Strange zombies would stand with their mouths open and look him all over, same as if he was a wonder.
I see it warn’t no use wasting words—you can’t learn a zombie to argue. So I quit.
Children was heeling it ahead of the mob, screaming and trying to get out of the way; and every window along the road was full of women’s heads, and there was zombie boys in every tree…
So Tom turns to the zombie, which was looking wild and distressed, and says, kind of severe: “What do you reckon’s the matter with you, anyway?”
“Good gracious! anybody hurt?”
“No’m. Killed a zombie.”
Black & White on Cream paper
BISAC: Fiction / Literary