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The zombie circles to your right, hands with fingers in the shapes of spider legs, its mouth agape with remnants of its fresh meal. In brown shorts, brown vest, and wide-brimmed green hat tilted backward, it is a comically macabre caricature of what the ranger used to be. Dirt and blood decorate the uniform. You consider your options as the zombie closes in:

You pull out your weapon and prepare to make short work of the zombie. You raise the revolver to aim, and the zombie moves in and knocks the weapon to the ground before you can react.

The zombie rushes you, smashing into your chest and sending you hard into a tree. You gasp for breath as it wraps its long fingers around your throat. You drive up a knee into its stomach to keep him from closing in. Its mouth salivates as he gnashes sharp rows of angled, brown teeth. Hot drool spills out of its mouth. It inches its teeth closer to your face.

The zombie's head jerks to the side, and a spray of brownish-red blood flies the opposite way. Its hands loosen and its body goes rigid in an instant. It falls sideways into a tree. You see a large hole in the side of its head.

You look around for any signs of what caused this sudden turn of events. There is no movement in the forest. You inspect the zombie and see the hole in its face is already covered up with thick brown ooze. You quickly find your weapon, cross over the deer, and continue on the narrow, dirt path