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his flesh like skin from a chicken.
    The orb floated above them both, hovering just inches over the zombie’s head.
    “Well, folks, it looks like this might be the end for Jonah. He gave a valiant fight, but this wife-murderer and father of two couldn’t escape Darwinian justice.”
    Rage pumped through Jonah as he slipped one hand free and grabbed the zombie by the neck, trying to choke it, or at least keep it from getting any closer to his own neck. They struggled in a war of inches as the orb floated in long, slow circles around them, announcing every action, subtle or not, and milking the moment for every drop of drama.
    “Do you have any last words, Jonah?” Kirkman asked, his face beaming back from the orb’s monitor, three inches above the zombie’s menacing, chattering, rotten face.
    The zombie’s teeth were just centimeters from Jonah’s face, as his arm, the only thing holding death at bay, started shaking, unable to keep up with the pressure. Pain splintered through Jonah’s body, starting at his arm. He had just moments before his cramped muscles betrayed the rest of him.
    He thought of Anastasia and Adam, wondering if they were watching him die.
    He hoped to God not.
    He stared into the screen, wondering if their eyes were watching from Chimney Rock and the safe side of The Wall.
    “Any last words to your precious children, Anastasia and Adam?” Kirkman asked, as though he were reading Jonah’s mind. Though the announcer’s voice was soft and sympathetic, it crawled beneath Jonah’s skin, worming its way toward his angry heart, dropping a lit match on the rage he’d been holding in check.
    Jonah surrendered his grip on the zombie’s neck, then let the monster fall forward, its mouth wide open, ready to chomp down. Before it could make contact, Jonah sent his head slamming hard into the zombie’s nose, blinding the zombie with a sharp shock of sudden but momentary pain. In that split second, the zombie released its grip and Jonah seized his moment, reaching up with both arms, leaving his face, neck, and chest entirely exposed, but hoping, and maybe even praying, that he’d properly gauged the orb’s distance.
    Jonah’s hands seized the cold, glassy orb, bringing it down hard into the zombie’s skull.
    The creature screamed.
    Kirkman yelled, “What the hell?” as the orb whirred, hummed, and beeped, trying to find its bearings and free itself from Jonah’s grasp.
    He could feel the humming and a slight burning in his arms, but Jonah held on. He stood, walked over to the zombie, now struggling to stand, and brought the orb down hard on its head again.
    “Die!” he screamed, as the orb split the zombie’s skull.
    “FUCKING!” he screamed with a second blow.
    “DIE!” he screamed with the final bash, throwing the orb at the zombie’s crumbling face.
    The orb’s screen was cracked and flickering, the humming now only a sputter.
    Jonah could see Kirkman screaming, but the speakers were silent, so Jonah could only guess what he was saying — probably a warning about not destroying the camera orb.
    Jonah reached down, retrieved the orb, then brought it to his face, swallowing the rising tide of venom.
    He looked into the camera and said, “How’s that for WOW factor?”
    He threw the orb as hard and as far as he could back into the cave, then headed for the woods.

CHAPTER 2 — Anastasia Lovecraft
    Inside The Walls of City 6
    A nastasia stared at the largest of the more than 20 TVs that lined The Social, watching her father, Jonah, square off against the zombies.
    When Jonah went down and the zombie swiped the machete away, Ana cringed. She thought that was it — her father was dead. But suddenly, he looked up and into the orb’s camera, grabbed it, and continued to bash it into the zombie’s skull until he finally stood, victorious.
    The bar erupted into a nearly universal applause, but Ana was silent, burying herself in her long brown hair, which hid her emerald eyes.
    She glared at the TV.
    “I’m sorry,” said Michael, her best friend.
    Michael half-smiled from across the table, then set his warm hand on top of hers and gently squeezed. His smile was sympathetic, sewn on his mouth with a compassion no one else in the bar possessed.
    As if to punctuate her thought, a group of guys at the bar traded a thundering round of high-fives.
    “Jo-nah! Jo-nah!” they chanted, their cheers drifting through the smoky fog of the bar.
    “Why did I let you talk me into coming