Shay was as close to it as he’d ever been to one of them.
It reached through the wrought iron fence with arms severed above the elbow, its gurgling moans of hunger pathetic and horrifying. In its gaping mouth maggots teemed where a tongue had once been.
He turned to vomit, dropping to his hands and knees on the brick walkway.
“So,” a voice said, cold but without malice, “can you do it? You’re going to have to do it, to stay. We have to know.”
Shay wiped his mouth and held out his other hand to take the pistol.