There was a collar around its neck, and a chain from the collar to a post driven into the ground.
"Observe." Rinkmann picked up the pistol, thumbed the safety, aimed, fired three rounds into the zombie's torso; it stumbled back, hissed, spat, moaned, but did not fall. "A bullet to the body is wasted." He put one through the brainpan and the corpse dropped limp to the ground.
The kids nodded: they understood. They were the first generation that hadn't seen the movies, that didn't know the rules. Teaching them would have to be worth a few bullets every spring.
