Killing the Dead *Discontinued*

Chapter Seven: Two Hours of Hell

Authors Note: I got REALLY descriptive with this chapter, so proud of myself *wipes away tear* but there IS some mild gory stuff in here, so if you get grossed out really easily, then skip this chapter.

There IS however, a pretty epic fight scene in this chapter, so read on!

I look around the vast space that is the Z arena. We're in an old football stadium, which city, I have no idea. The springy green turf that one carpeted the area is now only a few patches of scraggly brown material, almost buried by the tall weeds that grow out of the soil. Where padded seats used to sit there are a few pieces of rotted, discoloured fabric hanging off the rusted, crumbling metal frames. The only thing that looks relatively new in here are the buildings and holes that are placed haphazardly around the stadium, probably to be used as cover from the Z's.

I try looking for any means of escape, but find none. The passages that lead out from the stadium are blocked by bricks and other -unidentifiable- materials that looktoo strong to crumble easily. The open roof is out of the question, there's no visible way to climb up there, and even if we were fortunate enough to make it to the top, the only way down is to jump, which would probably result in our deaths. There's obviously no escape routes in the ground either, so that leaves me with the question...how the hell do we get out of here?

"Little zombie hunters, we will be releasing the Z's in a short time, there will be about 25 of them coming at you in twenty minutes intervals. There will be six waves which is about half the number of Z's you've killed, 150. Although we respect the Z's a few will have to die before they kill you, we believe it is only right for them to extract the revenge. If by the 1% chance that you do manage to defeat the Z's, then we will provide you with the necessary items for survival until you find our hidden exit. However, if your searches turn out to be futile, then after two weeks, we will cut all the supplies and leave you to die. As for the rules, find the exit, or stay here forever."

The voice abruptly cuts out and Robbie and I are left in silence. The little speech has given me something to ponder. There is a way out, but knowing the Immortui, it will be cleverly hidden and almost impossible to find. As for the Z's...150...that's excessive. Robbie and I might be able to hold off the first couple rounds, but at close combat, we'll tire fast, and by the last few rounds, our chance of surviving will rapidly decrease into the single digits. We're also sporting the wounds the Immortui dealt us, which will slow us down greatly -me the most- which will be a great disadvantage since Z's seem to perform better when they smell blood...not good news for us.

"You take the right, I'll take the left?" Robbie asks.

I shake my head, "We need all the skill we can get, you're better with your right hand, take that side, I can fight with both hands, I'll take the left."

He nods as we hear a whirring noise at the far end of the stadium, "Nice knowing ya."

"Feelings mutual." I say, crouching down as the first wave of twenty-five Z's emerge from the floor, "Bring it on."

The platform carrying the Z's grates to a stop and almost instantly, the Z's lurch off it, attracted to the smell of fresh blood. Robbie and I unsheathe our knives and roll our shoulders, getting rid of the rigidity that has entered our bones. I wipe my brain of any information, instead focusing on the oncoming Z's. We're going to get out of here and continue on our way to San Francisco. Alive. I didn't get shot just so I can get ripped apart by bloodthirsty Z's, in an overgrown, filthy old football stadium, held captive by a bunch of crazies. No way, no how.

The Z's shuffle towards us, arms -or in some cases, festering stumps encrusted in black blood with rotted pieces of flesh hanging off- extended. Already, I can smell the strong aroma of decay that always comes with the Z's, but in my years as a zombie hunter, I've learned to shut that out.