She knocked me out of my fucking tree.
I had taken to sleeping tangled
in branches because
the undead aren't too adept
at climbing, and if they did try,
they'd definitely wake me up
from my earth-born safehouse
banging on the trunk and vomiting shapeless noises
before they'd lay a finger on me.
I just never expected a zombie
to crash a sedan into the tree, apparently
I forgot to account for the half-turned,
those still operating with some cognitive function
but driven by an underlying
primal hunger. A dangerous combination.
I woke immediately from the impact,
but my tree was already starting
its slow-motion descent
during which I managed to lean so that the branch
absorbed most of the impact, and in
the process of weaving out from
the leaves that covered my escape
she vaulted the trunk and
leapt, heaving the frame of a woman
only beginning to succumb to rot
towards me
and something buried for my entire life
clicked
somewhere in the tangled
nerves reaching from my spine
instict took my hands
instict grabbed the revolver,
pointed, and
instict bled to my fingers.
One,
two.
Two sounds like the sky being cracked open.
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