For several seconds after the last zombie stopped twitching, I stood on the porch and stared at what used to be the front gate.
To call it a gate right now felt... generous.
There were a few criteria, as far as I was concerned that made a gate, a gate.
A gate opened. A gate let people pass through. A gate suggested that there was a reasonable chance someone on the other side might knock, wait politely, and be allowed inside if they had a good enough reason.
The thing in front of me looked like it had eaten the old gate, digested the idea of loving your neighbor, and then decided that property lines were better enforced with thorns.
What could I say? I approved.
The plants had taken every bit of metal that Yuche had left behind and grown around it until the bottom of the driveway no longer looked like an entrance.
