By the time the weight of his actions caught up to him, it was already done; the machete had sliced cleanly through the zombie's arm, severing it at the wrist. The rest of the corpse tumbled off the truck, leaving only the dismembered hand still clenched around Fred's collar.
Fred turned to the warrior with a raised eyebrow. "Were you aiming for my head, or do you just have something against me?" he asked, half-joking, though his tone was laced with subtle tension.
The blade had passed so close, just inches from his face, that Fred had clearly seen the steel flash before his eyes, nearly grazing the tip of his nose. He'd be lying if he said he didn't break into a sweat.
Oddly enough, he was more nervous about that blade than the zombie itself. After all, as an awakened ability user, a scratch or bite wouldn't turn him into one of the undead. It would hurt, sure, but thanks to their stock of the vial of blue liquid, his life wouldn't be in real danger.
