Frank turned his head away from Davey, preparing to shake his head "no." As he turned, a flash of red caught his eye. The color was richer than that of the blood that coated the entire area, and it glowed with malevolent power. "Hold your horses," he muttered, and charged toward the first zombie.

Behind him, he heard Davey's voice growing gravelly and strained. "Frank. Pistol. Kill me."

The zombie with the gris gris around his neck moved in Frank's direction. Then it stopped, eyes narrowing, and darted into the midst of a large group of zombies. Frank stopped, trying to calm his racing heart. He picked up a discarded rifle and checked the barrel. Methodically, he raised the gun to his shoulder and sighted along the top. His breathing slowed. He watched...

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