ZOMBIES

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based solely on the thoughts in my own head. All characters are Copyright Cain Hortus All Right Reserved.



She truly was a sight on the streets that night. With a 9mm glock in her lefthand and a sawed-off shotgun in her right, she blasted through line after line of undead. An author of divine chaos, writing an essay of death with the shotgun punctuating every sentence of handgun shots. Mary, she called herself. Not too far from her, was another person, with another generic name, trying his best to match her progress. John was his name. At least, these were the names they'd given each other. Each one saw this 'end of days' as a new beginning, choosing to renounce all they had and were to start anew.


Start anew while killing zombies. Always a fun notion.


Oh, the zombies. I bet they require some sort of explanation. Well, too bad. No one has one. I can tell you, though, that the phenomena started on the southern coast before it moved north, taking over the entire eastern half of the country. Most experts are leaning away from the supernatural as an explanation, since the central nervous system of the zombies still is responsible for their ability to move. However, most zombies have severe brain damage so they lack the ability to speak and have very slow reflexes. We know they're not just crazy murderers because being shot anywhere but in the spine, neck, or head, will cause nothing to happen. They show no signs of feeling pain and can operate while bleeding profusely with no problem. The way they can lose a gallon or two of blood and not be stilled for even a second is what has everyone confused. Now. Back to our heroes.


John was holding his own well enough, though he lacked the finesse and grace of Mary. He had a sledge hammer. The zombies had easily smashed heads. You can add that together. He, like Mary, was trying to start a new life. But his old life was quite different. He was a construction worker. His wife left him after he fell into a depression over his place in life. He had a crap job that offered no chance for advancement, he didn't graduate college and he had a horrible relationship with his family. After she left him, he quit his job and took to the road, headed west from Massachusetts. And now, he's on the southwest corner of Union Square Park, diagonally across from Mary, slaying zombies. Though the situation does seem to be bad, you have to admit, it would take a man's mind off his lack of job and family.


Mary's old life was one of discipline and death. She was CIA BlackOps. An American assassin. She was in the middle east since 1999, killing terrorist after terrorist, averting several repeats of 9/11. However, she also saw the other side of the spectrum. So much time away from the homeland gave her the ability to see America in the foreign view. A land of greed and hypocrisy. A land of sacrilege, where religion is used as a tool to win popularity, rather than a guide for living a person's life. Along the way, along the years, she paved a bloody road through the anti-american movement. But during the bloodshed, she had an epiphany. What kind of civil government would set a killer like her loose? So she went back home, told her superiors she quit, killed them and went about drifting around America. Despite the downside of the government, the people of this country had and would always have a special place in her heart.


Right now, though, for her, the American people had places on her clothes and on the street and on the trees of Union Square park.
John was getting tired of imitating that bald comedian and decided to take a break with his sledge-o-matic hammer. Using it as a cane while he lit his cigarette, he looked around at the shambling corpses around him. He was scared, of course, but by this time, he was sure he could dodge any lunge by them. Slow reflexes meant that a simple sidestep and trip would send them flying and keep them out of your hair and off your flesh for a minute or so. John felt calm as he looked over to Mary. She was low on ammo. He could tell because she was beating up zombies with a small asian woman zombie. Not something one does when ammo is in high supply.


Mary's grip on her weapons legs was tight, bruising the skin while she swung her round and round. "We gotta go! I'm running dry here!" John began running toward her. The density of the zombie crowds was noticeably lighter as he got closer to Mary. She was getting more than he was. He's gonna have to cook tonight. Mary slammed the woman down on the ground and started running toward John, reloading her weapons with the homebound supply of ammo. Time to head home.


Author: If you read it all, review it. Or your brains will be eaten. By zzzzzz... sorry, I feel sick. And I suddenly hunger for the flesh of the living. Weird.