Another chapter that’s basically me throwing you a bone.
“Please bear with me and I promise there will be many zombies…here’s a little bit to wet your whistle.”
So obviously, the soldiers coming from the west have met zombies. And you, the reader, know about zombies. Slade doesn’t so it is confusing to him.
The guy dies, but then the officer shoots him anyway…obviously because they’ve learned through experience this is the safest thing to do in the midst of a zombie apocalypse.
In the rewrite I’m going to add a line that there was a bottle of Doc’s cure all in the wagon, maybe a passing statement that they bought it from some big mouth traveling doctor.
In this world, you only become a zombie if you drink vampire blood then die. I’m trying to generate the impression that Doc has been unwillingly peddling the zombie apocalypse across the west, obliviously leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.
I hope that’s coming across. Let me know if it isn’t.
And so it went the next few days. The Marshal would arrive bright and early, put in a long day’s work on the formerly Olmsted now Farquhar property, and listen as Sarah talked away about her life, her hopes and dreams, with the occasional bible verse thrown in. Sarah was no slouch herself, working as hard as her delicate constitution allowed.
Together, they cleared and seeded the land, got Olmsted’s old water pump working, and shined the cabin up prettier than a new penny. Sarah dipped into her inheritance to purchase supplies and provisions, which Slade hauled back from Anderson’s General Store.
A lesser deputy might have questioned his boss’ loyalty to his job, but Gunther was proud of his match making skills and demanded full reports whenever Slade checked in on the Buchanan Boys.
Slade always felt bad for leaving Sarah all alone so far from civilization, but Sarah insisted…
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