"Thats the thing about zombies- they are nothing if not relentless. Hell, you can hack them to bits, and the pieces will still come crawling after you like a bad joke."
People seemed to have the fucked up idea that giving in, allowing themselves to be caught, would be less painful than running forever. They soon learned the hard way that it was so much worse to become zombie food. I’d seen it all in the five years since the zombies first made their existence known. I’d seen people losing the will to live, literally, and allowing themselves to be ripped apart by howling, bloodstained corpses. Hell, I’d been running with my sister when she’d just stopped and stood still. I’d tried to pull her forward, keep her moving, but its hard to drag someone who doesn’t want to be dragged. I’d screamed at her, tried to persuade her to get up, even cried, but I’d had to admit defeat when they’d started chewing on her ankles. I’d had to run, her screams echoing in my head, along with the cracking and chewing and fleshy ripping sounds. Like an idiot, I’d looked back, just to make sure there was no hope… There wasn’t. Her chest was ripped open, her ribs splintered and shockingly white, and they were just beginning to tear through what was inside. My nerve broke, and I ran without stopping, the way I had been running up until now- for my life.
I looked up and down the narrow alley I had dived into, letting the cold of the brick wall radiate into my tired overused muscles. It seemed to be clear, so I slid down to land in a heap. I almost couldn’t remember a time when this wasn’t normal. Run, stop. Run, stop. Run, stop. I was so tired of running. I heard a bang and a scrape from somewhere behind me. “Fuck it!” I shouted in useless frustration. I had to run, once again, because once one had found me, they all would. That’s the thing about zombies- they are nothing if not relentless. Hell, you can hack them into bits and the pieces will still come crawling after you like a bad joke.
The thing- the only thing- that gave any of us a fighting chance of survival was their speed, or lack of it. The rotting undead were slow, their movements clumsy as their bodies decayed around them. The more they decomposed, the easier they were to evade. It was the fresh ones you had to watch out for.
I made a run for it, every cell I had screaming for oxygen. I skidded around a corner. And smashed right into a hideously soft body. An involuntary sob crawled from my throat, as I recognised what was left of my sister. Speak of the devil… Her chest was laid bare, insides on the outside, ribs startlingly white against the darkness of decay the months had left on her skin. Her dusty eyes sparked hot as she registered my warm tasty presence. She shambled forwards with her arms outstretched in a sick parody of a hug we might have shared, a smile on her face where a cheek had been torn off, a distorted sound leaving her throat. To me, it sounded like laughter. “Ha ha, you’re dead.” I said, and it sounded perfectly rational. So rational in fact, that I began to giggle, exhaustion and fear lending my voice an unnerving jittery cadence that cut the laughter off just as suddenly as it had begun. I mentally shook myself. Sane. I was sane. And I was alive, although that could change any second.
I looked around wildly. Trapped! My sister in front, anonymous zombie behind, clattering amongst the bins. Fucking hell. My gaze fell upon a pitchfork, leaning conveniently discarded against the wall. I picked it up. She snarled, shuffling closer with an almost surprising speed. I hesitated, a second too long, and her elbow snapped shut on my elbow. I bellowed, the most masculine sound I’d ever made, and swung the heavy fork into her body. She went sprawling to the ground, and with pain in my heart, I slammed the tool into her face. She let out an unholy shriek, and convulsed on the ground, shattered face oozing black onto the ground.
Sickened, I wrenched the pitchfork away. As she jerked in a grisly imitation of death, I turned it under the streetlamp, examining it for blood. Only a little. I smiled, an almost forgotten expression. I may have been going down, but by god, I was going down swinging. I heard another crash from the bins, and began to walk. I didn’t look back.