Abandoning the shotgun--and any semblance of logic--you rush back to help Emily to her feet. Even as you reach her, the path to the shotgun floods with zombies. You're both screwed now, surrounded.

Emily turns to face you as the throng draws in. "Have you only saved my life all these times on the off-chance that I might let you screw me afterward?"

You think about it. "Ah... pretty much, yeah."

"Okay."

"Would it've actually happened?"

"You're two-and-a-half times my age. I'd rather be violated by a horse."

And on those pleasant words, the two of you are torn to pieces in front of each other.


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