Updated: Oct 23, 2019
by J. Ross Victory
I felt the moist snout of a zombie dog surveying my neck as I laid motionless, facing the the ground, pretending to be dead with the other ravaged human bodies; somehow, I had survived the war.
As the zombie dog growled in anticipation of savoring on my jugular vein, I could no longer hold my breath and figured I could out run it.
I shot up and gasped for air—I kicked the dog, which whimpered like a bitch, and began to run down the atrium of stairs before a sea of thousands, maybe millions of red, beady zombie-dog-eyes paced toward me in slow motion.