Dodi woke to the smell of gasoline and wet copper. The TV in the bedroom was still on—some emergency broadcast about a “Knox Event.” He didn’t remember falling asleep. He didn’t remember much after the neighbor, Mr. Harkin, started chewing on the mailbox post.
Dodi stood at the window. The moon was full and useless—too bright. He could see them stumbling through the tall grass, mouths open, hands reaching for nothing. project zomboid dodi
Click.
He just waited.
He took the first bullet—the one meant for the bourbon bottle. It shattered, spilling whiskey across the floor. Then he held the revolver to his temple. Dodi woke to the smell of gasoline and wet copper