At that range, with such an occupied target, my shoot sailed true and lethal, singing a marvelous song of final death for the undead. I smiled and started to congratulate myself on the shot, but honestly, at that range, it’d be embarrassing to miss.

Look left. Look right. Look behind.

I sigh; the new habit is already entrenched. No sane person goes anywhere, does anything outside of strictly held confines without that mantra.

Look left. Look right. Look behind.

To be sure, I chamber a fresh round. Precious and few the bullets may be, but my own hide, and what it means to my family, is worth more. Harvey Jenkins was precious, well perhaps not to me.

He’d been the last hold-out anywhere near here for weeks now. The old fool should have known his rickety house wouldn’t stand up. They never do. Now his head’s on the pavement next to yet another corpse of a corpse.

I laugh, half involuntarily. Corpse of a corpse. Death for the undead. Hell on Earth. Yeah, it’s a funny life.