For a split second R thought it was over, he had this, he could rip into her, dive in her brains, and wander off somewhere to take another look at who she was because R was the kind of zombie who liked take-out with his prime cuts.

The girl had other ideas. His hand tore a long swath through her lavender skirt as they tried to play Tug-of-War over it. Next thing he knew, R got a backhand to the face, hard enough to make his teeth rattle. Between having a slippery grip on her skirt and getting nailed in the face, R finally lost his hold, kicked back a few steps. Instead of blood, there was a slight splatter of black oil - the ooze he had in place of blood - and he couldn't tell if she broke her skin on his teeth or lucked out. All he knows is while his head was still spinning, he wanted to make another pass. So he did.

R lunged again for the other Tribute, taking the frontal approach again like a broken record, choking out a gurgling howl.