Respect the Dead. Shawn McLain

trimmer halfway buried in his torso. The woman he had tried to kill decapitate was approaching too. Her head wobbled on her slashed neck. Every step she took tore it further. The closer she got the more it threatening to fall off completely.

      Terror drove him. He clawed at the ground trying desperately to escape. More pain shot through his leg. Rolling over he kicked off the small boy who had appeared out of nowhere. Blood and a piece of leg fell out of the child’s mouth as the boot and knife smashed the little skull. A bite on the shoulder, one on an arm, more in the legs, screams amplified in the closed helmet. Blood spurted over the visor as his head left his body.

      The wobbly neck barely held on as the woman looked down at the helmet and head she had in her hand. Moaning, she dropped it, the limping man stood up dropping the liver he held. He looked at the woman, she stared back, together they moaned as they began to wander down the road.