[ WP ] You have just successfully prevented a zombie apocalypse . By killing the first one to turn . What you call `` heroism '' the police call `` murder '' .

I crouched down, and dropped the bloody spade in my hand upon the perfectly manicured lawn below me. A bead of sweat slowly trickled down my forehead, and I struggled to regain my breath, desperately sucking in air while my head throbbed with pain. 
 
 In front of me, the pale corpse that had tried to eat my brains, laid upon the grass in a twisted heap. Her crushed head and broken neck had swung backwards, and had been pinned underneath her withering body as she had fallen to the ground. Now her gnashing teeth were no longer snapping at me, I stood up and slowly shuffled forward for a better look. 
 
 As I came within reach of the zombie's legs, I kicked her shoe, to check for a sign of life. Observing none, I stepped around to take in a full view of the dead woman; the sight of it evoked the image of a dead deer in a black-and-white movie, with her pallid skin tone, a tattered, dirty brown fur coat partially covering her upper body, muddy and worn-out black shoes giving the impression of hooves. She looked frail, and old, despite her startling speed and vice-grip strength that had been exhibited when she had chased me out of the pathology lab I had been sitting in. Luckily that spade had been leaning against a house out in the open, or... 
 
 The sudden realisation of what had happened, what I had been caught up in, made me retreat to my inner sanctuary, the place where my thoughts and fantasies collided. Had I really been attacked by, and killed, a zombie? When faced with life or death, had I survived by using my own wits, or through dumb luck? I was feeling more tired and jaded as every question tumbled over and over in my mind. 
 
 Just as a feeling of catatonia was beginning to descend over my shoulders and into my chest, the rapidly approaching sounds of sirens broke the spell. Upon realising that I had sunk to my knees next to the zombie, I snapped into a tall stance, and spun around. The sirens were blaring from three police cars, lights flashing and wheels screeching as they rounded the corner at the end of the street. 
 
 My first thought was, thank goodness - and I began to slowly walk towards the vehicles, who all stopped suddenly in the middle of the lane. A nagging feeling started pulling at my collar, accompanied by confusion and a hint of dread. 
 
 The passenger side front door on the closest car swung open first, and a police officer sprung out, pistol in hand and pointed at my head. Four more officers from the other two cars immediately did the same thing, and the driver of the closest car climbed out with a megaphone in hand. My hands automatically went out in front of me, palms facing the cars. *They think you killed her*, I thought for a moment - and my heart began to race, as the reality of the situation dawned on me. 
 
 **'' HANDS ON YOUR HEAD, AND DOWN ON YOUR KNEES!!! `` ** shouted the megaphone-wielding officer in the foremost car, and the officers moved out from behind their car doors, guns still trained on me. All of them walked towards me, and the man furthest to the right reached behind his back to grab a pair of handcuffs, all while shuffling closer to me. I meekly submitted, dropping to my knees with my fingers interlocked behind my head. The coarse stones of the driveway I had stopped upon, stabbed into my knees, and I winced from the pain. 
 
 The officers closed the rest of the distance at a jog, and the handcuff-wielding officer quickly attached the cuffs to my left arm. He grabbed my arms, twisted them down firmly, and completed the cuffing. Once that was done, they all bolstered their weapon, and tears began to form in my eyes - I could n't hold on, as the gravity of what was happening started sinking in. 
 
 The final officer, who had dispensed with his megaphone, walked up to me as two of the policemen lifted me to my feet. His face was like black thunder, a sharp, dark, twisted stone facade that showed the hard and horrifying life he had been living, as well as the pity and revulsion he clearly held for me. 
 
 He kept it simple, in a tone that sounded like how his face looked - thunderous. 
 
 `` You are under arrest, for the murder of Betty White. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. 
 You have the right to talk to a lawyer and have him or her present with you while you are being questioned. If you can not afford to hire a lawyer, one will be appointed to represent you before any questioning if you wish. You can decide at any time to exercise these rights and not answer any questions or make any statements.'' 
 
 ***Murder? ***
