The last glimmer of sunset showed them their doom. The main horde had finally caught up, and the ancient mansion wouldn't last an hour against a determined zombie assault.
"Please," Trey said, holding out the shotgun, "I want a clean death."
"Wait!" Gertie pointed out the window.
In the twilight, a shadowy figure darted with blinding speed among the zombies. Heads exploded, limbs fell off, and in an impossibly short time, the undead assault was blunted.
"Thank you!" Gertie called to their rescuer.
He turned. "You may thank me properly. Later." He smiled, bone-pale, his fangs flashing in the darkness.
The Shoveller Of Widdecombe Ditch (Trad.)
4 hours ago