Vivisepulture
“Her name was Dolly Bird. She was tonight’s entertainment. With her appetising mix of song and burlesque, Dolly would usually go down a storm. But tonight she stood in fear, her white blouse stained red, her black skirt ripped. A single high-heeled shoe lay broken on the stage. Her shapely nylon legs weren’t dancing, instead backing away from the closing throng. She screamed as one of the dead managed to curl its fingers around her ankle. Geordie Mac watched from the other end of the bar. His r...evolver was smoking. Several cadavers lay wasted at his polished black shoes. He aimed the revolver once more, but it clicked on empty. “Damn!” he muttered. “Jesus Christ!” Dolly called to him. “Do something!” Geordie checked the pockets of his plaid jacket for more ammo. He was fresh out. He swore loudly. He ran one hand through his hair, frantically looking around the room. Dolly had grabbed the broken heel and was swinging it valiantly at the approaching dead. There were more of the bastards pouring through the doors.MoreLess
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