He held his breath. Listened. Turned toward the sound. Looked for escape. Too late.
Sounds increased. Growling. Snarling.
A hiding place was needed.
Nothing was in the room.
Weapon, then. A defense.
Twisting, he crashed through the kitchen, jerking open drawers, pawing through contents. Snarling became a roar. The zombie burst in and rushed him.
Grabbing his coffee mug, he spun. “Here. Coffee.” His hand shook as he held out the steaming cup.
The zombie stopped. Accepted the mug. Breathed in the aroma. Took a sip. Sighed.
Turning, she shuffled out with muted growls.