52
It was a bright summer day. As we drove down the highway toward the city, I stared out the window at the passing cars and houses. These people, I thought, didn’t know what was about to hit them. They didn’t know that an undead army could strike them anytime. Though, I supposed, as I’d discovered only a matter of months ago, the undead have lived among humans and preyed on them for millennia. It wasn’t exactly a new thing.
The Bunker Hill Monument soon appeared on the horizon, and as we descended into the scruffy outskirts of the city, it got larger and larger. We got closer, and I started to notice odd things in the streets—people running about, shouting, cars stopping in the middle of the road. There was a general air of disarray and panic. Ariadne had to slow down the car and crawl
