[Here’s a snippet from some of the pages and pages of work I did over the weekend, writing about zombies and the people who shoot them. I’m hoping it will end up over at Tales of the Zombie War, in which case I’ll link to the whole sordid tale over there…]
“This is the last one.”
Matt Baker glanced up from taking the safety off his gun to the one-level ranch house his partner was pointing at. A large picture window was shattered in the front–glass jutted up from the sill like broken teeth. Blood stained the driveway in streaks and splatters that trailed onto the immaculate lawn. A single red handprint was smeared across the aluminum mailbox, which now hung at a sad, abused slant.
It was the only blank house left on the block. There were no marks on the wooden siding to give any indication whether its inhabitants were living, dead, or somewhere in between. The only identification on the front was a sprawling line of graffiti that said, BABYLON IS FALLEN, IS FALLEN, THAT GREAT CITY. ~ “Everybody But Lazarus”