Zombie grabs for you once more—thank God for that axe.
Still, her fervor for your blood proves stronger, and she comes at you with such strength that the axe begins pushing out of her back. First, the blade protrudes, then the handle inches its way out as she inches closer.
You crack her across the head with the hammer, but from your seated position you’re not able to use your full strength. Her head bobs to the side from the blow but her skull stays intact.
Thieving Zombie is back on you again. Thinking quickly, you grip the axe handle and maneuver Housewife Zombie into him, using her as a shield. Finally, you’re able to get to your feet again. Now the couple is on the floor, and you’ve got the high ground because you’re standing.
From overhead, you bring the hammer down on Thieving Zombie as hard as your body weight allows. Crack —dead. Housewife Zombie looks up at you with hungry rage. You bring the hammer down on her head three times, just to make sure the job is done, then you bludgeon Thieving Zombie once more for good measure.
All is still, it is done. You’re suddenly aware of your pounding heart, glistening sweat, and heaving breath. And… you’re not alone. You turn toward your new visitors, a man and a woman, with hammer raised, but quickly realize they’re human.
The woman is probably in her early thirties, though it’s certainly possible the last few weeks have aged her. She’s dirty, just like you, but she’s beautiful, in a hard-as-nails sort of way. Black hair and blacker eyes. She wears an unbuttoned mechanic’s shirt with a fitted undershirt beneath. The embroidered nametag reads, “Cooper.”
The man is most likely in his forties and wears the stained whites of a kitchen worker from a hole-in-the wall restaurant. He’s Latino, short, plain, and his pock-marked face has a calm countenance.
Cooper holds a giant monkey wrench, and a chain coiled around her shoulder. He wields a meat cleaver and a frying pan. They stare at you; how long have they been watching?
“Thanks for the help,” you huff out.
The woman looks over at the bodies you just dispatched. “Did either of them bite you?” she asks. You shake your head.
The cook slides his cleaver back into his belt. “ Vienes con nostros ,” he says, welcoming you with a wave of his hand.
“Wait, I didn’t say you could join us,” the woman says, taking control of the situation.
• “Do I have to say pretty-please?”
• “I didn’t say I wanted to. Good luck to you both; I travel alone.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
The Final Call
I nside the student radio hall, you find and key the microphone. “Hello?” you say, unsure what else to say.
There’s an immediate response. “This is Colonel Arthur Gray of the civilian camp, Salvation. Are you with Sergeant Sims?”
“He’s not… I’m the last one, sir,” you say.
There’s a moment of silence as the man on the other end accepts the gravity of your words. “What’s your situation over there?”
“I’ve… been cured,” you reply, unable to believe it yourself. “They’re all dead but me.”
“Listen, just stay tight, we’ll have a team out in the morning,” he responds, a sad desperation in his voice. You’re much more his hope than he is yours, you realize.
“Colonel, the cure wasn’t a reversal. I know that much. I still have something new in me, but I’m human—mortal—again. And yet they no longer try to attack me. It’s like they see me as one of them. I can simply walk to you.”
After a moment, the voice returns to the radio, more strained by emotion than ever. But it’s relief now. “He stood between the living and the dead, and the plague stopped.”
Is that scripture? It certainly has the ring. “Keep the lights on, I’ll see you soon,” you say.
And that’s it. You really can just walk through all the death and destruction without fear. If it was a scripture he quoted, a more appropriate one might be Yea, though I
Still, her fervor for your blood proves stronger, and she comes at you with such strength that the axe begins pushing out of her back. First, the blade protrudes, then the handle inches its way out as she inches closer.
You crack her across the head with the hammer, but from your seated position you’re not able to use your full strength. Her head bobs to the side from the blow but her skull stays intact.
Thieving Zombie is back on you again. Thinking quickly, you grip the axe handle and maneuver Housewife Zombie into him, using her as a shield. Finally, you’re able to get to your feet again. Now the couple is on the floor, and you’ve got the high ground because you’re standing.
From overhead, you bring the hammer down on Thieving Zombie as hard as your body weight allows. Crack —dead. Housewife Zombie looks up at you with hungry rage. You bring the hammer down on her head three times, just to make sure the job is done, then you bludgeon Thieving Zombie once more for good measure.
All is still, it is done. You’re suddenly aware of your pounding heart, glistening sweat, and heaving breath. And… you’re not alone. You turn toward your new visitors, a man and a woman, with hammer raised, but quickly realize they’re human.
The woman is probably in her early thirties, though it’s certainly possible the last few weeks have aged her. She’s dirty, just like you, but she’s beautiful, in a hard-as-nails sort of way. Black hair and blacker eyes. She wears an unbuttoned mechanic’s shirt with a fitted undershirt beneath. The embroidered nametag reads, “Cooper.”
The man is most likely in his forties and wears the stained whites of a kitchen worker from a hole-in-the wall restaurant. He’s Latino, short, plain, and his pock-marked face has a calm countenance.
Cooper holds a giant monkey wrench, and a chain coiled around her shoulder. He wields a meat cleaver and a frying pan. They stare at you; how long have they been watching?
“Thanks for the help,” you huff out.
The woman looks over at the bodies you just dispatched. “Did either of them bite you?” she asks. You shake your head.
The cook slides his cleaver back into his belt. “ Vienes con nostros ,” he says, welcoming you with a wave of his hand.
“Wait, I didn’t say you could join us,” the woman says, taking control of the situation.
• “Do I have to say pretty-please?”
• “I didn’t say I wanted to. Good luck to you both; I travel alone.”
MAKE YOUR CHOICE
The Final Call
I nside the student radio hall, you find and key the microphone. “Hello?” you say, unsure what else to say.
There’s an immediate response. “This is Colonel Arthur Gray of the civilian camp, Salvation. Are you with Sergeant Sims?”
“He’s not… I’m the last one, sir,” you say.
There’s a moment of silence as the man on the other end accepts the gravity of your words. “What’s your situation over there?”
“I’ve… been cured,” you reply, unable to believe it yourself. “They’re all dead but me.”
“Listen, just stay tight, we’ll have a team out in the morning,” he responds, a sad desperation in his voice. You’re much more his hope than he is yours, you realize.
“Colonel, the cure wasn’t a reversal. I know that much. I still have something new in me, but I’m human—mortal—again. And yet they no longer try to attack me. It’s like they see me as one of them. I can simply walk to you.”
After a moment, the voice returns to the radio, more strained by emotion than ever. But it’s relief now. “He stood between the living and the dead, and the plague stopped.”
Is that scripture? It certainly has the ring. “Keep the lights on, I’ll see you soon,” you say.
And that’s it. You really can just walk through all the death and destruction without fear. If it was a scripture he quoted, a more appropriate one might be Yea, though I
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