The zombie was almost to him, mouth agape, arms outstretched, when its head disintegrated, spattering him with blood and bits of rotten flesh. He sat, dumbstruck, with the gore dripping off of his face, while two more zombies were felled. Only then did he hear the distant crack of a rifle shot, and it came after the bullets found their mark. Whoever he was, his benefactor was far away.
Too far to tell the difference between a zombie and a blood-spattered man? He crawled on all fours, as quickly as he could, towards shelter. Best to not take the chance.
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