There was a weird smell in the back garden tonight. Vaguely rotten, like the really putrid rotten you get when you’ve ripped open a man’s intestines. I haven’t smelled that since last year.
I’ve told Joel to lock the doors and windows, and just in case line the windows with aesfoetida. The official word is that the zombies are gone, but I’ve got this sense that whatever it is isn’t done. Thankfully, Joel doesn’t argue with me like Mike used to - he just trusts my instincts.
I wish I weren’t so woozy. It’s easier to pinpoint my psychic warnings when I’m not sick.
