“What’s he doing?” The machete man peeked through the window unable to see their undead houseguest. “Mister Zed walked around with some wire and some tubes, other than that I couldn’t see.” a woman in her late forties replied calmly. She and the younger woman had named their guest, since they were surrounded by undead people they thought it best to have him bear a name instead of the undead. Concerned the machete man turned to the main entrance. They had barricaded it again, waiting for the winter. As soon as snow was setting in they wanted to leave. Cold wind blew past the door, in the distance they heard a croaking noise, a crow calling for its flock.
Machete man knocked against the glass with a knuckle, he did it several times a day since Mister Zed has arrived. Although he couldnt see the undead he felt the look of the man through the window. Often he asked himself why the funeral home had windows in its doors that were enforced. He couldn’t shoot the undead menace next door without harming himself.
“If there’s a change alarm me.” he mumbled wandering off.

With a certain amount of satisfaction the seeing eye looked into the mirror. In the flickering light from the furnace the sight wasn’t all bad. The sounds of his living neighbors preparing to leave didn’t bother him that much.
Satisfied he wa.dered to the door. Still there was someone standing watch, as the young mans eyes beheld a glimpse of the sighton  the side of the door he jumped up and called for the man with the machete.

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