Zombie Drabble #8

Four excruciating days. He rapped his knuckles on the water tower's pale green metal shell to make that deep, resonant gong sound, mostly because there was nothing else to do. He did it every few minutes. Once, hand aching, he managed to abstain for nearly three hours; the hundred zombies milling around at the base of the tower hadn't gone away, so he had started again. He didn't know whether to curse or bless his father for letting the county put the tower on their land, but either way, the old man was just below with the rest of them.