It isn’t like hunting deer. They’re smarter than deer. It isn’t like hunting fox or rabbits. They’re slower and more unpredictable. Hunting and killing the undead is harder than I imagined.

But I love my wife and kids, and I know that I’m all that’s standing between them and this monster.

An angry moan comes from inside the house, so I duck behind a burned out minivan and wait.

He crashes through the door, dragging a body toward the street, eyes wild, still intelligent. He’s only been undead for a week, ten days at most. This is when they’re the most dangerous.

I aim, and pull the trigger. I brace myself for the recoil and explosion of skull and brains.

Click.

I silently curse myself. I forgot to chamber the round! I get ready to run, but he doesn’t look up. He doesn’t even notice me, he’s so intent on … oh god, he’s stomping the skull against the curb.

I carefully open and close the breech. It’s ready.

He pulls a hunk of brain from the skull and begins to eat.

I hold my breath, aim, and fire.