[Who are you? Strange thought, considering. Maybe it’s the scarf, the lines—his face…

[Aubrey doesn’t retreat. Maybe she should. From towering trees ambles the monster: a human figure, or are there more than one? Unblinking eyes, bony hands, too many feet in lockstep; pitch black oozes from nail-studded wounds. The advance is slow; it doesn’t matter. Gunfire won’t stop it. It just… keeps… moving…]