Verdammt, liebchen, you are not going to cut off the leg. You are going to shoot me and get rid of the corpse.

I will not risk being the one to infect you, love.

[Scowls. He can feel the zombification beginning already.]

Love, there's a big airgun back in the garage. A mortar, really: I've loaded it with a good quart of nuts and screws. It will kill me and leave very little for the zombies but smorgasborg snacks. I will go out. You shoot me as soon as you see me from the upper windows. Then it's over. The zombies have a meal, and we hope... we hope Mayfield is Mayfield, and I come back. Yes?