Unable to face the fiend, you turn again, choosing the rock over the hard place, the frying pan over the fire, the unarmed undead over the armed. You face Gantner, dried, swollen tongue curling in anticipation from the side of his face as his dislocated jaw hangs down, cheeks torn wide and flapping with each step in silent, mocking laughter. You have nothing left, no where to run, no where to hide as they close in. Behind you, in front of you, you stop, hearing the rapid footfalls. Your head half turns. Spiers speeds up, closing the last few paces between you. He leaps into the air, arms still raised to bludgeon you. You fall back as he leaps. In that moment, Gantner trips over your tumbling form and both creatures’ heads connect over your crumpled body. Spiers’ head craters in like a macabre crumple zone bumper. Gantner’s neck spurts a black stream that geysers up. It all seems to move in slow motion. The oily mist seems to dance in the sun, bathing the dirt. Their now motionless forms intertwined in a pile. For a moment, there is only silence. You stand, refusing to quit.