The darkness lingered, although mercifully the pain had gone.

Shouldn’t I have respawned by now? Fuck, was I coming back as a zombie?

Lira would be pissed.

Most recent respawn point: Bed, Farmhouse, near the road, 3.2 miles west of the village of Fernwick.

Closest respawn point: Kaelan’s bed, Kaelan’s bedroom, Kaelan’s house, the village of Fernwick.

Select respawn point.

Well, that was new. It was just text hovering in my mind, against a background of darkness. And a cog, incongruously hovering in one corner, like one might see on a loading screen.

Lira had already set up a new point. That was prudent of her; I wouldn’t have wanted to walk naked back from the bivouac outside Taralith, four days away. But neither did I want to respawn with the girls. Not yet, not with so many zombies here.

I’d come back naked whichever option I chose, and I was damned if I was leaving my leathers and rapier where they lay.

Now that I knew I could respawn in my house whenever the zombies killed me, it didn’t matter if I was naked or not. I’d somehow figure out a way to take a few of those fuckers with me each time I died, then respawn and go again.

Respawn Kaelan’s house.

Last time I’d woken up naked in this bed, it had been with the two girls pressing against me. It wasn’t as much fun alone, knowing there were zombies outside waiting to chew my face off.

And fuck, but that wasn’t a pleasant way to die. I’d have nightmares for weeks after this.

Attack has gained 1 rank.

Defense has gained 1 rank.

Speed has gained 1 rank.

Weapon (Sword) has gained 1 rank.

Weapon (Dagger) has gained 2 ranks.

Dual Wielding has gained 1 rank.

Well, I supposed every little bit helped.

The only problem was that I didn’t have my rapier anymore, and not a great chance of getting it back without being seen. On the other hand, I was pretty sure I was faster than the zombies. It was tempting to run there, see if I could grab it on the fly, then fight my way back to the house until they killed me again.

Rinse and repeat.

It was a crap plan as plans went, but it was a start. I opened my eyes and looked down at myself.

Yep, naked.

I’d have given anything for a pair of pants, but we’d taken all my clothes with us. The thought of being ‘tackle out’ surrounded by zombies with a biting fetish really didn’t appeal. Were there any clothes in the chest of drawers?

There were. Senna had been married before, and the drawers were full of men’s clothes. They didn’t fit too well, but I pulled on trousers and a shirt. Now I needed a weapon.

The zombies only died when their heads came off, so something with a blade. There must be an ax around somewhere for chopping wood. Where would Senna have kept such a thing?

I remembered the storeroom off the kitchen and crept downstairs. The house was blessedly empty, but I didn’t want to make any noise. There could be zombies waiting just outside.

Waiting in the storeroom was a decent hickory-handled ax with a sharp, wedge-like head. Perfect for chopping wood and the necks of zombies. I picked it up, turned, and my eye was caught by the oil lamp just inside the door.

Hadn’t the guards in Taralith said they were going to burn Rolf’s body? Weren’t the zombies dry husks, just waiting to be set on fire? I even had an info screen that could’ve told me their weaknesses if I’d bothered to use it, but I’d been a little preoccupied trying to stop my face from being eaten.

My stomach flipped over as I remembered I’d failed in that, and as the memories assailed me, I almost threw up on Senna’s stores. That would’ve been embarrassing to explain.

It took me a moment to find Senna’s reserves of oil. It was primitive stuff, mostly lumps of animal fat purified and congealed into tallow. But I just needed anything that would burn.

An industrious half-hour later, I had a new plan. I had also gained three points in crafting.

I’d relit a small fire in Senna’s hearth, hoping the zombies would ignore the smell of smoke. Then I’d melted the wax down until I had oil. This had gone into every suitable vessel I could find, with strips of her late husband’s clothing torn and stuffed into the top.

The result was eight Molotov cocktails, weapon of the anarchic masses and zombie hunters everywhere.

The ax I put upstairs, on the bed, the handle about where I expected my hand would fall when I respawned. It was an insurance policy, in case zombies ever got into the house. I didn’t want to respawn, be helpless, be eaten, and repeat ad nauseum. Immortality could be a curse as well as a blessing.

And I’d formed a real aversion to being eaten.

I took two of the Molotovs and a lantern, and climbed out of the window in the small bedroom and onto the roof. I didn’t want to risk the front door in case I was seen. I was really keen to keep zombies out of my house.

From there, I had a view into the street where I’d died. There were half a dozen zombies milling around, back to their usual mindless shuffle. It was too far to lob a cocktail, and besides, I didn’t want to risk burning my leathers. Checking it was zombie-free, I slipped down to the ground at the back of the house, then edged around the other buildings as quietly as I could. Bare feet helped.

I made my way around the backs of houses until I was close to the square. Then I set my lantern down and pulled out the first of my bombs.

It had been an herb pot of some design, the top now stuffed with a rag, and the rest filled with oil. I lit the rag from the flame of the lantern, waiting until it was burning well.

This was my first time throwing a Molotov cocktail. Marketing Executives from Boston don’t often get involved in riots and civil unrest. But then, neither did they behead friends or get their faces eaten off.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Fuck, I had to stop thinking about that.

I watched the flame carefully. It would be a little embarrassing for the thing to explode in my hand, covering me with burning oil. I supposed I could just run at the zombies if that happened, but it wasn’t an ideal strategy. At the last moment, I stepped out from behind the house, lobbed the bomb toward a likely looking collection of three zombies, and ducked back out of sight.

Then I peered around the corner in time to see the results of my plan.

It wasn’t spectacular. The homemade concoction didn’t really have enough volatility to cover a wide area in flames the way I’d pictured in my mind. But it landed about where I’d aimed, striking a zombie center-mass and shattering. The flames licked at the oil, dimmed almost to nothing, then caught. I wasn’t sure if it was clothing that fed the fire or the oil that had spread, but in the space between one breath and the next, the zombie’s clothing was aflame. The fire jumped to the oil on the ground, and then to a second zombie.

At first, neither zombie noticed. Fire burned at their clothes, and they shuffled onward, not even trying to smother it. It grew as it traveled rapidly over their bodies. Their hair went up fast, their clothing smoldered and burst into flame, and the unpleasant smell of burning zombie drifted into the air.

I turned away, swallowing hard, and crouched behind the wall. When the crackling of flames died down some minutes later, I risked another look.

Both zombies were charred corpses on the floor of the street, unmoving and dead. Again. And none of the other zombies looked in the least bit fussed.

I could see my rapier. It was still sticking into the back of the zombie I’d stabbed, and that damn zombie was walking around without a care in the world. I looked at the cocktail I had left, all the zombies in proximity to Bjorn’s house, and the one with my rapier ambling about outside.

It was one of a hell of a risky plan, but in theory … it could work.

Fuck it. What was the worst that could happen, other than being burned to death or having my face eaten off again? I mean, both of those were pretty bad, but I’d just wake up in my bed. Like I always did after a nightmare.

I put flame to the cocktail, made sure it had caught well, then ran like I was being chased by all the demons of hell.

“Hey! Zombies!”

They turned, those nearest and those some way down the street. Good, the more the merrier.

My target was the rapier-carrying zombie. I wanted that blade back if I could get it. I ran straight at her, one eye on the bomb in my hand. I’d worried it might go out with the speed of my movement, but I’d lit it well and it burned merrily. Getting hot, too.

Rapier-zombie lunged, and I’d expected it. I ducked aside, spinning beneath her arm and around behind her, grabbed the handle of my rapier and pulled.

She spun too, perhaps the feel of the blade reminding her where I was. And she was fast enough that my plan almost failed right then.

I danced back, blade in hand, her nails catching my borrowed shirt and ripping it open. Not nails, I saw, but claws. Either this woman had never had a manicure in her life, or the zombies were growing claws to go with their surprisingly sharp teeth. She lunged toward me again, and I took off running.

“Zombies! This way, all you nice zombies!”

Snarls and the thud of lots of feet answered my invitation.

I didn’t stop to look how many guests I had; I could hear some of them close behind me. Bjorn’s house was just there, its door opened invitingly.

I ran inside, throwing the cocktail on Bjorn’s kitchen table before it exploded in my hand. It flamed up beautifully, either more potent than the last one, or because there was no dirt to absorb the oil. Then I headed at speed for the stairs.

Zombies charged into the house behind me, oblivious to the flames. Just like they had been when they’d caught fire. I had no idea how many were inside, I was too busy staying ahead of them. I raced upstairs, looking for any window that might open like the one in Senna’s room did. All the windows in the village were little more than holes in the walls, shutters to keep the elements out. I ran to the back of the upstairs floor and into Bjorn’s room.

I’d hoped it would be empty. It wasn’t.

A zombie was standing in the corner, bizarrely facing the wall like it had put there for bad behavior. When I burst in, it swung around, mouth opening in the characteristically cheerful greeting. But I’d been ready for such an eventuality, and my blade cut deeply into its neck. It wasn’t enough to take its head off completely, and the backswing cost me precious seconds.

Another zombie burst into the room behind me, claws reaching as it snarled. Again my rapier flashed, and this time the stroke was true. I could hear more zombies in the house, and I slammed shut Bjorn’s bedroom door, not caring how much noise I made. I wanted more noise, to bring the zombies further into the house.

I could only hope the fire had taken downstairs.

There were more zombies in the hallway outside as I pulled Bjorn’s chest of drawers in front of the door. They hammered at it, claws splitting the wood, the chest of drawers vibrating with the force of their blows. I had no idea how many zombies were in the house, or if they were still coming in, but I needed to hold out as long as possible. I braced the chest of drawers as best I could while they thumped on the door.

I hoped to hell that the kitchen was on fire, the flames taking hold, or all of this would be for nothing.

And then I smelled smoke. The scent began to fill the air, growing stronger, until what had been clear grew murky. I began to cough, welcoming the discomfort in my lungs. Was the floor getting warm, or was that just my imagination?

There was no let up from the zombies. They didn’t care about the fire, or being trapped in a burning house. It must be hard to be afraid when you’re mindless.

I waited as long as I could until the smoke started coming in from outside, through the window. I had to leave before the thatch went up, or I’d be burned alive too. As ways to go, that sounded like one to avoid, even if was an improvement over having my face eaten off.

At last, the flames began to crackle around me, loud enough to finally hear. I hoped the zombies would stay in the house, thinking I was still here, and that none of them could climb as well as I could. I leaped to the window, pulling myself up and through it before the zombies had beaten aside the chest of drawers.

I crouched on the back of Bjorn’s roof, away from the window, the fields before me. With any luck, they’d not seen me leave, and they were now milling around in the bedroom, aimlessly waiting for the flames to reach them. My rapier was ready just in case.

When no snarling heads emerged and the thatch was smoking hard, I slid quietly down the roof and dropped to the ground beneath. Then I snuck into the field beyond and watched Bjorn’s house burn.

There were no screams, no snarls, no pounding on the walls as desperate zombies tried to escape. Maybe they’d all simply walked out, but I didn’t think that was likely. Without a target, they’d just ambled around or even stood still, and the two I’d burned hadn’t run around screaming. They were dead, and I hoped to hell that cremation would send them onward, to whatever these people believed in as an afterlife.

It was ironic that I didn’t believe in such things, and now my personal afterlife was simply waking up and going again.

Congratulations! You have gained a new level. You are now level 10. You have 6 skill points to spend. You may purchase new skills. You have gained a Perk. You have gained an Attribute point.

Proof, if I needed it, that I’d just killed a bunch of zombies.

I pulled up the Perk list, but there were no new additions. I decided to hold on to it for now, and bought another point in Agility. It was certainly the attribute of choice at present. Then I spent two points each on Archery, Dodge and Stealth while I waited for the fire to burn out.

When Bjorn’s house had burned to a shell, I snuck back into the village. The sky was growing dark, and not just with the thickness of smoke. The sun was setting, and I didn’t fancy taking on zombies I couldn’t see. I wanted my leathers and my bow, and then I’d return tomorrow and finish what I’d started.

The street outside Bjorn’s house was empty, not a zombie in sight. That was a win. I picked up my leathers, breastplate, and bow, not forgetting to retrieve my dagger from the dismembered head of the zombie nearby. (Yuck). Then I pulled back to Rolf’s forge, hiding behind it as I stripped off the trousers I’d taken from Senna’s drawers. I replaced them with my leathers, then leaned against the wall as I pulled on my boots.

“Kaelan!” A shout rang out. A woman’s voice, but it wasn’t Lira or Senna – thankfully. I didn’t want them anywhere near the zombies. “Kaelan, we know you’re here.”

Crouching behind the forge, I peeked past it. A group of four people were walking down the street toward me, past my house, heading for the remains of Bjorn’s.

“Come out, Kaelan!”

The woman had an ethereal, severe beauty to her face, like she knew she was young and attractive but had never figured out how to smile. She wore a black dress, long brunette hair tied in a plait, with a wickedly curved dagger on her belt. There was a general skull adornment motif going on, like she’d shopped straight out of Witches’ Weekly. Surrounding her were three large men, each wearing full plate armor in enameled black, and armed to the teeth with swords, shields, and daggers.

The woman stopped in the middle of the street, looking at what was left of Bjorn’s house.

“You bastard, Kaelan,” she shouted. “Did you kill all my zombies?”