To Die Like Men
Two boys sit in the basement of a rickety house. The windows are boarded up, blocking out all light.
The teenager in the plaid shirt, with the wild black hair and goatee, had a flashlight. He sat on a milk crate, and was reloading the shotgun thaat was on his lap.
The other is shorter, wearing a baseball cap. He was rummaging through a box. "We have...a can of beans, one can of tomato soup, some...prunes? Bleh. And thats it. Oh, and beets. Who the hell eats beets?"
Jeremy, the one in plaid, sighed. "Alex, we're completely fucked."
Alex looked up. "Completely and utterly my friend." He stood up. "Me more than you. You have a gun." Alex looked around the dingy basement. An old pool table, some two-by-fours, various other junk.
Jeremy scooped up a camping thermos. "Here, use this."
Alex stopped searching and scowled. "I'm fighting zombies, not going to fucking K.O.A. campground.
"A dart board, a bunch of shitty books," Alex was muttering off a list of the junk he found. There was a shattering of glass. "Oops. Fucking tea-cups."
Jeremy loaded the food into a backpack.
This wasn't their house. When the zombie-apocalypse-shit storm hit, they'd bolted. Ran. After deciding that they were screwed, they held up in this basement.
Jeremy had found the shotgun upstairs, and laid claim to it and all the shells. Alex had sworn a lot when he saw Jeremy's treasure.
Now, he was in awe at what he'd found. A hatchet. Alex declared that it was his ancestors tomahawk. "Apache Chief! EE NAY CHA!"
"You're crazy bastard," Jeremy told him.
"Pretty much yeah." He sat down. "Do we have a plan?"
"We gonna Black Ops it?"
Jeremy snapped his fingers. "Yes! First rule of Nazi Zombies?"
"No. Never back yourself into a corner."
"Oh, right." Alex looked around. "We're kind of in a corner."
"Yeah, completely fucked."
"I got that vibe when everyone turned into a flesh eating freak."
Jeremy hoisted the backpack onto his shoulders. "Lets go." His shot gun was in hand.
"But my leg hurts."
He ignored him and climbed the stairs. Alex slowly followed.
Out onto the street. Decrepid, shambling forms ambled about. One had it's jaw hanging off. A woman shambled about, missing an arm.
Dozend milled around as the two popped out of the house.
Jeremy drew a bead on a zombie with his shotgun.
"No, no, no, bad Jeremy," Alex scolded. "It'll attract attention to us."
"So it'll...fuck it, shoot."
Jeremy took aim, and fired. The face of one zombie was shredded apart.
The zombies groaned, and looked around, finding the two boys.
Alex started backing up, eyes wide. "This is the part where I get the fuck out of here."
The zombies began their shuffling advance.
Jump over a trashcan, veer around a burnt out car. Shoot a zombie in the way, run. and run some more.
It became a blur to them. A blur of blood and gunshots. They stopped, panting, in the towns pavillion. Jeremy had killed all of the zombies around them, and seemed really pleased with himself. He reloaded the shotgun.
Alex was pissed. He didn't get to kill a single zombie with his hatchet. "Jeremy! You crazy bastard! I want to kill one!"
"Sorry. I'm just too good."
Alex continued fuming until he saw an old lady, her stomache ripped open and oozing, walked toward them.
"Yes!" Alex fumbled and fropped his weapon, then-,"
Jeremy killed the zombie.
"Goddammit!" Alex threw the hatchet away.
Jeremy was laughing.
They walked away from the zombie slaughter.
"I'm getting a gun," Alex said.
"Okay. I'm still getting more kills."
"I. Hate. You."
They were immune. When the virus or whatever hit, they were immune.
Their families had evacuated. they stayed behind. Just for the hell of it. This was more fun than videogames.
"Let's go to that one sports store," Alex said.
"Because I am getting a fucking gun!"
As they stood talking, a group of the undead surrounded them. Alex scrambled around for his hatchet.
Jeremy discovered he had no ammo. "Uh, we're completely fucked."