The Zombies Of Lake Woebegotten by Harrison Geillor

of alien biologists studying Earthlings like ants under a microscope? Or you might come back from a morning looking at the Interesting Historical Landmarks in the area—the site of the first drowning of a white man, the field that would have been a battlefield from the French and Indian War if the French soldiers hadn’t gotten lost and ended up back in Canada, the place where the old one-room schoolhouse had been before it burned down, and the like—only to find Cy sitting in your room on your bed sorting through your luggage, and he’d politely explain that he was looking for the CIA tracking devices, which could look like anything, really, even lacy red underwear with those little ribbons, and boy, he’d sure never seen anything like that before, least of all in a married lady’s bag. Then he’d put his arm around you and confide how he’d stopped wearing underwear entirely because underpants were an Illuminati conspiracy designed to lower the sperm counts of working-class men. If you called him about getting some fresh towels it could take two or three hours to get off the phone, and if you hung up on him, he’d just come to your door and offer to fix the phone because there must be a problem with the connection.  
    Edsel got along with him beautifully, of course.
    Daniel followed the priest up the line of lopsided ice-rimed paving stones to the office. Edsel pushed open the door, making the bell above jangle, and Cy stood up smiling from his spot behind the counter. The wall in back of him was plastered with bumper stickers, many with questionable grammar and spelling, extolling the virtues of personal weaponry, acknowledging the existence of extraterrestrials, and supporting fringe political candidates from the past thirty years of local, state, and national elections, some of whom had gone on to be successful or notorious cult leaders. “Father! Pastor! What can I do for you today? Want a bite of my tuna fish sandwich?”
    “We’ve come to tell you the end is here,” Father Edsel said. “The dead have risen from their graves to devour the living.”
    Cy tipped his feed cap back on his head, revealing a vast expanse of forehead and making his wide-open face seem even more surprised and alarmed. He wore a camouflage vest with the pockets stuffed with shotgun shells, and he massaged his ammunition in an absent-minded way. “You’re saying we’ve got zombies?”
    “Exactly.”
    “Explains a few things,” Cy allowed. “My satellite just up and quit working, so I can’t get the internet either, and there’s been nothing on the radio or the network TV stations for a few hours. This related to that big light in the sky last night?”
    “It could have been a celestial sign,” Edsel said solemnly. “Not unlike the star of Bethlehem, which appeared to alert mankind to the coming of the Lord. Only that shattered star last night foretold the coming of the Antichrist.”
    “And here I just thought it was an orbital weapons platform test by the UN. You never can tell. Well, all right then, zombies. Eating brains, that whole thing?”
    “They seem inclined to eat any kind of living flesh they can get their jaws around, Cy.”
    “Fair enough. What are the rules of engagement?”
    “The pastor and I are starting an Interfaith Anti-Zombie Task Force—”
    “We’re starting a what?” Daniel said.
    “—and we’ll need weaponry. Zombies are vulnerable chiefly to having their heads blown off. Can you help us out?”  
    Cy frowned. “Are you sure Pastor Inkfist can be trusted? No offense, Pastor, it’s just, you’ve always struck me as someone more concerned with the laws of man than the laws of God, unlike Father Edsel here. I’d hate for you to turn me in to the state police just because I maybe have a couple of unregistered handguns, not saying I do, mind you.”
    “In this situation, I think I have to err on the side of expediency, Cyrus. I’m sure if you have any unregistered weapons you simply