Run!

That screaming voice in your head finally overcomes the stupefying power of the zombie spunk filling your belly and leaking out of your every hole and covering you in sticky globs. You wipe the cum from your face and get to shakey feet. The zombies around you keep their distance out of fear for whatever is coming at you through the salt marsh. You heard the roar, the power of it shaking your guts and filling you with a desire to stay and be taken like a whore.

You fight back with your will and push into the midst of the stunned zombies and running from the ruins of the tower. There are so many of them. Hundreds, it seems. They begin to realize you are among them and you feel hands grasping at your breasts and your face, cocks pressing against your thighs. They try to drag you down into the swampy water but you push them away. Their blue tongues hang from dead mouths and they moan and look at you with crazed, undying lust.

You fight on, battering with your bare hands and shoving and kicking where you can. Their ranks seem to be thinning. You seem to be making good your escape. The zombies are confused. Searching.

In the moonlight you spy a rocky cave flooded with the saltwater. You duck inside, sinking almost to your hips in the salty liquid. The muddy silt beneath your feet seems to suck at you and you fear you are being pulled under, but you manage to climb into a shallower part of the cave. It is only after you sit crouched in the cave for more than a minute, listening to the zombies searching, that you realize there is someone else in the cave with you.

It has big, reflective eyes and pale flesh and long limbs that end in human hands with claws. Its body is emaciated and covered in a rubbery skin not too different from the zombies. It licks its lipless mouth and moves closer to you, cautiously. It touches your hair and you see as it stands closer that a long pale prick dangles between its legs. It is a mire ghoul. You've heard vague legends of them. Not actually undead, but preserved for centuries on the edge of life. Its nose is only two slits above its wide thin mouth.

You want to scream as it strokes your face. Want to cry out for help. This creature's appetites are unknown to you, but it is not calming you with any venom. It seems to be taking pleasure in your fearful cries as you cover your mouth and try to keep silent. You're shaking with fear. It touches your arm, strokes it almost tenderly, its long fingers sliding around your bicep and to the swell of your ample breasts.

You want to scream so badly, but if you scream the zombies will hear you straight away.