Alison decided to try her neighbors across
the street. She darted past the remaining zombies to the Johnsons'
house. She approached the door and knocked, waiting for a reply, since
Mr. Johnson hated rude people. No answer. She tried the door.
It was unlocked. She let herself inside. Perhaps Mr. Johnson would
understand, given the circumstances. She ran inside and locked the door
behind her. As she turned around she was faced with a very angry looking
Mr. Johnson.
"What are you doing here, you damn
nosy kid? What are you doing in my house!" Mr. Johnson exclaimed.
"I'm sorry Mr. Johnson. I tried knocking, but no one answered,"
Alison explained. "I figured that since there were zombie circus
performers outside who want to eat me you might understand."
"You goddamned kids got no respect these days. When I was your age,
we had manners or we'd get our butts spanked until they were redder than old
Saint Nick's cheeks."
"I'm really sorry, Mr. Johnson, but I would have been eaten alive if I'd
stayed out there. Can I please stay here, just long enough for me to
figure out what to do about the zombies?"
"Zombies or no zombies, we knew respect as kids, or otherwise they would
teach us respect. I remember back in the zombie invasion of '66, now that
was a zombie invasion. You couldn't go five feet without being bit by a
zombie and we had respect and still waited for the door to be answered instead
of barging in unannounced."
"Okay Mr. Johnson, I understand, and next time there's a zombie invasion
I'll wait for you to answer the door. But for now, I'm already inside, so
you might as well just let me stay."
Mr. Johnson, mumbling under his breath, walked into the kitchen.
"While you're here I may as well offer you something to drink. I
would hate to be rude."
Alison glanced out the window and gasped. Dozens of zombies filled the Johnsons' front yard.
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