This camping trip was supposed to be all romantic. Why do things like this always happen? When I found the cabin I was hoping it was empty, but now that the zombies nearly brained my girlfriend and I, I’m glad it isn’t.

We were all ducked down low with the lights out and doors barred with every piece of furniture we could find. The cabin owner was surprisingly young, but completely insane. I did not trust her. She slid two rounds into an old double barreled shotgun and slid it to the annoyingly pessimistic neighbor man.

“This better not be bird shot!” he grumbled.

My girlfriend was quaking. I was handed a pistol, not even automatic. This was bull!
“Haven’t you got anything better?” I frowned, then whipped out my own.

“What are you doing with that?!” My girlfriend recoiled in horror. The cabin owner looked at me with new respect.

“Saving our bacon. Got any chainsaws? Decapitation is your best bet.”
“Or explosives, but we don’t have time to rig them.” Something slammed into the door to prove her point.