ZOMBIE RETAIL |
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ZOMBIE RETAIL
A second place contest entry by Johnny Gallagher
Blood is smeared generously across my face, my hands, my clothes..... It's almost as if I have bathed in it. Shutting my eyes does nothing in the way of making the visions of horror that dance before me go away. It only helps to replay the last few minutes in my tortured mind.
I'm looking at a sickening posse of death.... or rather "un-death"..... and trying hard not to lose the meager rations I had downed for lunch. ( Or was it dinner? I'm not sure. ) They shamble along like drunks exiting a bar, moaning and groaning in disgusting, guttural tones. Their appeareances are grisly at best, and the smell of them only seeks to enhance my revulsion. I know what they are, but no matter how many times I see them, I still can't believe the dead walk. I still can't believe zombies exist.
My heart pounds furiously in my chest as my head snaps to and fro, my eyes darting every which way and my mind scrambling for ideas. I'm in a well-known retail store, there has got to be more than a hundred solutions to my predicament ( focusing becomes a definite problem when a dozen or so of the undead come calling) and I needed at least one, fast.
A gnarled hand that is more bone than flesh reaches out for me, all too close for comfort, and that is enough to snap my senses back into gear. I jump back out of reach and catch a glimpse of a sign that seems to radiate light because of the words that garnish it's face. "Hardware".
I sprint down the aisle and come to an item that seems to scream "take me". I grab it, and hold it like a cherished toy, and heft it once. I never realized how good an axe can feel until this moment. A particularly gurgling moan assaults my ears from behind and I whirl to face it's utterer.
My body seems to act without my brain's approval, and my arms swing the axe upward, then bring them crashing down. The zombie's head gushes crimson fluid as the axe blade hacks deep into it's flesh and bone. The creature's eyes roll into the back of it's head, and it slumps to the floor in a twisted heap.
Two more come shambling into the aisle and raise their arms towards me, mouths hungry for my flesh. I obliterate their hunger with a few hefty swings of my new found friend. Their dark blood oozes across the floor as their bodies twitch for the last time.
I glance upwards across the aisles and my eyes gaze upon another glorious sign. "Sporting Goods". I charge with a yell (I have no idea why I let out a battlecry of sorts) and plow through a few more walking corpses. They fall under my shoulder- blocking with groans of what must be zombie frustration, and I rush past to reach my next destination.
The glass that encases the gun cabinets shatters easily beneath my axe blows, and my hands can already almost feel the smoothness of a shotgun. Zombie grunts and groans off in the short distance remind me of my need for haste and I grab the closest gun to me. My heart sinks as I notice the trigger gaurd that prevents one without the key from using it.
Quickly my eyes scan the nearby counter for a sign of hope. The zombies' noises are much closer now, and attack my hearing and sense of calm relentlessly. (Think, dammit, think. THERE!) My eyes fall upon a green, metal box conveniently adorned with writing that reads "guncase keys". I snatch the box and cry out unwillingly. There is a small padlock on the damn key box. I slam it down on the counter and smash the butt of my shotgun against the lock. Lucky for me it tumbles to the floor with a snap on the first try. I reach into the box for the keys that await me, and a gory hand clutches my wrist.
I scream as I jerk my hand away and swing my shotgun like a club at my current antagonist. The gun connects with the side of the wretched being's head and the monster falls to the floor. I hop the counter before the thing can get up, and bring the butt of my shotgun down unto it's head. Grisly fluids and bits of brain slosh out as the soft, dead flesh gives way, and I know this one will plague me no more. This says nothing for some of it's companions who are but a few feet away.
I turn my attention back to the keys in the box and snatch them out vigorously. My fingers fumble with the keys, fitting them one by one into the keyhole of the trigger gaurd. All the while, the undead are closing in on me.
Suddenly the lock opens, and it I let it fall away with a triumphant shout (more shouting. again I'm not sure why). I snatch a box of shells off of a nearby shelf (odd that the ammo is out in a place of easy access) and back away from my grotesque pursuers. My hands go to work loading the gun as my eyes take turns paying attention to the zombies, and paying attention to the task at hand. A few shells hit the ground as my fingers nervously fumble with them and roll away. I almost laugh (I must be mad to think of laughing at a time like this) as a zombie's foot comes in contact with a runaway shell and trips clumsily to the ground bringing a few of his pals along for the ride.
I finish loading my new weapon and brandish it with renewed vigor. I pump a round into the chamber and take aim at the nearest undead cranium. A loud bang, a flash of light, and a zombie head bursts like an over-ripe melon. Gore spatters my face and clothes as I continuosly pump lead into undead noggins and cadavers. I get as close as I can to them now, almost as if I revel in their slaughter. Those who see me as their next meal are now meeting their "re-death" at my hands. The loud bangs of the shotgun are like that of a hungry lion as it brings an end to each of my disgusting foes. Soon enough, this battle is over..... my breathing slows and my pounding heart quiets a little. Which brings me right back to where I am now.
I stare at the carnage that surrounds me for a minute more, then shake my head to regain a sense of urgency. I can't stand around waiting for more of these vile bastards to arrive. I've got to get to a place where I can get some help. Maybe some place where there are other survivors. Maybe some place where I can sleep a little. Hell, anyplace but here.
I traverse through the store throwing a few supplies into a duffel bag I snatch out of the luggage department, trying to contemplate my next move. I have to get some place where someone knows how to deal with the undead effectively. I have to get some place that's locked up as tight as Fort Knox. Then it hits me. A few miles out from here there's a military base that's sure to have enough firepower to hold back a whole sea of zombies! Surely there would be plenty of soldiers to keep the undead at bay there, right? With renewed hope I gather the things I need and prepare to reach my next goal. Who knows... maybe they'll let me use a flamethrower! I always wanted to try one of those...
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