A reminder to remain vigilante

This is a fun, "fictional" story for this week's GBE2 prompt.  The challenge: create an interesting story to explain how, a fellow blogger Jane, ended up with 27 stitches.  

Let's listen as Jane is recounting her memoirs to us some time after the stitches have healed.

I was surrounded. I had lost track of time as I walked the perimeter of the gated community.I instinctively reached for my dagger.
Argh. I could not feel it in my waist-belt any longer.

I needed to get moving. I didn't have the luxury to stand in shock. I could already hear the first sounds of soft shoes shuffling on dirt. I knew what was coming next when I heard da-dum dum dum DUM dah.
I swear that I hate bass guitars and the ominous notes of a sound machine

The Thriller Zombie crew had arrived I couldn't see them, but I could hear the synchronized dance routine in full swing. I ran back into the house to sound the alarm for the neighboring cul-de-sacs.
As I entered the room, I walked past the the helpful sign on the fridge. I keep asking myself, is it really so helpful when they are actually here?

No time to consider this.

Last week Greenville Heights militia succumbed to the Carlton Dance Zombie crew.
Such a gruesome scene with Body parts everywhere
Those zombie arms tend to fly off from the joints and sockets when they get into the full swing. If I cared, I would consider the impressive mental capability of a rotting brain that knows to replace those missing limbs with the parts of their victims. I didn't.

Walking through the house I knew, I was distracted.
I keep trailing back to thoughts of last year's standoff with the Rubberband Zombies. Their tuxedos in tatters, their use of viscera to affect the dance routine still makes me shudder.
Everyone fears the Rhythm Nation Zombies. With good reason. That is one organized army of ghouls.They took down Armstead Heights United in two days.

It was a cool night. I sniffed. They were closer.
I could smell the decay of the crew on the wind.
The zombies shouldn't be out at this time of the year. Stupid warm winter.
Yet, I could hear the footsteps and the swish of the arm movements.
I was doing it again. Stroking my cheek and the scar embedded into its flesh.
I willed my hand to get a grip on some weapons instead. I pulled my thoughts back to the Thriller threat. I need to continue searching for weapons and sound the alarm.Not think about the scar on my cheek.
I do it anyway. it has been about a week now.
I got too close to a tambourine. Much, much too close.
A high heeled, tight satin pant wearing ghoul jerked it toward me as it attempted to feast from shoulder. My roommate had to give me 27 stitches.
Damn,Raspberry Beret Zombies. If I ever see you again, I will set the edges of your ruffled shirts on fire before I consider using a weapon to end your miserable undead life.

Raspberry Beret - Prince by abelflexes

Raspberry Beret - Prince by abelflexes