Jon Wood's Bad Wasabi: Art-o-stration

2042-10-18, Rochester, Minnesota

He had lost his hat and gloves at some point, but he had a feeling that wasn’t going to matter soon. They had chased him into the factory, and were now pawing at the windows, leaving bloody smears across the glass, screaming incoherent, hungry rage. He turned his face away, his eyes screwed shut, lips compressed to a grim line. The pistol had slipped from his nerveless fingers, and lay on the ground. His other hand clutched at his stomach, blood darkening his fingers..

Problem was, if he bent over, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get back up.

Of course, he didn’t have to get back up. If he was infected, it would all be over soon anyway. All he’d have to do is put it in his mouth. It would taste of dirt and oil, just like the other times. Maybe he’d press it to his forehead, just to be sure. That cold feeling - was it the blood loss, or the virus? No way to be sure.

The things outside went on and on, their rhythm echoing his racing heart.

“A corner of a foreign field, that is forever the Bahamas…” he murmured to himself, an odd sort of smile flitting across his lips.

Of course, if he could bend over, and he could get back up, what then?

---

Class assignment. There’s another submission, but since it uses copyrighted material, I can’t put it on dA.

Could be better. For example, the zombie bits in the window are generally too large by proportion. I could’ve had the girl zombie’s torso silhouette there as well. Maybe a crack on the window.

Me: Me, with help from a borrowed camera.
Building: [link] (Creative Commons)
Window:[link] (Creative Commons)
Zombie Assets L -> R, [link], [link], [link], [link], [link], [link]