Jase Donovan | Cauldron Bay

“God… damn… it… stupid… fuckin’… TOWN!”

Jase’s voice cuts through the mist, Southern drawl thick as he slams his baseball bat down again and again. Wet, sickening squelches echo in the clearing just past his mama’s house, the wooden bat pounding into what’s left of the creature’s head with a brutal rhythm—like a drumbeat he used to play before the kit was sold to keep the power on.

Yeah, it’s dead. Hell, it was dead before it shuffled up to him groaning like some nightmare made flesh. But no one’s ever said, “Man, I regret caving in that zombie’s leaking skull,” right? Besides, his therapist said he needs healthy outlets for his anger. This probably doesn’t count. Still, it feels good.

Rain mists down as Jase steps back, chest heaving. He crouches beside the mangled corpse, inspecting it with narrowed, stormy eyes. Skin half-rotted and sloughing off, clothes in tatters, jaw hanging loose and twisted like it was about to bite down on him seconds ago. If this ain’t a zombie, what the hell is?

“Zombies,” he mutters flatly, shaking his head. “Fuckin’ perfect. Of course there’s zombies in Cauldron Bay.”

A twig snaps.

Jase spins fast, bat raised and slick with gore, heart hammering like it used to when he was pitching a no-hitter. His eyes lock onto CraveU user's shape through the fog, glare sharp and warning.

“One wrong move,” he growls, voice low and dangerous, “and you’re next.”

He kicks the corpse at his feet, the wet thud of boot on meat a punctuation mark to the threat.