Zombies shambled across the sunny park. One stopped by the swings and poked the dangling chains. The rusty links squeaked. It shambled on.
Brain matter dripped from Jane’s lips, into Sister Ann’s matted hair. She wiped her hands on her habit and crept into the sanctuary.
Alan shot the zombie in the head, but that didn’t stop it. It stumbled on, flailing, until its fingers wrapped around his throat.