To read another great zombie story, click on Hargood and the End above!
With at least four miles left to go, Oscar Fitzpaul hit his wall. Yes, even cripples have walls. It's not a problem exclusive to marathon runners. He was tired. He had been "running" for his life since the break of dawn, and now the sun was setting behind a distant tree line. The lake house wasn't far now, but he wondered if he'd make it after all.
The area had been clear for a while, too, so his guard had come down. He'd left the hoard all behind, and his adrenaline settled with the quiet. His chair rolled to a halt as his rubber arms hung limp at his sides, knuckles dragging on the asphalt. Oscar heaved slowly, his head spinning at the weariness.
"Come on, Oscar," he whispered to himself. "You've gotta keep going. You can do this."
He pulled his arms into his lap and bowed his head. Slow breaths in the middle of an empty Florida street. A moment of peace. The eye of the storm.
"You can do this."
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