With the dead walking the land she knew she couldn’t be too careful.
The front door was shattered and sounds from the back of her apartment caused her to ready her pistol and machete.
No one was in the common rooms or the bedroom, but splashing sounds issued from the bathroom.
Gritting her teeth she kicked open the bathroom door and leveled her gun.
“Oh John,” she moaned.
The creature lying in the tub was grey and clearly dead. The wound on its leg showed where the infection had entered her husband’s body.
Its mouth dropped open, tongue lolling, and a single, hideously clear word groaned across the space between them.
Her gun replied.