I was going to shoot the zombie when an arrow flew over my shoulder and pierced its left eye. I turned around, and there she stood.
“Sure. I figure, why waste your ammo? Arrows grow on trees,” she laughed.
“So, let’s get a couple things straight: I’m not interested in repopulating the species, and I’m not letting you into my hideout. But you can stay in town if you want.”
“I appreciate that.” It was a shame, too: she was young and pretty. “Just passing through. Seen many people?”
“Not live ones. Not for a couple weeks anyway.”
Post a Comment