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Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

There was a zombie in the garden. But Libby didn't much mind. Clumps of rotten blood oozed from a shattered jaw, bulbous white eyes rolled in a shriveled decomposing skull, and gray green fingers reached towards the house. Gargled howls rose from its throat, hungry snorts from its nose, and a strange slush of liquid could be heard every time it moved. Still, Libby didn't care.

Two more pounded on the door; cold stiff bodies beating relentlessly, mindlessly, on the locked panel of wood. Another dozen circled; sucking in strangled gulps of air, and exhaling them in ugly, hungry, moans. Libby closed her eyes and kissed him, drowning out the ugly sounds from below with her own urgent whine of pleasure.

"Please!"

"Shh."

Distant gunfire rattled the window frames, far off screams rose with the wind, and somewhere a radio crackled out a series of commands. And a dark teaming smudge of black marred the horizon. The zombie horde, locked in battle with the surviving army. That, Libby cared about least of all. Because even if those poor sods, armed with makeshift guns and historic cannons, managed to beat back the mass of walkers, they couldn't get to her, or him, in time.

A loud crash. They'd broken down the door.

"I love you," she whispered. Mouth against skin.

"Just," gasp, "because we're about to die?"

"No."

Tongues met. Breath shared. Eyes closed. Limbs entwined.

"Love me?"

"Always."

They came through the door. Another thrust a rotting arm through the window. Crawled in, covered in blood and glass. More spilled in after the first; filthy, gory, and howling with need. The radio, still crackling and commanding, was crushed under feet.

Libby screamed. In love, with her love in her. Together at the end of a long fight. Of a long and bloody war. A war everyone knew about. But no one thought would happen. Because no matter if you believed in Heaven, another go, or nothing, no one believed in walking dead. Not until it started, all those years ago. But Libby didn't care about that. Not anymore.

He bit the barrel and she pulled. Turned the weapon and pulled again.

Together in death.

Description
body div#devskin0 hr { }

There was a zombie in the garden. But Libby didn't much mind. Clumps of rotten blood oozed from a shattered jaw, bulbous white eyes rolled in a shriveled decomposing skull, and gray green fingers reached towards the house. Gargled howls rose from its throat, hungry snorts from its nose, and a strange slush of liquid could be heard every time it moved. Still, Libby didn't care.

Two more pounded on the door; cold stiff bodies beating relentlessly, mindlessly, on the locked panel of wood. Another dozen circled; sucking in strangled gulps of air, and exhaling them in ugly, hungry, moans. Libby closed her eyes and kissed him, drowning out the ugly sounds from below with her own urgent whine of pleasure.

"Please!"

"Shh."

Distant gunfire rattled the window frames, far off screams rose with the wind, and somewhere a radio crackled out a series of commands. And a dark teaming smudge of black marred the horizon. The zombie horde, locked in battle with the surviving army. That, Libby cared about least of all. Because even if those poor sods, armed with makeshift guns and historic cannons, managed to beat back the mass of walkers, they couldn't get to her, or him, in time.

A loud crash. They'd broken down the door.

"I love you," she whispered. Mouth against skin.

"Just," gasp, "because we're about to die?"

"No."

Tongues met. Breath shared. Eyes closed. Limbs entwined.

"Love me?"

"Always."

They came through the door. Another thrust a rotting arm through the window. Crawled in, covered in blood and glass. More spilled in after the first; filthy, gory, and howling with need. The radio, still crackling and commanding, was crushed under feet.

Libby screamed. In love, with her love in her. Together at the end of a long fight. Of a long and bloody war. A war everyone knew about. But no one thought would happen. Because no matter if you believed in Heaven, another go, or nothing, no one believed in walking dead. Not until it started, all those years ago. But Libby didn't care about that. Not anymore.

He bit the barrel and she pulled. Turned the weapon and pulled again.

Together in death.