The shamblers strike from the trees, coming at us in a broad wave of clattering bones and gnashing teeth, the dim aura of evil magic casting blood-red light from their skulls.

Fenna and I turn in unison, drawing our weapons and both of us firing on the closest one, blowing its level 1 body to pieces in a simultaneous strike.

It’s not that they are challenging or dangerous on their own, I figure. It’s that there are so many.

The crackling of branches on the opposite side of the path reveals a second wave closing in on us like a pincer. We’re caught between two long columns of shambling undead.

I feel regret as I fire off two more shots, blasting another shambler who enters the path nearby. Mitralla said these were her people, her ancestors. Now they attack us, believing we’ve come to threaten the island, when in fact we’re trying to save it.

“There are too many of them,” Fenna says under her breath as she crouches on one knee, firing off headshots at the slow-moving targets. The nearest is maybe ten paces away, and we simply can’t shoot fast enough. Even Rufus draws his sword. With nowhere to run, he hides between Fenna and me.

Maybe I’m forgetting something. I do a quick run-through of my skills and inventory. Don’t I have any AOE attacks or anything?

Firearms. Stealth. Swimming. Wrestling. Nose for Treasure. Smooth Talking.

Huh, yeah. Picture that—smooth-talking a horde of shambling skellies.

“Okay, boys, who wants to hear a joke? A pirate, a bikini model, and a monkey walk into a bar…Oh wait, you don’t have ears.”

“What are your orders, cap’n,” Fenna says as a shambler steps in front of her, reaching for her gun. As the thing gets its boney fingers around the barrel, I draw my saber in my off-hand and awkwardly slice its arms off in a single strike. Fenna kicks the flailing torso back, buying time to blast another shambler over my shoulder. Rufus moves in on the armless one, chopping it down at the knees.

They’re surrounding all three of us now, crowding the path, shamblers banging shoulder to shoulder. I put my pistol away and switch my sword to my good arm, swinging wildly, trying to keep them at bay so that Fenna can keep shooting, cutting the arms off of another.

Looking at all these amputated skellies, I have an idea.

“Get ready to push and run on my command,” I shout as I swing for the arms of another skeleton. No longer keeping them at bay with my attacks, the horde closes in close, giving us only a few steps to maneuver. They start landing blows, scratching at my arms and shoulders as I fight, and Fenna’s too.

Seeing the danger to my crew, I work faster, hacking at my targets, bone splinters flying until I have two as I need them.

“Rufus, on me. Now.” The monkey sheaths his sword and comes scampering up my back as I dig my fingers into the rib cage of my new custom skeleton battering ram.

“Fenna, like this,” I tell her, showing her how I’ve cut away the arms and jaws from two shamblers.

I do my best to pretend I’m not holding the dead body of a person but rather a riot shield. These gnashing, clanking, undead, they’re just protesters. Yeah. Just an unruly mob is all. All I have to do is push through.

Fenna slams into the other shambler I’ve prepped, grips it, and keeps going, smashing into a row of shamblers, knocking them down.

Holding mine now, I realize these skeletons are a lot lighter than a human body. They may have supernatural strength, but their actual mass hasn’t changed from basic bones.

We surge forward into the horde, protecting ourselves with these bodies as best we can. Our enemies claw and strike at us, some getting caught in the bones of our shields, others getting caught on each other. I’m no longer carrying one body. Now I’m pushing three, all stuck and locked together.

One of the shamblers we trample hooks my leg on the way past, trying to drag me down. Rufus sees me almost trip and carefully climbs down my back. Then, hanging off the back of my trousers, the monkey draws his sword and begins attacking our unwelcome passenger, his weight pulling my pants down with him.

“Rufus, no,” I try to tell him, but he seems to have developed an unhealthy enjoyment of cutting limbs off of his enemies. I widen my stance, fighting through the end of the horde and trying to keep both my trousers and Rufus aboard without losing my footing.

Fenna is the first to break through. She throws her torso on the ground and pulls out her rifle, laying down covering fire for me. Meanwhile, it feels super breezy down there.

Rufus lets out a triumphant grunt as he cuts away the skeleton’s arm. The extra weight I’ve been dragging gives way, but with my pants around my thighs, I’m still not exactly running gracefully.

The skull of the last skeleton blocking my path explodes in a shower of bone fragments, and I look up to see the smoking barrel of Fenna’s rifle as she walks backward, uphill, while aiming down the barrel. Rufus leaps to the ground and scampers toward her.

I toss my tangled mess of bones next to hers, creating a sort of barricade on the road, and draw my pistol.

“Nice ass, cap’n,” she says between shots, giving me a wink.

“Uh, you too,” I say, grinning, firing as fast as I can as the horde surges toward us.

"You can't even see my ass."

"That doesn't mean I don't remember how nice it is."

Now with somewhere to retreat and terrain to slow them, we’re able to keep out of range while we cut down their numbers. It feels like target practice on the beach again, and I start to get an innate sense for the way that shamblers move—how they hunch and drag their stiff bodies in jerky motions, then pause, building up energy for the next step.

Closer and closer they lurch, but we hold our ground, calmly firing as the pile of broken bones grows taller and taller.

Fenna steps beside me as the last one falls. “Got ‘em,” I say, my pistol still outstretched. I’ve been shooting for so long, it feels strange to not be aiming and pulling the trigger. My hands ache, pumping with so much blood that I can feel my heartbeat in my fingertips.

Fenna checks the surroundings one more time. “I think you can put away your gun, cap’n,” she says, reaching down and giving me a teasing stroke before helping me pull my trousers up. I’d been so intensely focused on the battle, I just got used to having my pants where they were. I kind of forgot about that whole flapping in the breeze situation.

She coos quietly, saying, “too bad it’s so dangerous here,” and gives me another rub over the top of my pants.

Too bad indeed.