She draws her bow and lets fly!

Before you have the time to blink, an ear-splitting whistle echoes through the air as Mélanie looses her quarry. In a splash of viscera, the projectile speeds towards the nearest undead, some fifteen paces from the archer, and smashes its way into and then through the zombie’s balding forehead. The creature staggers back drunkenly, half its putrid face ripped away, and then slowly rights itself. You barely believe your eyes as it begins to stumble forward again, more enraged than wounded. Nor does Mélanie.

The latter, taking aim for the second time, and glancing with growing desperation at the group advancing sluggishly toward her, starts to panic. Arrows fly this way and that, inevitably finding their mark. None of them, however, do much damage. Like the one with half a head, the undead unflinchingly sustain what should be fatal shots with nonchalance bordering on disinterest. A burst heart changes nothing. Several sport punctured lungs. The front pair have long, wooden shafts protruding from their fleshy necks. Mélanie finally aims at the legs, and although one of the horrors slows down slightly, the other simply keeps going, its ruptured thigh unnoticed.

With a guttural moan the foremost zombie charges across the few remaining feet, closing the short distance with a unique burst of speed. Mélanie dodges its first blow, and then second, and the third, but at last the beast grabs a firm hold of one of her arms and pulls with all its strength. Dropping her bow, the archer unsheathes the small dagger held in her belt and hacks at the rotten flesh holding her in place. One hand pops off in a messy explosion, but the other hangs on heedlessly. As Mélanie wrangles to break free, two more undead arrive and add their own weight to the struggle, clenching her other arm and then legs in a vice-like grip. Soon, all seven descend on the bounty hunter, and so begins a most unholy orgy.