Zombie Retreats • Pro & Fresh

Elena thought of her husband, who had drawn the map. Who had believed in a place called Sanctuary Ridge until the very end, when a bite on his forearm had turned his veins to black ink. She had been the one to swing the hammer. She had buried him under a dogwood tree.

Day ten. They crested a ridge of dead pines and saw it: a narrow-gauge rail line, surprisingly clean of debris, running along the base of a valley. And on the tracks, a single locomotive—a vintage diesel-electric, its yellow paint faded but intact. Black smoke chugged from its stack. Figures moved around it. Living figures. zombie retreats

“You heard it,” Elena said. It wasn’t a question. Elena thought of her husband, who had drawn the map