Let’s Write Something With Zombies – Chapter 1B

The machete balanced in her right hand like an extension of her arm. Couple flicks of the wrist and she fell into fight position, allowing a half-smile as these drooling undead freaks stumbled around to face her. She didn’t wait for them to shuffle too close. Dividing their ranks she ran through the centre of the cluster, machete spinning right first, bisecting the first creeper’s cranium horizontal at the eyes. He dropped as she spun and swung left, catching the second creeper in the back of the head at an angle.

She had to yank the blade free of his skull, but the strike was deep enough to hit gray matter. He slumped to his knees and tumbled forward.

The last two had been caught by surprise when she met their group head-on. She had their full attention as she once again attacked, striking the one closest to her horizontally across the head, the feel of metal slicing that softening bone barely registering in her mind. The sound was like a watermelon hitting the ground. Thunk. She didn’t completely bisect this one’s skull, but the arc of the machete blade cut deep enough in his head that the crevasse it left immediately gushed a slightly yellow, waxy ooze that had once been a brain. He dropped and the fourth one was no wiser for having seen its posse go down.

This had been a woman at one time. Her dress was filthy and falling off one shoulder. Her hair was matted and her chin likely permanently stained brown-red from the blood that had dried there however long ago. Like the others, her eyes had a milky blue-grey cast to them as though blind.

No pity for this one, either. A quick swipe of her right arm and the bitch’s head came off, hitting the ground with almost the same sound as her friends’ heads had made when struck with the machete. To be sure the fourth creeper was down one more brutal machete strike was delivered, splitting the skull through like a cord of wood.

The brain matter and gore was first wiped off against a tree trunk, then the grass, then she pulled up on the female creeper’s skirt, wiping the steel dry before returning it to its sheath.

Wide awake now, the slayer made her way down  a gentle, moss-covered slope to the dirt road she’d been travelling on. No surprise, her bike was still parked as she’d left it. She wrenched the saddlebags open to ensure nothing had been digging around in them while she slept, but everything was accounted for.

There were search parties that would leave the compound to get the basic supplies from abandoned towns and cities; anything they couldn’t make themselves. Material for clothing, glass and crockery. Although when she’d left on this excursion Tink had been very close to having a fully-functioning, wood-burning kiln for pottery. Hell, she was likely done it by now.

But what brought our zombie slayer out of the compound this last week was not clothing, bandages, penicillin or Midol. On her solitary trips she was out looking for the luxury items that they couldn’t make themselves. And her saddlebags proved that.

One saddlebag was nearly filled with cartons of Marlboro cigarettes. Tucked in around the edges were bottles of moisturizer for every body part. The other saddlebag held Patron, Smirnoff vodka, spiced rums and Grand Marnier as well as other tiny luxuries; mascara, bubble gum, lipstick, and batteries. A buffet of batteries of every size.

Every shopping trip took her further and further from the compound. Soon she’d have to just take a truck so she could stock up and make fewer outings, but that didn’t really suit her either. She needed these moments alone and her own secret missions. It was the freest she felt.

She swung one leg over her Harley-Davidson FLSTC Heritage Softail Classic, smiling as the engine rumbled to life. Yeah, it was a noisy choice but she was more bad news to creepers than her noisemaker was to her, and she loved this bike. Tink had put a lot of hard work into making sure it was always in peak form in exchange for a couple of cartons of Marlboros every two weeks or so.

Kicking up a cloud of dust, her rear wheel spinning out to the slide as she took off, she only had to avoid a solitary creeper on the road as the engine carried her back towards the compound, which she still couldn’t quite think of as home.

THE “COMPOUND” is a Gated Community. Next installment coming soon!


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