Eventually I gave up. I had been walking for two days now, and was completely out of water. I lay down in between the tracks and waited to die.

            In theory, this was my best plan of action. In action, this was dead boring. I knew that death was coming. Death was following me. It was just taking its time.

            A couple of hours after I had left Red, Wendy and Truman, I chanced a glance behind me. I’m somewhat ashamed I looked so early. Or so late. Maybe both. Part of me wanted to look back and see that they were all ok, and nothing had happened. Part of me wanted to be the stoic, rugged action hero, and never look back. That part was also scared of zombies.

            It took me about two hours to decide that I wouldn’t look. Then I did, and saw one of them following me.

            I ran a while after this discovery.

***

            I had no idea who it was from that distance, but they were keeping about the same pace as my walking. I ran as fast and as far as I could, and once I couldn’t go any faster, any longer, and they were hardly a shadow on the horizon, I collapsed and willed myself to sleep.

            I woke from a nightmare where I was in some sort of flesh-eating marathon race, but all the other runners were skeletons. That woke me up quite suddenly. What woke me more suddenly was the fact that my pursuer was at less than fifty yards, casually strolling towards me.

            I sprang to my feet and turned tail. I could see at this range that it was Wendy, apparently back from the dead, hungry for my brains.

            Once I got some distance from my thousand yard sprint, I slowed to a leisurely jog and chanced a glanced behind.

            Wendy was coming, no closer, no farther than she should’ve been at that pace. She was in no hurry. She knew I was dead. She knew I had nowhere to go.

            I gave up and lay down, breathing heavily, savoring my final breaths. How strong could the undead be, really? Could I take her? Sure, she’d be a little bitey, but if I managed to evade that, maybe I could hit her, pull some Chuck Norris stuff, rip out her heart with my bare hands…

            Would I hit her? Could I bring myself to hit a girl? A zombie girl, sure, but a girl, nonetheless.

            Contemplating this, I almost missed her walking right by me.

            She didn’t even look down as she meandered by. I was somewhat offended by this. I slowly got up, still wary.

            She kept walking, step-by-step, not exactly at a zombie pace; not exactly a sane person’s pace.

            I cleared my throat.

            She kept walking.

            I coughed loudly.

            Kept going.

            I came up behind her and tentatively tapped her on the shoulder.

            Nothing. Just the same pace.

            Huh.

            This was awkward.