replace it with another so I could keep the deer rifle with me wherever I went. The only drawback to this particular gun was that it could only hold five shells, and that was if you slid one in the barrel before closing the bolt. But after being together for so many years it felt like a part of me. And besides, I really didn’t think I would see more than five zombies.
    After an argument with Gus (one in which he was clearly victorious), we headed out. I caught myself wanting to lock the front door and instead just pulled it shut. With my rifle up and ready, Gus and I walked around the house and towards the barn. Gus was doing his thing, nose to the ground and occasionally sniffing the air, as I scanned the area. I figured I could rely pretty heavily on my dog’s nose, and if there was something close that I couldn’t see he would let me know about it. I stopped just short of the barn’s drive as I looked out over the pasture. The sun was starting to dip in the sky now, and I definitely didn’t want to be caught out here at dusk without a flashlight. Hell, even with a flashlight.
    “Let’s just look around the barn for now, and then we’ll head back to the house. Go on, round the barn,” I whispered to Gus as I pointed around the corner. Gus was a beagle and a pretty decent rabbit hunter. This was one of the tricks I had taught him in the field, but usually I would tell him to go ‘round the bush, or ‘round the tree. Regardless, he got my point. His tail began that psychotic wag and he grinned at me, then took off around the barn with his nose to the ground. I followed, moving slowly with my gun raised. I had just rounded the corner and saw the rear was clear, when something hit the back of my legs with such force it almost knocked me to my knees. I screamed, jumped, and swung the barrel around, ready to put a bullet between the eyes of my