I’m bleeding. The warm streams of my life ran down the cold flesh of my useless arm. When the bullet exploded in my shoulder, the whole limb went numb. I could barely move it now. I had done what I could to patch it up, but there isn’t much you can do while you’re running for your life; and they can smell blood.
They’ll follow a trail of blood just about forever.
There were two of them now, dark figures in the shadows. I had boarded myself up in an old Buick at the dump. There they were, shambling around old tires and the rusted skeletons of forgotten wrecks, shambling along the crimson trail I’d left.
The men with the guns wanted to play, I think. They could have killed me then and there, or fired a warning shot. No, I don’t think they missed. I could hear them laughing from their hidden crow’s nest.
One of the shambling things was at the window, its pale, blind eyes peering intently into my dark, frightened spheres. Lifeless, there was nothing in that gaze, no soul, just hunger, emptiness.
Tale Told 
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