(An excerpt from the terrifying tale of undead terror and mind-controlling cephalopods.)
"We have to hide in the ship's hold, I reckon," Brad said. "We
done run out of places to hide."
"And trap our damn selves?" Marklin snarled back. "Getting
cornered is just shameful way to die. I say we charge the
bastards. Take the fights straight to 'em."
"You're going to need this torch, darling," Helena said to
Brad, handing him the flaming brand and leaning in to kiss
him desperately.
Beyond the darkened windows, the squirg zombies groaned
and roared, waiting impatiently for their next meal.
(...)