A scream tore through your throat metaphorically as the undead killer infront of you tried to rip through it literally. The apocalypse was a nightmare, this situation being (un)living proof of that.

You'd dropped your knife somewhere, and you were out of ammo. You were dead meat, no way else to put it.

Then a gunshot rang through your ears, causing them to ring loudly, as the undead’s head borderline exploded into a mound of gore. It slumped over and you scrambled away — looking up at who'd fired the shot.

You recognised him: having seen him pass through town a couple of times. That silent bounty hunter… Ron, or something.