"All right," said Skulduggery, in the hot, 1846 sun, "We're gunning for a warlock." There was some discomfort in the Dead Men, a low moan coming from the horizon. "First, we've got to get through these damn zombies. Any questions?" "Can we go now?" asked Saracen Rue. "Certainly," replied Skulduggery. "Take your places, everyone." The Dead Men got in a circular formation, revolvers drawn. "Don't fire until you do," said Skulduggery dryly. "ATTACK!" As the first zombie walked up the hill, it was met by unexpected resistance. A bullet. Blood spurted, and the zombie went down. Then the bulk of the force hit, and there was no telling whose blood was whose on that dry sand in 1846.
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