Thanks to the ruckus, they were agitated now that they realized tasty treats were close by, and the sound of moans and rattling hinges made it obvious that, when the door was opened, one would be springing out like a decayed Jack-in-the-Box. By the time we’d finished clearing the area, I’d personally dispatched around a dozen of the undead, all of them trapped in their former homes. They were rattling around like marbles in tin cans, unable to figure out how to escape, and lacking the motivation or strength to knock out a window or bust through a door. Our teams met up in the middle of the park, on the brilliantly named “Middle Lane.” Lil ran over to me, her pint-sized pickaxe and clothes equally spattered with all sorts of nasty goo. “I killed at least ten!” She grinned up at me, eyes alight with a glee I found disturbing. I wasn’t sure if I should pat her on the head with a “That’s nice, dear,” or sign her up for psychotherapy. Before I had a chance to decide, Tony plunked himself in between us, Thor’s Wee Hammer dripping with gore.
