How was I to know that I needed to buy that thing. No one ever told me, so I just assumed I could take it with me. But I was wrong. too wrong.

Several hours later, as I walked beetwen two wrecked, still burning, crasehd cars, clutching it to my right, wounded hand I heard them. Not the moaners, no. Now, knowing what I know, I would prefered the moaners instead of those who came. the moment I heard them and their sure and quiet steps over the  wet broken glass and any other derelict there was in the floor, I froze. I wanted to move but I too, curious as I am, wanted to stay to see what would happen.

I didn´t stay. My common sense, or self-preservation instinct -call it as you may please- shot adrenaline trough my bleeding torn body and I began to walk rapidly, then run until my left thigh couldn´t take it anymore. Thay catched up with me. they grabbed me, and found what their where looking for in my red right hand. Curse them! I thought to myself as they started to savagely beat my soul out of my -now, all swollen and bleastered- body. The curse soon began to take effect, they were to concentrated kicking my near-to-dust ribs and limbs that they never saw the ghouls coming.

I had my eyes closed, but I heard an horrific moan followed by a even more horrific howl full of pain. I open my one, still seeing eye to see that they were overrun by moaners. One of them, hte one that was nearest to me, tried to take out something from his coat -or wahtever clothes he had been wearing, I just say coat because I like them, so noir-, but he couldn´t make it. A putrid hand took him by the back of his neck, pulled him and gnawled a big chunk of flesh out. I close my good eye, and let it rest.

The sound of the undead saving the dying me was ironic. At least they sounded ironic to me. The undead killing my killers. I just let go my life to the sound of the living, dying by the hand of the undead killers. God bless zombies.