by Miranda Foix
flash fiction written from a prompt; zombies have taken over the US!
|This work started with a pretty long prompt. The goal was to complete the story.
Zombies. I fuckin hate zombies. Thousands of em, too. I dunno why I ever volunteered to come back to this damn city. New York, the city that never sleeps, and the reason for that is goddam zombies don't need sleep. and there were 1 million zombies in this city at last estimate. Though how they knew that was beyond me, I doubt the brain-munchers are going to line up for a census, and they don't show up on thermal scans, on account of they are the same temperature as the air around them. Goddam zombies.
We came in looking to raid for supplies. One hundred twenty men, and me, Stacey Loggins, a guide and penultimate zombie hunter. Unfortunately even 120 men fully armed don't stand much of a chance when they are surrounded by the hordes here. We didn't last twelve hours, and now I was guiding the last dozen men out of the ruins of north Americas once greatest city. She was a dirty old girl these days and no one and nothing lived here anymore.they say even the roaches left this city for the zombies. Goddam zombies. When Kenny tapped me on the shoulder, I almost shot him. Creepy little bastard, always wore that orange parka wherever he went, it was surprising he lasted this long, really.
"Hey Stacey, how far to this safe house you told us about? You've been here before, right?"
"Yeah, I've been here before, but that was two years ago, Ken. THe safe hose might not be safe anymore. We'll get out of here just fine, but it's slow going." I was full of shit. He knew it, I knew it, and even the zombies knew it. Damn zombies.
We walked on, and crossed a few streets, cut through buildings, and into a small square, on the far side was the safehouse, and it looked secure. Little did I know.
Little did I know there was a veritable shitstorm waiting for us just inside the building. We'd made it across the street -- almost near enough to ring the fucking bell -- when it all went south. That was when Kenny darted out from behind me, making a break for the not-so-safehouse. He hadn't seen the flutter of movement through the first floor window.
"Kenny! Don't--" I screamed, but my cry was cut short as a zombie dove through the window and tackled Kenny as he ran. Poor fool didn't even see it coming. I opened up on the zombie with my semi-automatic. The blasts blew the thing's head into chunky kibbles, but not before he'd taken a great big bite outta Kenny's throat. It'd killed him. "You bastard!"
The remaining eleven men stared at me, their guns held at the ready, fingers on the triggers. A groan came up from the other side of the broken window, an unholy call for brains. There were more inside, and now they were hungry.
The body in the orange parka began to twitch.
We were just beginning our quick retreat when the rest of the undead sons of bitches burst through the door. They tore outta that safehouse and poured into the street, trampling Kenny and the other zombie in the process. There were at least two dozen of them; probably more. It's not exactly like I could get an accurate count while running for my life. Though I did count the ones that dropped as I occasionally turned and opened fire into the horde. Some of the men did the same. Blood and gore sprayed all over the street as we ran. I knew we had to get something between us and these fuckin' zombies, or we were all going to be zombie chow.
To hell with this, I thought to myself. I didn't become the penultimate zombie hunter by running from a bunch of maggot-filled flesh bags. I stopped dead in my tracks and dove behind a parked car. I popped up an instant later, gun blazing white-hot rounds into the charging masses. The men kept running, but I didn't even care. In fact, I wanted them to. The zombies kept right on chasing the eleven men and paid no attention to the one woman who suddenly dove out of sight. I just mowed down as many of them as I could as they ran by. As more and more undead creeps fell to my unrelenting barrage, I knew with more and more certainty that I was going to get out of this mess alive. These mindless, rotting, shit-stains didn't stand a chance.
When their charge finally ended, the men were out of sight and the entire street was stained with blood and entrails. I stepped out from behind the car and surveyed the horrific scene. Yup... all in a day's work. I took off down the street, hoping at least one of the poor fools would still be alive.
I didn't see the zombie in the orange parka coming up behind me. The last of my bullets tore its head off, but not before it got a piece of my arm in its drooling maw. I hate zombies.
That was five... no, six, minutes ago. Maybe more. So now here I am, in the city that never sleeps, waiting.
What am I waiting for?
I don't really remember. But I sure am hungry.