“There’s not much difference between a zombie’s neck and a log.”
Miss Ysabel was her father’s pride and joy growing up, the biggest in a big family, the strongest in a line of mostly boys. Her mother insisted on the dresses; her father insisted on the axe. She was chopping wood while she was still playing with dolls; she was hauling wood while the boys had started to come calling. When the zombies came, Miss Ysabel added a few more weapons to her repertoire and shifted her swing to aim a little further up.