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fight through the sting, putting the Desert Eagle to his head.
    She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger, feeling the spray of brains on her face.
    She lost consciousness, hearing gunshots through the ringing in her ears.
    Was that an explosion, or just her body dying and joining the walking dead surrounding her?
     
    *   *   *   *   *
     
    His name was Dylan James and he was a teenager, wandering around in a zombie-plagued world with a skateboard. No one was more amazed than Dylan that he was still alive, while so many others were now walking intestine-eaters. Some would argue it wasn't fair.
    "Fuck fair," he said and leaned back behind the ancient stone wall of the graveyard. He thought it fitting.
    The redhead was dangerous. She was also beautiful. His teenage mind ran several scenarios where he'd surrender to her and they'd fuck, or she'd at least give him head.
    Of course, she was chasing him but not to suck his dick. She wanted to kill him the same way she'd obviously killed the dudes on the water: with guns blazing.
    Fuck, she was hot.
    And dangerous as fuck.
    He wasn't scared, but he was damn close. Why did he volunteer for this stupid mission, anyway? There were ten other idiots on the boats better trained and better armed to do this shit. But when Doug Conrad smiled at you, and picked you for a special mission, you went.
    The guy saved my life, Dylan thought. Without him I'd be dead —fuck, I’d be undead—wandering around the sand dunes, trying to eat brains and shit. Instead, I was alive, well-fed, surrounded by armed men who watched over me, respected me, and didn't care how young I was. I was treated like an equal.
    Right now, he was getting hot with the sun beating down on him. He needed to move, to get into town, to blend in, and infiltrate. Dylan needed to bond with these pathetic people and exploit their weaknesses, report to Doug, and be a hero.
    But first… he lifted his head and froze.
    She was there, red hair curly and running across her slim shoulders, pale skin burning in the sun. She moved like a panther and he watched in awe. She was only fifty feet from him. He knew if he moved she'd blow his head off within two steps.
    He slowly lifted his skateboard. If he had to hit her, he would. If he was lucky enough to knock her out, he'd cop a feel of her tits. Maybe even feel up her tight ass.
    She stopped.
    Dylan held his breath. If she looked his way he might be seen, even with the wall blocking most of him.
    She was listening for movement. As long as he stayed still, he'd live.
    It felt like an hour passed, although it was probably just a few long minutes, but she finally walked away in the opposite direction.
    He wasn't taking any chances. He stayed in place and watched her until she disappeared around a pile of rubble. In his mind, she was tricking him, circling around to sneak up behind him and put a bullet in his head.
    Dylan decided the smart thing to do would be to run as fast as he could and hope he didn't catch a bullet in his back. That would be stupid, he thought.
    He slipped back over the wall and went to the spot she'd been standing in. He didn't see her, but she'd gone around the torched building. He decided to follow, see if he could sneak up on her, and club her with his board.
    It was too hot out here. Even with the ocean so close, the dunes blocked the light wind and his clothes stuck to his thin frame. He was shaking, and knew for all his bluster he was scared shitless right now. At any moment, she could reappear and kill him. Game over. End of the line. Dylan loses.
    This section of the city, inside the fences of the safe area, looked like something off the news, like a Middle Eastern war zone. Shit that didn't interest him when there was school and news programs his lame mother would watch instead of MTV shows or some cool R-rated movie .
    He didn't see her but he heard her. She was slipping around, through the buildings, and probably right to where he was hiding.
    Dylan