Fight.

[dragonjournal]

We have to fight. The banging against the walls of the city is driving all of us nuts. We can't think. The kids can't hear their movies. The moans and the screams are becoming horrible...

Every able-bodied man and woman. Including me. Even though I'm not a fighter.

My son and daughter have kissed me good-bye. My daughter squeezed me tight and made me promise to come back. My son kissed my cheek.

Armour has been brought for all of us, and my swords are no longer out of place. One of the women I followed here is wielding an axe. She's barely taller than my nine-year-old, and her white knuckled grip on the axe belies her words of comfort to her mother.

My helmet is heavy on my head, and terror races through my veins. I can feel the first bite of adrenaline. Some of those not going out to fight are going up to higher windows and dropping boiling oil on the creatures outside.

I'm going out.

I don't think I've quite come to grips with that yet.

I look once more at the kids, and grip my sword.

The fight is now.

We few precious survivors are going out there to defend this last bastion of humanity in a sea of the undead.

Wish us luck.