It was Cecile, Harrogate and Turnus running through the streets in that brisk jog, the wind against them and the rising morning sun a grace in the distance. A beautiful red orb against the haze of smoke, causing a bright peak against the mountainscape.

And the zombies were chasing, right behind them.

“Drop the necklace!” Harrogate said. He slipped underneath two lifeless legs, the creature looked down with its palms open. It brushed against his bald, glossy head - but he was too greased to be caught. Cecile chopped a creature in half, the blood against her face.

“Oh, come on Harry. Do I have to?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think, Turnus?” She asked. He was right behind them, running with his head facing the floor. All of them backed into an alley, empty but with the sounds of the creatures somewhere off in the distance. In the buildings, on the fountain rims, under the bridges.

“I killed my lord and savior.” He had his fingers to his temples and rubbed them. “I shoved a stake through his heart. His reanimated heart.”

With an empty stare, he looked at the floor; mouth slightly ajar in the stupidity of guilt.

Harrogate jumped up and slapped him.

“Keep yourself together, man.”

He rubbed his cheeks. “Ow.”

“Cecile, you’re dropping that shit. It’s what woke ‘em up in the first place.”

“You don’t know that!” She said.

In the distance, a zombie screamed; “Return the amulet.”

They all looked at that direction, at the coming migration of sluggish reanimators.

“See?” Harrogate pointed. And pointed. And pointed.

“It could - Uh. It could be any amulet.” She held it with two hands close to her chest.

“Return the red amulet!” A zombie screamed.

Harrogate jumped and ripped the chain from her neck, the gold chains snapping and falling to the floor. He ran, Cecile right behind him trying to chase his grip. He had it up, with his back postured to throw before she grabbed him and pulled on his face and arm.

“No, Harry. No.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“It’s just an amulet.”

“It made me famous. I’m the sun goddess Harry, the sun goddess!” She said. “Let me have this, please!”

And they wrestled, both of them pulling at each others cheeks and faces, scratching and biting and grabbing. And somewhere against that brick wall in the alley, with the burning underpants on wires above them and the falling corpses that exploded onto the floor from dead people along the balcony edges was Turnus, watching. His eyes glossed over the violence. Over these two idiots.

“It’s all this stupid things fault.” His fist tightened. Harrogate could see it in corner of his eyes, even with Cecile’s hand tight on his scalp. “It’s all your fault!”

He ran up and grabbed the amulet from in between them. He wound his arm and shot, threw the amulet dead center at a market place. Every zombie in the vicinity turned their heads and stood still in curiosity, their heads roused and tilted up. The necklace landed, rolled a few times and fell flat jewel-side up. And the zombies shuffled towards it.

“No! No!” Cecile said. Harrogate held her back by the leg. Turnus had his arms slouched to his side.

“We’re leaving.” Harrogate said. He dragged her to back into alley. Turnus shuffled behind them, a kind of zombie in his own right. They went through a gate, Harrogate sealed it with Cecile’s ax.

“Not the ax too, Harry. Please.” She had her hands clasped as he gripped it.

His eyes narrowed, he shoved it in between two metal bars.

“Come on, man.” Her shoulders slouched. They went through the back end, out the city and towards a forest. Their breaths in desperate exhaustion, their whole postures tilted over. The three stragglers, walking through to a farmhouse some distance from the city where inside Harrogate could see the shifting shadows of people through the window.

“Bring a thicker boy next time, hooooneeyyy.” One of the creatures said.

“Daddd. I’m in love with this one.” A female said, voice morphed and deep. “In love with this ones braainnn.”

Harrogate’s face soured. He walked a little off to the distance, towards a horse enclosure where two steeds; one black and one white stared with stupid, slow-blinking eyes.

A carriage, unmounted, but with the straps to its side waited opposite the enclosure.

“Alright.” Harrogate said. “We’re leaving.”

“I lost it all, Harry.” Cecile mumbled.

“I killed my God.” Turnus mumbled.

She took out a flask and took a swig and turned her head to Turnus. He nodded at her and took the flask from her hand. It was a rotation between the two, each taking longer and deeper drinks.

“Is this where you two die, metaphorically, I mean?” Harrogate rushed in between them and clasped the drinks. “We just survived a zombie attack. Do you know how miraculous that is?”

“Almost as miraculous as killing your prophet?” He asked.

“I had fame and fortune, Harry. I was their queen.” She said. “Now I’m axless. Jewel-less. People-less.”

“And brainless, it sounds like. Listen, we’re alive. Do you know what that means?” He said. “I’m asking rhetorically, of course, neither of you know what that means.”

They nodded.

“It means we can still spend the rest of our lives fixing our mistakes. It means we still have a chance to be better people, that’s what it means to be alive. To be human, it’s the quest for inner-peace. Cecile.”

Behind them the church building exploded in a ball of fire so severe and great that they could see, miles away.

“Alright, let’s get out.” Harrogate said. “I don’t want to be an accomplice to this.”

And they were off. Fifty gold paid from a one million dollar debt. About twenty-four thousand casualties and a whole city demolished to fire and wreckage. Two drunks and an angry little man, set off with their stolen horse and carriage (is it theft if the people are dead? Living dead?).

Their hearts full and sullen, their spirits beaten; but their wills strong.

The map laid out inside their cart, marked and red-penned.

Zullywood was next on the list.