by Hydrargentium

“Zombies. I hate zombies.”

Ranger shook his head, and unholstered his #2 sidearm.

For most people, a second weapon would be a small pistol, or a collapsible baton, or a folding knife. Call-out had seen this device, a matte grey lump that hung under Ranger’s left arm and called to mind a set of brass knuckles, but never gave it much thought, and never ever thought it might be a weapon. Well, pretty much anything could be a weapon in Ranger’s hands, but he certainly never thought this nondescript tool would be useful against zombies.

“Wait. You’ve dealt with zombies before? I thought they were just a fiction, until recently.”

Ranger nodded, then headed down the stairs. He didn’t bother to look back to see if Call-out would follow.

“You’re right. They were.”