missing an eye and a huge hunk of the side of his head.
Is this really how I want to go out? I ask myself. Being eaten by a short Hispanic woman and a kid wearing flip flops and short shorts?
Then I’m karate kicking the lady in the gut. She tries to lean down and bite my leg. I grab her by the hair and bring my knee up into her face. It shatters her nose and blood sprays everywhere. She looks up at me, mouth grimacing, teeth showing like a rabid dog. Scarlet blood drips from her destroyed snout. She lunges again.
“Shit, you’re a fireplug, aint you?” I say, backing up a few steps as she comes forward again.
Now the little shit in his short shorts makes a grab for me. His hand claws at my bicep, wraps around it like a vice. “Shit!” I scream. He’s clawing at my wound and it hurts like hell. I swing him around and try and shake him loose as he lunges for my neck.
He almost gets me. His teeth are inches from my throat when I duck, pick him up like a WWE wrestler, and body slam him to the ground.
I stomp on his head three or four times.
With each little victory I attain, the zombies regroup. Now three others have noticed me and are coming at once, and I won’t be able to stop them. I retreat a few steps, thinking about running back to the house—except there’s nothing for me at the house.
I’ve been bitten and I’ve got this godforsaken plague. In a few hours, maybe a day or two if I’m lucky, I’ll turn.
Perhaps I should just lie down and let them get me. Pray they make it quick and I don’t get the intestines pulled out of me like the biker in Dawn of the Dead.
It’s a strange way to commit suicide, but I’m finding it kind of poetic at the moment. My arms drop to my sides. “Do your worst,” I whisper, closing my eyes as they come towards me.
And then I hear a whistling sound near my head. I open my eyes to see an arrow penetrating the skull of the zombie closest to me. It’s a clean headshot, and the thing falls backwards, lights out. Game over.
Now someone grabs me by the back of my shirt and pulls me away from my potential killers and towards the house. It’s Fergi. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
she says. “Have you lost your mind?” She keeps pulling me as the other zombies close in on us.
“Leave me alone,” I shout.
“I can’t help you if you fight me,” she says. “Come on. Get inside.”
Somehow, this act of kindness brings me back to what’s left of my senses. I realize that I don’t want to die this way, alone, with flesh-eating undead feasting on my bones.
Besides, if they truly eat me, I’d be just dead. A corpse.
The only way to continue on in some form is for me to still have my head and brain attached to my body. That old couple that the zombies dragged out of their car were picked clean. They won’t be coming back to life because there’s nothing left to come back. Same with Elisa, the girl torn apart in the supermarket.
I finally give in and go back inside the house with Fergi. “That was a good shot,”
I tell her, as we squeeze through the front door and slam it shut behind us.
Everyone’s staring at me. Verne is outraged. “What the hell is wrong with you, dude? Are you totally psycho or something?”
I shrug. “I just lost it for a minute.”
“That is soooo not okay,” he says. He’s wearing a holster across his chest with a handgun tucked into it, like a cop. “You put all of us in danger with that stunt. And you attracted those fucking zombies to the house. Now there’s more of them trying to get in here.”
“Sorry.”
Fergi looks me over. “Are you…are you hurt at all?”
“No,” I say, turning away from her so she can’t see my blood soaked sleeve. “I’m fine. Thanks for helping me out there.”
“Now we’re even,” she says.
“Um…hardly. The way I saved you was much more valiant. You still owe me.”
I walk towards the bathroom as everyone continues staring at me. Teddy follows close behind.
Is this really how I want to go out? I ask myself. Being eaten by a short Hispanic woman and a kid wearing flip flops and short shorts?
Then I’m karate kicking the lady in the gut. She tries to lean down and bite my leg. I grab her by the hair and bring my knee up into her face. It shatters her nose and blood sprays everywhere. She looks up at me, mouth grimacing, teeth showing like a rabid dog. Scarlet blood drips from her destroyed snout. She lunges again.
“Shit, you’re a fireplug, aint you?” I say, backing up a few steps as she comes forward again.
Now the little shit in his short shorts makes a grab for me. His hand claws at my bicep, wraps around it like a vice. “Shit!” I scream. He’s clawing at my wound and it hurts like hell. I swing him around and try and shake him loose as he lunges for my neck.
He almost gets me. His teeth are inches from my throat when I duck, pick him up like a WWE wrestler, and body slam him to the ground.
I stomp on his head three or four times.
With each little victory I attain, the zombies regroup. Now three others have noticed me and are coming at once, and I won’t be able to stop them. I retreat a few steps, thinking about running back to the house—except there’s nothing for me at the house.
I’ve been bitten and I’ve got this godforsaken plague. In a few hours, maybe a day or two if I’m lucky, I’ll turn.
Perhaps I should just lie down and let them get me. Pray they make it quick and I don’t get the intestines pulled out of me like the biker in Dawn of the Dead.
It’s a strange way to commit suicide, but I’m finding it kind of poetic at the moment. My arms drop to my sides. “Do your worst,” I whisper, closing my eyes as they come towards me.
And then I hear a whistling sound near my head. I open my eyes to see an arrow penetrating the skull of the zombie closest to me. It’s a clean headshot, and the thing falls backwards, lights out. Game over.
Now someone grabs me by the back of my shirt and pulls me away from my potential killers and towards the house. It’s Fergi. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
she says. “Have you lost your mind?” She keeps pulling me as the other zombies close in on us.
“Leave me alone,” I shout.
“I can’t help you if you fight me,” she says. “Come on. Get inside.”
Somehow, this act of kindness brings me back to what’s left of my senses. I realize that I don’t want to die this way, alone, with flesh-eating undead feasting on my bones.
Besides, if they truly eat me, I’d be just dead. A corpse.
The only way to continue on in some form is for me to still have my head and brain attached to my body. That old couple that the zombies dragged out of their car were picked clean. They won’t be coming back to life because there’s nothing left to come back. Same with Elisa, the girl torn apart in the supermarket.
I finally give in and go back inside the house with Fergi. “That was a good shot,”
I tell her, as we squeeze through the front door and slam it shut behind us.
Everyone’s staring at me. Verne is outraged. “What the hell is wrong with you, dude? Are you totally psycho or something?”
I shrug. “I just lost it for a minute.”
“That is soooo not okay,” he says. He’s wearing a holster across his chest with a handgun tucked into it, like a cop. “You put all of us in danger with that stunt. And you attracted those fucking zombies to the house. Now there’s more of them trying to get in here.”
“Sorry.”
Fergi looks me over. “Are you…are you hurt at all?”
“No,” I say, turning away from her so she can’t see my blood soaked sleeve. “I’m fine. Thanks for helping me out there.”
“Now we’re even,” she says.
“Um…hardly. The way I saved you was much more valiant. You still owe me.”
I walk towards the bathroom as everyone continues staring at me. Teddy follows close behind.
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