Shoot them.

You have the advantage of range and elevation. Your pistol manifests in your hand as quickly as you can think about it. You brace quietly on a tree limb, draw a bead, and start pounding out rounds one after another. The gun doesn't seem to ever run short of ammunition, so you don't have to worry about it. You hit a lot of rocks and trees, but splattered black pockmarks dot the ghouls, too. They charge at you, and your bullets slow them down, but even wounds that would be deadly to a live human aren't immediately lethal to them.

Is lethal even the right word? They're not alive. You aren't hitting their off-button, that's for sure.

After what feels like twenty shots, they're on you. Two are down, two are injured but still coming at you. One throws a heavy stone that hits your shoulder like a hammer and sends you reeling. The next thing you know, they're on you, biting and clawing.