"Well, doggies...." Jed lowered the rifle with a heavy heart, the roar of 30-30 still ringing in his ears. Jethro's corpse twitched briefly before lying still. His attacker hadn't even noticed. Jed didn't relish telling his cousin that he'd been forced to blow his nephew's brains all over the estate's sprawling grounds, but there had been no choice. Once Jethro had been bitten, it was only a matter of time before he became one of those shambling things throwing themselves against the iron fence and main gates. He'd seen it too many times in the last few weeks, as this so-called zombie plague had spread like wildfire across the country, finally landing in the posh sprawl of Beverly Hills. The people native to this area were doomed, he mused. They were too soft, too pampered. They didn't know how to survive when their comfortable world came crashing down around them.
"Jed! Pay attention to yer chores, boy! The job ain't over yet!" Granny pointed out towards the lawn frantically. Miss Hathaway remained oblivious, contentedly munching away on a piece of Jethro's throat. Her skin had turned a mottled gray, her eyes milky and opaque. There was a strange irony to this, the formerly poor mountaineer turned oil millionaire thought as he raised the shotgun to finish her off. Miss Hathaway had always had her eyes on Jethro. Seems like in the end she finally got her man. He uttered a quick prayer before pulling the trigger. "You rest easy now, girl."