You turn to face Candace, and try to muster an apologetic expression.

Then you put the barrel of the .357 to your own temple.

"Richard, what the hell are you doing?"

"I'm sorry, honey," you say. "I know this makes everything harder for you. But it also makes things way the hell easier for me."

And just as the zombies grab your terrified wife, you pull the trigger, and all of your worries vanish instantly.


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