“There’s really something wrong with you, Theo,” Alex grumbles as he gets some distance between him and the horde.
“No, I got tested, remember?” We all deal with high-stress situations differently. Mine just happens to be with humour; the darker, the better. It’s something I picked up during my days as a paramedic and while it can look cold and callous, it helps me from completely losing my shit.
Like I really want to right now because while Rhys and Alex have got some distance between them and the horde, I haven’t. The fuckers just keep coming.
“Theo, stop daydreaming about getting your dick sucked and get out of there!” Rhys shouts from somewhere behind me. I can hear the strain in his voice, the fear. He knows as well as I do if I don’t make a play soon, I’m toast.
I’ll be no more. Ceased to be. Expired and gone to meet my maker. Bereft of life. I’ll have kicked the bucket. Shuffled off my mortal coil. I’ll be an ex-person…
Okay, I should stop quotingMonty Pythonand figure out how to get out of this shit. But it’s impossible to see an escape route when there’s nothing but walking corpses and cars. No matter how many zombies I take out, another takes its place. If I survive this, I’m sleeping for a week. Rhys’s bitch of an ex-wife can fucking wait.
Then it dawns on me. If I can’t fight my way around the cars, then I’ll go up and over.
I turn and scramble onto the car I’m pressed against. Hands claw at my clothes and limbs, trying to pull me to gaping jaws waiting to take a bite. Fabric tears and dirty nails rip into my flesh, but I clamber onto the roof of the car. I allow myself a moment to catch my breath and look around.
Rhys and Alex are about fifty metres down the road, having got enough distance from the horde that they’re able to flat-out run. Zombies are still trailing them, but they’re no longer in immediate danger, especially with Harlow snapping and snarling at any that come close. Further down is Ollie, still on the back of Bean, looking like a fuckingValkyrie, with her bow drawn and arrows flying to end any zombie who gets close.
And then there’s me. Still in the middle of the horde with zombies clawing their way onto the car with me.
I run and leap onto another car, barely avoiding a hand aiming to grab my ankle as I land, hard. Shards of pain slice through my legs and feet, making me grunt, but I don’t stop. I launch myself onto another car and then the next one, and while I’m gaining some distance from the horde, it’s not fast enough.
My foot tangles on a chain connecting two cars together, causing me to slam hard onto the bonnet of a car. I groan as pain ricochets across my arms and chest, but I shake it off to untangle my foot from the chain. My foot gets loose just in time to dodge a zombie flying at me, maw open and ready to bite.
I hear Rhys curse. “Alex, Ollie, stay the fuck away from us and head toward the embankment. Don’t stop until you reach the top,” he orders before changing directions and charging toward me.
Now it’s my turn to curse because the stubborn bastard is going to get himself killed trying to save my sorry ass.
As soon as he’s within reach of the horde, he jumps up onto a car, grabs his rifle, and fires. Until this point, we’ve all agreed not to use our guns. Mostly to save ammunition, since that shit is rare as fuck. But also because guns are loud as hell and can attract not only zombies, but other less desirable people. Since we’re already in the middle of a horde, there’s no point worrying about attracting attention.
I slide my firearm from its holster and do the same as Rhys, firing shots at as many zombies as I can. But all too soon, the gun clicks, the magempty. Only a dozen zombies lie dead on the ground and there are at least several dozen more clambering their way toward me.
Rhys is in the same predicament, having attracted his own fan club of zombies. At least there’s less on me now.
“This is a shit way to die,” I growl out as I kick and stab at any zombie that comes close. Even when faced with my imminent death, I have to make a joke about it. Maybe there is something wrong with me.
“Agreed,” Rhys says grimly as he does the same, his own rifle strapped to his hip, empty and useless.
“Well, it was nice knowing you, brother. Sorry I broke your Playstation Two controller while playing COD.” I pause to shove my knife into a zombie’s eye socket. “And your TV.”
“That was you? I thought Harriet did that.”
I snort and shake my head. “Nope. She agreed to take the fall for a tenner.”
Rhys lets out a bark of laughter. “Of course she did. She always had a crush on you when we were kids. Until she realised what a bellend you were and used you as a role model instead.”
It’s my turn to laugh. “Thank God she found Matt when she did.” The girl was in the late stages of her wild teenager years, especially after Rhys left for the military, but Matt was there to calm her down. Or at least make it so that she didn’t get arrested.
“Yeah…” He trails off, the mood turning sombre as he turns his thoughts to his younger sister and her family.
I don’t have any blood relatives left; the only family I have now is out here with me, so my thoughts turn to Alex. Poor guy is like me, with us being his only family, and he’s about to lose us both. Guilt gnaws at myinsides as I try my best to fight my way out of this mess. But it’s quickly becoming a losing battle.
Especially when a zombie grabs a hold of my leg and yanks me toward them.
I topple down, my ass hitting the metal car roof with a loud thud as pain radiates up my spine. I cry out, both in shock and agony, as I’m dragged toward the horde of zombies by my ankle. Maws gape open at me, yellowed teeth and blackened gums waiting to bite down and inject me with the venom-like virus before tearing the flesh from my bones.
One zombie clamps their jaws around my boot and chews, thick saliva dribbling down the leather and its chin while another zeroes in on my calf. I kick out and try to pull away, but my fingers find no purchase on the metal car that’s slick with gore.
This is it. This is how I die.
