mother of the undead
Fifty-eight hits to zombie skulls. That's the number of hits the fancy frying pan my brother had bought could take before its base cracked. He'd bought it from the supermarket as an exchange for the pretty sales girl's phone number. To think he'd been that desperate, maybe he was better off as a twice dead zombie. One more hit and the pan would be in pieces leaving me with the gun and a single bullet. It wasn't like I was expecting to be chased by a horde of undead or I'd be better equipped than I was. Wearing pajama shorts and a tank top because I'd been meaning to go to bed, I'd been taken by surprise in the middle of watching cat videos when four idiotic undead girls had stormed through my door. Three of them had gone down after I had thrown my table at them. The dorm was filled with the vile creatures and my only escape was a window that refused to budge. "If you do not open right now, I swear to God I'm going to smash you through with
