River’s Field Report September 22, 2026

The farmhouse looked abandoned.

That was the first problem.

Three witnesses had reported movement around the property after midnight. One saw a figure crossing an upstairs window. Another noticed lights coming on in different rooms. The third was certain someone had been walking around the yard long after anyone was supposed to be living there.

By the time the report reached ZRS, someone had written POSSIBLE INFECTED ACTIVITY across the top.

Agent Collins read it twice as we drove. “Zombies.”

“Possible zombies,” I corrected.

“That’s what I said.”

“No. You removed an important word.”

He looked at the report again. “Fine. Possible zombies.”

We reached the property shortly before sunrise. It sat at the end of a narrow road outside a small town. Two-story farmhouse. Peeling white paint. Barn behind it. Tall grass beginning to reclaim the edges of the yard. One upstairs shutter hung crooked enough to make the whole place look considerably more sinister than it probably deserved.

Collins studied it through the windshield. “Definitely zombies.”

I got out of the vehicle. There were no cars in the driveway and no smoke from the chimney. The ground near the porch was soft from rain, but I couldn’t see any obvious tracks. The house was quiet.

“Too quiet,” Collins whispered.

I looked at him. “Things are frequently quiet.”

He nodded solemnly. “Right.”

We started around the house. That’s when he grabbed my arm. “Window.”

Second floor. A curtain moved. Not much. Just enough. We waited. Nothing.

Then something hit the floor inside the house.

THUMP.

Collins looked at me. “Zombie?”

“Or a raccoon,” I said.

Another thump. Louder this time. I signaled the third agent around the rear of the house.

The front door was locked. The back door wasn’t, which is something I’ve never understood. People spend considerable money on excellent locks for the door facing the street and then apparently decide burglars are too polite to walk around the house.

We entered through the kitchen. Empty. A bowl sat beside the refrigerator. I noticed it but kept moving. Dining room clear. Living room clear. At the bottom of the stairs, we stopped.

Scratching. Upstairs. Collins raised an eyebrow. I pointed toward the steps. We climbed.

The scratching stopped. That bothered me more than the scratching. At the top of the stairs were three doors. Two stood open. The third was closed.

Something hit it from the other side. Collins took position. So did I.

Three.

Two.

One.

I opened the door. Something launched itself directly at us. Collins stumbled backward. I caught sixty pounds of extremely enthusiastic dog.

For approximately thirty seconds, ZRS tactical procedure was replaced by licking.

“Zombie?” I asked.

Collins scratched behind the dog’s ears. “Possible zombie.”

The dog was hungry and thirsty, but otherwise fine. Judging by the window, he’d also discovered the best place in the house to watch the road. Every time someone passed, he moved the curtain.

The rest of the mystery took a few phone calls. The homeowner had been hospitalized unexpectedly. A neighbor believed a family member was taking care of the dog. The family member thought the neighbor had it covered. The figure seen walking around outside turned out to be the neighbor, who had stopped by twice before the misunderstanding began.

The mysterious lights were automatic timers. The movement upstairs was the dog. The scratching was the dog. The thumping was definitely the dog.

Possible infected activity: negative. Dog rescued: affirmative. Everyone returned human. I’d call that successful.

On the drive back, Collins was quiet for a while.

Then he said, “Everything did look like zombies.”

“No. Everything looked like something was happening.”

“Same difference,” was his answer.

“Not even close,” I reminded him.

That’s why I’m including this report in Cadet training.

We arrived with a possible explanation already in our heads. If we hadn’t been careful, every new piece of information could have become evidence supporting it. Moving curtain? Zombie. Noise upstairs? Zombie. Figure in the yard? Zombie.

Once people decide what they expect to find, they become remarkably talented at finding it. A ZRS agent’s job isn’t to prove there are zombies. Our job is to find out what’s actually happening.

Sometimes that’s infected activity. Sometimes it’s weather, animals or frightened people making perfectly understandable mistakes. And occasionally it’s a dog who has missed several breakfasts and would very much like to discuss the matter.

Alistair has now approved adding dog treats to the standard field kit. Samuel requested cat treats too. Nobody knows why.

River
Lead Field Agent
Zombie Readiness Society