These apes beat their chests about every aspect of the war… "Jungle warfare!" "Desert fighting!" "Tundra!" And most of all, city warfare. Oh, how they loved city fighting. You think city fighting is hard? Try underneath one. When the ghouls moan bounces across narrow hallways and screams fade in the background, it's no wonder to me they all got Victoria's Crosses…

-Soldier, 4th 'Sewer Rats' Division, London.

I don't know what the hell happened, really. I was struggling with some zombie, a guy with half his head hanging out, when he lunged for me and missed. I stomped his head in, being pissed because now I had zombie organs all over me. The shit stinks. Then I noticed his displaced brain fragments began to stir a little. Now, most people's obvious reaction would be horror and shock, but before that set in a more… Immediate matter concerned me. I was starting to stir.

I struggled for a second. It wasn't easy. I was on the collapsed part of a roof, which also made a convenient ramp for any casual corpse to stroll on up. Naturally, the Hispanic dude with the shotgun gets to defend it. What's with that in horror movies? It's more clichéd than a black guy who suddenly is the expert on zombies despite that fact that he was a regular Joe an hour before!

But I digress. Since I was on the ramp and trying to get back to the roof, and because the power of the explosion was going my way, I was (literally) fighting an uphill battle. I heard some screams and then just, WHOOF, and flew backwards. My shotgun was blown to shit (the recovery effort is still ongoing) and desperately started swinging my hands around, as if a vine would fly from the sky. Too bad.

Sadly, the one thing I could think about was: Weeee!

I screamed aloud as I hit a tree. It was only my arm that hit it, but going at fifty miles per hour at it wasn't helping anything. I heard a tremendous snap and blood just began pouring out of me. Next, another snap, a door. I had just slammed through a damn door! Then, to top it all, I went rolling down a staircase, until settling at the base of it, all curled up in a ball and blood pooling around me.

Then, the firestorm came. It swept over me; I could just feel that hot air burning of my eyebrows. That explains a lot for now, I guess. The building collapsed on me. What bones in my body aren't broken? I blacked out, maybe for a half hour. I woke up next to an axe-murderer… Err, zombie.

I can't handle a committed relationship!

There was no gun on me, that was for sure. I regret not taking a pistol when I had the chance, now. I had to turn over my trusty .44 to Carl. Oh yeah, he did a lot with that… But I did have my knife on me. I reached down to the sheath at my shoe, pulling out the stained blade. Ghoul blood is brown, so… I guess the closest metaphor (Thanks, Jimmy!) would be it shone dirt brown? Whatever. I thrust it through the eye of my bride, smiling as the eye popped.

I examined the situation. Tons of dirt and various pieces of debris were all over me, not to mention me being about to faint from blood loss. Quickly, I loosed a leg and pushed the other out, until I finally got up and went out the lack of door.

Devastation, really. A huge crater was now Downtown. The Candy Bar, Retroland, all of it was gone. At what cost? It didn't look like much, as downtown only took up about 1/5 of Retroville. As I was busy swearing vengeance for the destruction of the Candy Bar, something just… Popped up. It was completely burnt, just black, like a well done prime rib. I could smell death on his face, and bite marks were visible. He was just between zombification and living. His nails grabbed my hip, leaving marks in the torn rags. Then, he died. Just dropped dead, right there. I ran away. This shit wasn't a game.

Another surprise. A hatch popped open in an abandoned humvee, revealing a lone arm. It was burnt and charred, but most of all… Bitten. One of them was infected, until a whole squad's worth of soldiers had died. The zombie soldier jumped out, or at least rolled out. I was, for the first time, glad to see a zombie. He had an M-16. AN M-16, DAMNIT! I was so damn gleeful; I threw my knife at him. It dropped to the ground. Goddamn my one brain cell.

My only choice was hand to hand combat. I bull rushed that damn ghoul, tackling him to the asphalt. Now, with anyone else, especially one who wasn't dead, I would have started punching him. With a zombie, you have to go for the brain. So, I rolled him over on his face, and screaming some high pitched kung-fu battle cry, stuck my hand through his head, grabbed his brain stem, and pulled it all out. SHEEN CHAN!

With his M-16 in hand, I advanced on the humvee. I guess the zombies had better ideas. One of them tackled me to the ground, reeling back for the bite. Continuing my sudden kung-fu fetish, I rolled on my back, stuck the gun between my legs, and blew his brains out, literally, all over me. The second time in a period of two hours. Damnnit.

I again made my way back toward the vehicle. This time, I shot first and asked questions later. All of the zombies were killed, and their weapons still useful. I had plans for this humvee, the machinegun on top, and the weapons inside them. Turning the keys and revving the engine, I started out back to the house, to help whoever was left.