“Dead Hearts & Crafts”
Jake was currently in quite the pickle.
Well, not a literal pickle… science clearly has yet to reach that final frontier.
No, this pickle was less dill and more of the “back-against-the-wall, down-to-one-bullet, slowly-yet-steadily-approaching-zombie, ready-to-eat-your-face-clean-off” variety.
Jake raised his pistol, carefully closed his left eye. Blurred. No use.
Then he closed the right eye. Vague outline of impending doom approaching. It’ll have to do.
He pulls the trigger. Shit. Sure killed that squirrel in the tree 50 yards away though… Wonder if it had a family?
The rotting corpse senses it’s dinner is near. Stiffened arms raise and the exposed jawbone drops down. Teeth, cracked and caked in blood and gray matter from a passing by mailman, snapped in a gruesome rhythmic tempo.
Jake now had mere seconds to use all the craft and guile learned as an above-average used car salesman to avoid this walking meat grinder. It took him just 5 seconds actually.
Unfortunately for Jake, 5 seconds earlier the walking corpse of a roofer, working on the building Jake’s back was currently pressed against, took one unwitting step too many off the edge and plummeted….
….directly onto Jake’s shoulders, knocking them both to the ground.
While Tim (oh by the way, the roofer’s name was Tim. He wasn’t even supposed to be into work that day…) chose to sink his teeth directly into Jake’s throat, Eric (the first zombie remember? Had the unfortunate timing of being bit while dressed as the Gimp from Pulp Fiction at his neighbor’s costume party) growled in eerily human delight as he tore off Jake’s leg at the hip and began to chow down.
Two stories above this impromptu dinner for two, four eyes watched the scene with a mute indifference.
“Should we have helped him?”, asked the female voice.
“Nah”, replied the male voice, “He knew the risks. Lose 2 of 3 games of Rock-Paper-Scissors… get fed to the zombie horde…”
He winked. Then added, “So Sarah… are you feeling lucky?”