Final Stand
Opening the door, you aim your flashlight forward into the darkness. What appears to be food crates and rotten fruit are strewn around the room. Toward the rear and to your left, a long oblong box that appears to be a coffin rests against the wall.
Your heart quickening, you realize that one of the foul undead things that have hunted you in the twilight and dark hours of the preceding year may be inside. Unfortunately for them, during the day light you are the hunter rather than the hunted.
Opening your backpack, you pull out a long wooden stake and the accompanying hammer. While you were never a believer in vampires, the only thing that seems to effectively kill these things are a stake through the heart or dragging their comatose bodies into the street for the sun to work it's smoldering magic on them. That certainly seems vampirish to you, or at least some kind of funked out zombie. While you carry twin automatic pistols in your backpack as well, it seems only to slow their progress if you need to make a quick exit. Fortunately, the opportunity to use them has only occurred a few times.
Moving forward, you begin to build up your nerve to open the wooden coffin. The smell of cedar wood drifts upward from the coffin, and fills your nostrils. Plunging your hand down and forward you throw open the lid. A women's body, wrapped in black cloth, stares upward at you. Jumping back and trying to bite back a rush of fear, you realize again slowly that you are safe, so far as you know.
With pupilless eyes staring upward, your thoughts turn to the first few undead bodies that you disposed of. As far as you can tell, they are immobile during the day as they sleep. Until gutted with a stake or dragged into the light, they have never offered any struggle or guttural attempts at speaking. The thought of their pathetic attempts at speech turns your stomach in disgust; only members of your seemingly dead race of human beings should be allowed the capabilities of speech, not these abominations. You do know that at least one among their numbers seems able break your communicative prohibition.
Will you:
Your heart quickening, you realize that one of the foul undead things that have hunted you in the twilight and dark hours of the preceding year may be inside. Unfortunately for them, during the day light you are the hunter rather than the hunted.
Opening your backpack, you pull out a long wooden stake and the accompanying hammer. While you were never a believer in vampires, the only thing that seems to effectively kill these things are a stake through the heart or dragging their comatose bodies into the street for the sun to work it's smoldering magic on them. That certainly seems vampirish to you, or at least some kind of funked out zombie. While you carry twin automatic pistols in your backpack as well, it seems only to slow their progress if you need to make a quick exit. Fortunately, the opportunity to use them has only occurred a few times.
Moving forward, you begin to build up your nerve to open the wooden coffin. The smell of cedar wood drifts upward from the coffin, and fills your nostrils. Plunging your hand down and forward you throw open the lid. A women's body, wrapped in black cloth, stares upward at you. Jumping back and trying to bite back a rush of fear, you realize again slowly that you are safe, so far as you know.
With pupilless eyes staring upward, your thoughts turn to the first few undead bodies that you disposed of. As far as you can tell, they are immobile during the day as they sleep. Until gutted with a stake or dragged into the light, they have never offered any struggle or guttural attempts at speaking. The thought of their pathetic attempts at speech turns your stomach in disgust; only members of your seemingly dead race of human beings should be allowed the capabilities of speech, not these abominations. You do know that at least one among their numbers seems able break your communicative prohibition.
Will you: