Orville’s hardcore. Always has been, even before the end of the world. He hit a deer once out on route three, got out of the truck, finished the poor stricken animal off with his .32, tossed the carcass in the bed and then continued on to church.
So, when the little five-year-old zombie came stumbling down the road, I wasn’t surprised when Orville didn’t think twice about putting it down. Marion was pretty upset, though, bless her. “How can you do that so easy? That was somebody’s baby.”
“This ain’t fishing,” Orville said. “We don’t throw the little ones back.”