You may recall my demise at the hands of a herd of zombies, a few posts back. What follows is the second half of the zombie survival game–my life as a zombie general.
The cold hand descended upon me, and I died. There was no time to mourn my passing; I had become part of the growing contamination. Post-mortem, I wandered in search of purpose and flesh. I scanned the encompassing darkness. I found myself at the abandoned playground that I had encountered earlier and stumbled across a fellow zombie, Logan.
A barn owl passed by like a ghost overhead as we worked out the details of our scheme. United by our envy and hatred of the living, we sprinted away into the night. Bit by bit, we accrued a zombie military of thirty-five undead soldiers.
We paused for rest on a series of picnic tables and sent out our swiftest scouts in three different directions, seeking intel on the movements of the humans. The final scout returned, out of breath. He bent over and braced himself against the blond pine table as he gasped out his news.
“There are humans in the baseball field. They’ve remained untouched for the duration of the outbreak. It sounded like a fairly large congregation, but we cannot reach them easily.”
Surrounded by gleaming twelve foot tall fences on all sides, there were only two narrow entrances on the west and east sides of the field. With just four people guarding each entrance equipped with standard eight-shot pistols and bags of ammunition, the diamond was virtually impenetrable. Or so they thought. Diego (name changed) and I had a plan.
The entire troop ran silently toward the baseball field; death approached. The chain-link defenses were burnished by age and the elements, shimmering alluringly in the moonlight. A cricket chirped soothingly to its mate in the well-clipped grass as we peered into the field mutely.
We girded our loins and sprang into action without verbal cues which could alert the enemy. Twenty-five zombies divided into two groups, each headed for an entrance. After two minutes, we heard the impassioned shouts of the humans, aware of the attacking hordes at the eastern and western gates. The clatter of weapons being fired and reloaded blended strangely with the breathy snarls of the zombies as bullets found their marks. Our volunteers had known it was a suicide mission, but they would not remain disabled for long.
Diego and I gathered our chosen team and raced toward the northern fence. This elite squadron had been hand-picked for their agility and speed. Everything hinged on their ability to scale the fence quickly and soundlessly. If our group failed, the plan would fail entirely. I grasped the cool metal and reached the apex quickly.
With careful precision, I dismounted and landed softly in the short grass of the baseball field. As noiselessly as possible, the team nimbly scaled the fence and neatly dropped inside the diamond. The fence chimed delicately as ten zombies leapt onto it and descended in less than fifteen seconds. We took off swiftly toward the sounds of struggle in the heart of the field.
With their backs to the twelve foot fences and their focus on the slavering zombies trying to invade from the gates, the humans never suspected their demise was racing toward them from behind. We killed them silently; by the time they noticed what was happening, it was too late.
I tucked into a roll and dodged a bullet before grabbing a defender by the leg, forcing him to greet death. He gave a cry of frustration as he died, throwing his gun down in a fit of defiance. Distracted by my victory, I was hit by a stray bullet and forced to bide my time.
It didn’t matter; our triumph was inevitable. When the attention of the humans had turned to their exposed backs, it gave the zombies at the gates their chance to gain entrance into the baseball field. Slowly, we turned the colony. Overcome with elation, the roar of our victory echoed across the field.
Our faction of thirty-five had become an army of one hundred. As we waited for the new meat to turn and our troops to reactivate, Logan and I reestablished control. We realized that the end of the game was at hand. We loped toward the helipad, a large white tarp with a crimson “H”. Already dozens of zombies were surrounding the tarp, waiting for the flesh sure to come. The raspy groans of the zombies unnerved the few approaching survivors, our undead battle cry.
Not a single human survived that night.