Its yawning mouth filled my vision, its rubbery lips squelching along the outer edge of my pinkie, its teeth unexpectedly, savagely sharp.

With a cry of revulsion I tore my arm away in an arc, falling backwards as the hand holding the rifle convulsed. The creature’s skull unfolded like a macabre lotus expelling sputum and gristle.

My wound bled openly, black in the moonlight. I had reconciled with my inevitable death, but not now, not like this! Oh god. I pressed my hand against the ground and placed the barrel of my rifle flush against the base of my pinkie. The zombie trapped in the car gurgled at me. I screamed. At the bag of bone and guts on the ground, in the car, at myself, at everything, and pulled the trigger.

The pain lit up my world and I came to with my cheek against the cool dew, drinking in the sound of grass rustling. Remembering where I was, I staggered to my feet, cradling my hand. The finger dangled on a thin sliver of skin.

I was surrounded, with not even one bullet left.

For myself.