Chapter Text
Dorothy Zbornak racked a round into the chamber of her hunting rifle. "This is it, ladies," she said. "Time to see if our latest defensive position is any good."
"It's, what did that young man call it?" Rose Nylund asked. "He was such a sweet kid, filling those sandbags for us. Oh yes, a soup sandwich. I still don't know what that means."
Sophia Petrillo snorted. "Sure, real sweet kid. I would be, too, if I conned some little old ladies out of their last six bottles of Ensure just for moving some sand around."
"Now then," Blanche Devereaux said, patting the air with a hand in a "settle down" gesture. "We have plenty of time to discuss our pay rates later. Right now, the sun is falling. Focus, ladies! We've got company!"
As the last rays of sunlight slanted through the boarded-up windows of their retirement condo, the zombie horde began to stir. The four women fell silent as they heard the moans and shuffling start up outside, as familiar now as the birdsong before sunrise.