Impact (15 page)

That was my cue to start delivering as many blows as I possibly could.

If only I had a gun...

I had to avoid teeth at all costs, and the only way to do that was to eliminate the threat. I had to smash the zombies’ heads before they ever got the chance to do any damage. It took me back to my childhood days, when I’d enjoyed games of Whac-A-Mole, except I didn’t have a mallet this time. I would have to use my heels and crack one frail human skull after another. I took a deep breath and tried to mentally prepare myself for the battle before me, focusing on what I needed to do to survive. One of the most difficult things to overcome was the stench; it smelled like I was thrown into an unrefrigerated meat locker full of rotting beef.

Off to the left, something caught my eyes. I peered closer and saw it: a shovel, left behind by the careless gravediggers. I stared down at one of the abominations, stuck in eternal misery. It curled its lips into a menacing snarl as I walked closer. Its veiny, mottled complexion was speckled with tiny, gaping holes, and bite marks lined its forehead. Its jaws snapped, and its eyes bulged.

It was time to put the thing out of its misery and mine, so I started my skull-cracking campaign with a brutal swing. The skull was penetrated on impact, and infected brain matter splattered everywhere, black liquid oozing out. The rotting face deteriorated into a slimy mess from the force of the blow. I stomped on the next decomposing head, and it crunched like an egg. I detached myself from the battlefield as zombies moaned and grunted. My adrenaline surged, and I kept right on swinging. My heels kept ripping through brains, bone, and gunk as black, rotting teeth flew in every direction. My shovel whipped through the zombie’s rotting flesh easier than I thought, and the decomposed zombies were really brittle, pathetic things—just another lucky break for me.

“He’s cheating!” one of Kirk’s men yelled. “He’s using a shovel, and we said no weapons.”

Kirk smiled, looking at me like a football coach with a first-round draft pick. “I admire this kid. He’s using his head, and I like that. We just told him we weren’t giving him a weapon. But we
never
said he couldn’t use a weapon he found inside the perimeters.”

“He’s destroyin’ all our hard work,” one of the men whined.

“Yeah. I don’t feel like digging the dead ones out and planting a new batch for the next person,” his buddy complained.

“Just shut up before I put you all into that minefield!” Kirk said. “Besides, which one of you idiots left the shovel lying around anyway?”

Terrified by the threat, the goons didn’t say another word.

I cleared out a good section of the planted undead, but that still wasn’t enough. Snapping zombie heads were a threat, because they could deliver a nasty bite if I accidently got too close. I knew I couldn’t destroy all of them, as that would have been an impossible feat with the little time I had, but I had gotten rid of enough of them to make it a relatively fair fight.

I kept going, pounding even harder. My boot delivered another blow to the temple of another corpse who decided to reach for me, and its decaying brain exploded like an over-ripe pumpkin. I then took a few steps back, maneuvering around another buried zombie. My shovel connected with its head, crushing it into a bloody pulp.

Suddenly, a hand swiped across my head. I glanced up and spotted a rotter hanging from a tree branch right above me, reaching out for me in a crazed fury of hunger. The thing looked deteriorated and was missing chunks of flesh from its grotesque face. I swung the shovel and cut its head right off, causing its guts to pour out like candy from a piñata. I wiped the clumps and blood splatter off my face, wishing it was only Tootsie Rolls and lollipops.

I swung again, inflicting the most catastrophic and lethal damage I could on the undead beneath my feet. I pierced, smashed, slashed, and stomped. I was in warrior mode, fighting for my life, and nothing could stop me.

A zombie with sagging skin and a skull-like face reached one arm out.

Then, in one powerful strike, I swung and decapitated the thing, sending its severed head rolling across the ground like a lopsided watermelon to splat in a nearby snow bank. 

Hunger and death peered at me. When arms reached for me, I stepped on them, snapping elbows and ramming heads into the ground, into a pile of bloody slush. There were so many of them, and I knew I had to work faster, before Kirk’s men unleashed the hungry herd on me.

Suddenly, the barn doors creaked open. I knew I needed to clear a patch of the field faster, because I couldn’t fight the moving ones if there were buried ones coming at me from below. It almost seemed as everything blurred around me. I only thought about survival, squashing skull after skull with swings from my shovel and vicious foot stomps, sending gore and bone shrapnel flying. Black goo and bits of brain matter dripped from my shovel, and Kirk and his group cheered me on like I was a contestant on some sort of sick reality show. I ignored their sick banter and continued on my skull-splitting mission like a madman.

More skulls collapsed under the heel of my boot. It took multiple blows to get the job done in some cases, but my first stomp weakened the skull so the next crunched it without any trouble. Oily, black blood dripped off my boots.

“The doors have been opened,” Kirk said. “Hell’s been unleashed. And the demons are steadily making their way over to you.”

The first moving corpse came within striking distance. I sidestepped, then stuck it with the shovel. Zombie brains caved under the impact, and the body crumbled to the ground. I scoped out the scene before me and glanced over my shoulder to make sure Kirk wasn’t pulling some kind of fast one; for all I knew, the sick freak would unleash more from behind. I had to keep my eye out for any possible tricks, and it was important to know where all my opponents were coming from. I knew I couldn’t defend from multiple angles, so I needed to take out the first line of zombies.

Four oncoming moaners stumbled toward me. I was sorely outnumbered, but I was also smarter and faster and stronger than any of the decaying enemies coming at me. I decided to take out the front line and create a wall of dead, rotting corpses. I had no idea how many were coming, because they’d been kept in a large barn, but I had to do my best to fight them off.

Another undead attacker approached, eyeing me like it wanted to rip my face off. The one next to it just swiveled its eyes left and right. Long strands of flesh hung off its green face. Its hair was wet and matted, and the naked creature had a gaping hole in its stomach, as if it had been shot at point blank. It was mindless, ravenous, and determined to get its grips on me. I needed to be the predator and not the prey.

Unleashing all my anger at Kirk, the zombies, and the whole destroyed world, I went primal, and pure killer instinct to survive took over. Something inside me just exploded. I attacked first, striking hard and fast with lightning speed, clobbering the zombie with a shovel. It went down, twisting into the most unnatural position. I swung the shovel over my head and smashed its skull.

A zombie with festering flesh and a torn eye socket stared me down. I bashed its head until it stopped moving. Another one came at me in an instant. Fueled by anger, I bashed the living heck out of it, spilling zombified guts everywhere. I split another head from its shoulders.

I kicked the next one hard in the chest, crunching its ribs into sawdust and sending it flying backward. A corpse with bushy blonde hair snapped its jaws way too close to my neck, and another one grabbed my arm. I smashed its face with the shovel and kicked out the other zombie’s legs from underneath him, then attacked one of the foul things with blunt-force trauma to the head, till its milky eyes fluttered shut. I took a step back and lost my step, tripping over one of the dead-heads I’d already killed.

The zombie took full advantage of my stumbling and leaned over me, holding out its hands as if it wanted a hug. Its lips had been bitten off, its left shoulder chewed on, exposing the fleshy tissue underneath. My foot struck like a snake, and I kicked its chest. I didn’t even have time to scramble up before another rotter was on top of me. It was a thick, burly guy, probably a bodybuilder in his last life. I smashed his face as hard as I could, but he still wouldn’t go down. I tried a second time, to no avail. It was like fighting the Incredible Hulk, and he was almost as green. 

An inhuman growl from my left sent a chill down my spine. I turned and gasped in horror as I spotted snapping jaws from a buried zombie I’d missed. It was too close for comfort, with its white gaze fixed on me. It was just waiting for me to roll a little more to the left so it could bite into my cheek. It was buried up to its neck, but that didn’t stop it from moaning for a taste of my flesh. I hated the sound of those snapping jaws so close to my own head.

Gripping my shovel tightly in my hands, I smacked the zombie on top of me once again, with every ounce of power I could muster. The third time was a charm, and the towering thing fell backward. Unfortunately, two more had already gathered behind it, but I scrambled to my feet just in the nick of time.

One had dead, black skin hanging from its face and bloodstained teeth. The other looked like some kind of burn victim. Its stomach was ripped open, and its intestines dragged along on the ground behind it. After one circular sweep of my shovel, the first one was down. Another growled and came at me from the left. It was a real beauty, with sunken cheeks, a crushed nose, and matted hair. I shoved it back and went after the burned zombie. I brought the shovel down hard, shattering its skull, sending blood, brains, and charred skin everywhere. 

The zombie I knocked down came back for Round Two. I aimed for the head, knowing that if I could get it to the ground, I’d have complete control. Gasping for breath, I swung. Another crushing bang sent it back to Hell. I smashed another face coming from the right, then cracked another undead skull reaching for me. More gory spray ensued, and I felt a cold touch on my shoulder. I swung around and saw skin bunched up around its nose, revealing a skeleton-like face and black teeth. I swung again, crunching more bones and cracking yet another spine. Heads exploded in a splatter fest of gore.

It almost seemed like a blur. All I know is that I kept fighting. Flesh split. Blood sprayed. Bones shattered. And heads crunched.

I slammed another zombie, one wearing a t-shirt and shorts. It had thick, black bangs, but the rest of its face was pale. Its mouth shattered with my bone-crunching blow, but it still kept staggering toward me. The thing was huge, as muscular as a linebacker, and it looked like it wanted to rip my head off. I swung back and buried the shovel blade deep in its head. It swayed to the left and fell on top of one of the buried zombies, which started biting into its decrepit leg like a dog on a drumstick.

A bald corpse with a mangled arm and no lips grunted. I kicked out its knees, but yet another corpse with long black hair reached out its rotting arms. I took another deep breath and swung until both were no longer a threat.

When the next zombie came, I swung. Its body fell backward and its rotting head rolled by my feet. Clacking teeth made me jump back. With another swing, I demolished the severed head.

So many were coming that I wondered if it would ever end. It certainly wasn’t a fair fight, and I was somewhat surprised that I was still standing after such an onslaught, particularly since I was only armed with a tool meant for yard work. I kicked the legs out from under one of them, then quickly attacked another. Like a machine, I just kept fighting and attacking, defending my ground.

The zombies were relentless and kept charging at me. I was winded, but my adrenaline surged. I assumed a fighting stance as eight more stumbled toward me. I knew a moving target would make it harder for them, especially since they had very slow reflexes, so I kept repositioning myself. The gang on the sidelines cheered me on one minute and shouted for my demise the next, but I tuned them out. My plan worked perfectly, because the zombies kept banging into each other, tripping in their effort to rip into my flesh. I refused to be overpowered and defeated, and I wasn’t about to be eaten either.

More of the living dead lumbered closer. I shattered a few more skulls, and more blood and brain matter splattered everywhere. I tried to take them down as fast as I could, but the second I took down one, another was there, waiting to replace it. It was hard to take down so many at once with no backup, no one to cover my back, but I had to fight.

Dead arms wrapped around me. The thought of something biting into me was my worst fear, so like a crazed animal, I kicked, punched, cursed, and twisted myself free. Blood splattered as I attacked again. I whipped my shovel blade toward its face, shattering its rotting nose, and more black ooze spilled out. I clobbered anything that moved, hissed, or growled, all the while being careful not to trip on the buried heads all over the place.

I was out of breath, but adrenaline kept me going. During a very short-lived break from combat, I started dragging bodies over to create a wall. It didn’t have to be high, just enough to slow them down. I took a quick second to gasp for air, and I noticed my plan was working very effectively. Some of the remaining zombies couldn’t get over the blockade, and they tripped clumsily, lacking the coordination to climb over it or the smarts to just go around. I started delivering a medley of blows with my shovel, as it was easier when they had to stay farther away from me.

Finally, I stood victorious, the last man standing in an insane game, a test administered by a crazy man. My clothes were smeared with blood and dead flesh, and it was difficult to catch my breath, but I was alive. I slowly turned and stared at Kirk as he clapped, and then I threw my bloody shovel down.

“Good job, Dean. I do believe you have what it takes to join us.”

Gasping for breath, I just stared at him in disbelief. He was on a whole other crazy level than Z. He was sick and twisted, too, but in a completely new way, because he was just delusional enough to think it was a privilege for me to be there, fighting for their entertainment.