He cut the zombie’s head off with one swing. The sword barely slowed on its way through spine, much less the rotten flesh of the neck. It may be a reproduction, he thought, but it does the job.
The effort he’d gone to sharpening it had been decidedly worthwhile. The others had scoffed, left him behind. He’d run into what was left of a couple of them since. Here, Emma, he had said to her, see if having your head cut off hurts more or less than having your chest cavity eaten out must have. Waste of time, my ass.