Ronin of the Zombies

Another work of prose for the prompts. Related to nothing…

Prompt 6 – Mayhem

My legs were tired, arms sore, eyes red, but I kept going. At the time, I didn’t realize I was crying. Looking around at the place I once called home, I noticed right then, how different it was. How different I became. My black hair was no longer short, my biceps were much stronger, and boy could I do damage with a shovel. As great as that all sounds, I was still crying because my family was hit with it, my crush was hit with it, even my best friend got it. What was it? They were calling it the New Plague. No one knows how started but it made you sick, like real sick, and then about three days after death, the person came back. Yeah, it’s a zombie problem.

I looked around the streets. Seemed all quiet. Staying alert, I walked straight forward, holding up my shovel. My only line of defense. It’s pretty easy to kill a zombie. You just have to behead it. My eyes darted around checking every angle they could. In all of those horror movies and books they said you should stay in a group. No, that wasn’t a good idea at all. You form relationships, bonds, and then once bitten, they get sick…that’s when you realize, you can’t kill them. I may only be seventeen, but I want to live through this.

“Gruwahh!”

What was that? I turned to meet the scream, and saw it. A tall male zombie was coming toward me. And not slowly, either. Lifting my shovel, I ran to meet him. As I brought it down, he managed to dodge! Did I mention these things were fast for the living dead? And strong. Very strong. He opened his mouth to reveal yellowed teeth. With another moaning noise, he darted toward me. I stepped back fast, his gross mouth just missing me. The bad thing about a lone zombie attack is that when they whine like that, it attracts other zombies to join in.

From the corner of my eye I saw three more come out from an alleyway. I was almost afraid to turn and see how many could be coming from behind. Hiding my fear, I gripped my shovel tighter. When I was a little boy, I used to call myself Ronin the Brave. Of course, I was eight and my adversary was a stuffed dragon. Ronin the Zombie Killer was less confident of a positive win. With a quick turn, I lifted the shovel and sliced into the neck of a zombie coming at me from the side. Blood spurted onto my shirt as I got halfway through his neck. One more good one and he’d be dead. I whacked him again, his head falling to the ground.

Bringing the shovel up, I aimed to his the other zombie in the chest. It wouldn’t kill him, but it’d keep him down for a bit. More blood coated me as the zombie fell with a gash in his lower right chest. A girl zombie that was behind him screeched and lunged toward me. Using all my strength I held the blade of the shovel up and rammed it into her neck and ran forward.

Into a wall my weapon went with her head resting on it while her body fell to the pavement. I let if fall and turned to face the first zombie that attacked me, the one with the gash in it’s chest, and another four that came from behind. That was more than I was used to. I readied my shovel, only to feel a strong hand push me by the shoulder into the brick wall. Another zombie. With it’s mouth open, it held me back ready to bite hard. I dropped the shovel and with my free hand held it back by it’s neck.

Inch by inch, I pulled my shoulder from the zombie’s hand. Steadily backing away, I grabbed the shovel. A retreat was needed. I turned on my heel and took off down the alleyway. The zombies made some weird roaring noise, then I heard them following me. My best friend Sam died fighting…I wish I was that brave. But then it happened. A crunch of bones, excruciating pain, warm blood running down my skin. I was bit. I stopped. Dropping my weapon, my hand went straight to my shoulder. Another one advanced onto my leg, but I moved fast, his teeth grazing my calf. Picking up the my only way of defense, I smacked the zombie that bit me. Then I swung it to hit the zombie that almost bit me between the eyes. More blood got on me. I needed to find somewhere safe. Where was it safe?

The sewer! With another swing, I hit the zombie again, then ran off. Looking on the ground, I tried to find a manhole. To the left one was in the middle of the road. Running over, I picked it up. Much heavier with an injured shoulder than I thought it would be. Looking back, I noticed the zombies regained their composure and was coming for me. Without a second thought, I dropped the shovel in, then hopped in myself putting the cover over the whole. If you had to remember one thing about the zombies it was that they didn’t like tight places, and the the sewer was one.

Sitting in the dark, I held my bloody shoulder unsure of what was to happen next.

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About Ivie

I'm Ivie. An aspiring writer. A dreamer. A lover. A young woman. Just trying to find my way in the world.
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