Only Half Dead

Hector the Halligan Bar (Pilot)

"One hundred and three!" I grunted as I fractured yet another skull with my trusty halligan bar, Hector. He became lodged in the corpse's head so I pulled it towards me and kicked its dead-dead body back, sending it into my other pursuers and tripping them up like ten-zombie bowling.

Zombies were, in a word, idiots. I mean, yes, they were dead but can't they at least try to have the common sense to pick their feet up when they walk instead of shuffling about, tripping over everything in their path? 

Another gurgle behind me and I whipped around, Hector cutting through the skull like a cold butter-knife through chocolate; bits of rotting brain, dura and other soggy bits spurting out, along with fragments of bones. It flopped onto the floor and I wiped the gloopy brain matter off my face, "one hundred and four." 

Another three zombies figured out how to stand and proceeded to lumber towards me slowly, "ah, hello guys," I waited for them to make their occasional groans and growls before continuing my small-talk, "have a nice trip? Mel, you're looking tanned after that holiday to Dirtsville!" Hector smashed into the side of the corpse's skull, her brain squelching as it oozed out and slopped onto the ground; surprisingly, that was a first and I added that memory to the 'amusing' section. 

"Ah, Jared, how is that workout plan coming along?" I asked the rather plump zombie, although its stomach had a jagged, horizontal gash in it so its entrails were spilling out. "You look good, healthy I mean." I swung, missing its brain by an inch; his jaw dislocating and hanging off to the side. "Oops, let's try that again, shall we?" Hector finally killed the brain and the flabby zombie slumped to the ground. I turned to the final one; a small one, probably a former child, "Harriet, I don't like you one bit," and the pike pierced her brain; I couldn't be bothered to start gossiping with that one. "One hundred and five, one hundred and six, one hundred and seven." I counted as I picked up my rucksack and made my way into the pharmacy to scrounge for supplies.

It was probably devoid of anything for pain or simple illness, but there were vitamins; people always overlooked the vitamins. I climbed through the broken panel in the door, too lazy to open it, and went into the derelict building. As expected, it had been pillaged and the shelves were mostly bare so I continued to walk around, picking up the remaining boxes of multivitamins; rejoicing when I saw the orange tube of vitamin C; they dissolved in water and made it taste like orangeade so I always kept an eye out for those. 

There was, thankfully, a tube of toothpaste beneath one of the shelves and a packet of toothbrushes on the opposite shelf. My teeth weren't all that bad given I tookdental hygiene almost as serious as I took survival in the zombie apocalypse.The others in my former group didn't and two died of septicaemia – the otherswent out the good ol' fashioned way of being devoured by zombies. Those guys were idiots. One could argue more imbecilic than the reanimated corpsesthemselves – giving away our location because they left the stereo on in theircar; that thing blasting out heavy metal rock into the ears of thoseflesh-eaters. I escaped, leaving them to deal with the horde. Nobody survivedand I couldn't care less – I didn't care about anyone anymore; everyone from mypast was dead.

I found more items and put them in my bag before going back outside and strolling down the weathered, weed-ridden pavement, swinging Hector about to attempt to remove some of the liquefied zombie innards. A few stringy dribbles rocketed away, but zombieblood was rather viscous and it stuck to everything. It was always annoying to scrub off and itstained clothes like nobody's business.

Cars, for me, were long abandoned because of how bloody unreliable they were; always breaking down or losing fuel at the worst of times – always when a zombie or two were nearby – and I was no mechanic. So I settled for a bike: just a simple mountain bike with a basket attached with cable ties for convenience.   

I dropped Hector in the basket and set off up the middle of the road, making a note of the zombie head watching me pass. Of all of the scenarios for the end of the world, zombie apocalypse wasn't all bad and I found it quite amusing that humans would inevitably eat themselves to death. Global warming seemed like the way we were headed out, but nope; cannibalism was the preferred path. The sickness didn't affect animals at all so, once we were gone, they could finally reclaim their stolen land.

Suddenly, I heard pathetic yapping echoing around the street, the source coming from one of the alleyways I'd just cycled past so I stopped and listened, listening for any of the tell-tale signs signalling zombies were nearby. Once I was satisfied, I leaned my bike up on a wall and hurried over to the alley, Hector in one hand and hunting knife in the other. I went around the corner, ready to attack anything that came into my circle, and my eyes rested on a small dog jumping to catch a pigeon perched on the wire between the two buildings. The dog was a stupid creature and I had to admire the pigeon for taunting the emaciated mutt. I didn't know or care about its breed, or care that it was skin and bones, but it would suffice.

I whistled and the dog's head snapped towards me, its tail wagging and its tongue dangling out the side of its mouth as it panted heavily. Crouching down, I put Hector on the ground beside me and moved the knife to my right hand and it moved forward, sniffing around me before lifting its front paws onto my leg. "Alright, doggy," I forced myself to coo as I scratched it behind the ear, waiting for it to calm down and stop moving around so much. After a moment, it seemed to calm down and I made sure it was secure on my knees as I moved the knife towards its throat and pushed, the mutt yelping momentarily before it inevitably cut off as blood dribbled down my hands and soon its body became limp as I laid it on the floor.

That was way too easy and I honestly found it sad that it still trusted humans enough to drop its guard around someone like me. I was definitely one sandwich short of a picnic, but it helped me survive. Sometimes insane was the most reliable strategy. Once the bleeding stopped, I carried it back to my bike and put its carcass into my handy little basket before riding home.

I pushed my bike around my 'intricate' maze of sharp objects protruding from the ground that circulated my house. Well, it wasn't my house per se, but I was squatting there until the owners returned. Although it was unlikely given that they would since they were lying in a ditch with Hector-shaped holes in their heads. They were zombies when I arrived.

The trap was fool proof; zombies did not havethe metal capacity to avoid tripping over the first wave of obstacles; theywould just fall and either impale themselves and I would just go out to finishthe job, or their brains would become the meat on a kebab.

Once satisfied with my efforts, I went inside and slipped my boots off before going into the kitchen to put away my supplies, plus add to my tally of corpses killed each month. As I'd been gone for three days and stumbled upon a small horde, my full-death count was one hundred and seven – much higher than my usual. The overall each month was, in fact, dropping because with humans in safe-zones or dead, their food supply was dropping and therefore resulting in faster decay, less being turned. I was slowly carving my way through the zombie population in the valley my house sat in.

I took my black cargo jacket off and checked the makeshift padding inside for any breaches; the padding was mainly skate pads and thick fabrics sewn into the inside of the coat. I checked the resto of the padding in my outdoor clothes before getting changed into a pair of joggers, a t-shirt and a hoodie.

Next, I cleaned the blood off hector and made sure my collection of gardening tools were in easy access areas – just in case. Although, I highly doubted that zombies were coordinated enough to navigate around the narrow, winding path to my front door, and I hadn't seen another human in four months, even then he was over ten miles away. That being said:

I took no chances

After everything was taken care of – generator checked, freshwater supply put into bottles, the doors and windows checked, the dog prepared and preserved and finally, eaten a tin of beans – I sat on my sofa and took a book from my large stash. That was what most of my days consisted of; supply runs defence checks, surveying my water supply, and finally having the night to sit down and chill with a book and Hector leaning on the sofa beside me.

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Author's note:

So, that was the pilot for Only Half Dead. A little clunky but I'm not a professional writer. Any spelling/grammar/punctuation errors, please let me know. 

Hope you enjoyed it.