Chapter Two Part Four

            The gypsy zombies, you could say, were picking up the pieces. Literally. Dante, the undying gypsy king, had the feeling, a feeling that somehow, something was going on, something beyond his tribe. Beyond all creatures, he felt, beyond the Keepers themselves. The attack made no sense at all. It hurt a lot of people and a few of his gypsies had actually been destroyed. Brains burnt in the bonfire can’t come back.

            There were too many with pieces missing. Their skin had not yet healed. Not even in the daylight. If you happened to look upon the wreckage, the only thing absent would be the groans. Zombies felt no pain.

            The old man, Dante, had the knowledge of his ancestors plus the wisdom acquired from decades of being undead. He wondered for how long he would continue to be king. He must keep an eye on his nephew Remus. His skin healed the fastest and he had taken to strutting around the camp, “Much too agile for a zombie; even for a young strong one.” He thought.

            The Keepers kept creeping back into his mind. Why?              

 (To Be Continued.)

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