Hunter and Hunted

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.


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.

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