((poor kid))

Jon could hear the pumping in his heart when the zombies kept going. If he picks his weapon up, he'll be shot before he finishes. If he runs like hell, he'll probably still be shot. The man seemed crazy enough to do that. He moved backwards some more, trying to figure out his next move. His fingers hovered to the back pocket of his jeans, where he kept the colt anaconda, just in case. It only had two bullets left, and would make noise, but he's almost dead anyway.

"Stop them now! Or I'm..I.." He grit his teeth together, unable to say more. If he couldn't even say it, would he be able to shoot the man?

He tried to hide his panic but he was sweating and shaking, watching the zombies go, and his mind was blank on ideas to live.