Zombie Hour (sequel to zombie game)

chapter 22

22

Joe and Tom whipped around and ran from where they had been standing back toward the house they were staying in. Joe was the first at the door. He threw it open and clambered up the stairs where he presumed his friends were. He slammed into the door that was closed at the foot of the stairs, startling Carl and Linda.

“We need to get the hell out of here now!” shouted Joe.

“How come?” asked Linda, frightened.

“We saw hundreds—maybe thousands of zombies a couple of streets ahead of us. If they find our smell, and find out we are here, than we are as good as dead,” said Joe, frantically.

“Come on then,” said Linda. She was up and out of her seat. She stopped for a second and suppressed a scream, holding her arm.

“It was starting to hurt again it...” started Carl. Tom entered the room then.

“We need to leave! Come on!” he screamed at the top of his lungs. He threw a few clothes in a bag haphazardly and zipped it up. Joe grabbed a few things of food, and packed his bag. He grabbed a few weapons from the table, weapons that weren't his. After a few minutes they were outside. The smell of death hit them like a fist. They should've been more cautious before. The smell of death and decay can mean nothing good.

Joe was the leader. He turned the corner as he exited the house, only to see a zombie lumbering forward, nearly tripping over itself, moaning, blood staining its mouth. Tom jumped from where he was standing and raced toward the zombie, drawing his sword, and stabbing the thing in the head, through the brain, killing it, hot blood spraying from the wound. A couple of more zombies must've spotted Tom because a couple more were lumbering toward him. He jumped and charged into the two zombies, stabbing one in the back of the head, while decapitating the other. Joe pulled out his pistol, but again Tom stopped him, not wanting to attract anymore attention. A few more moans drifted up from from the horizon. Tom whipped around and stabbed three more zombies that were lumbering forward. Joe ran into another group of zombies, slamming them into the wall, crunching their ribs and crushing their skulls. Tom stabbed forward, inserting the knife right under the chin, blood pouring down his hand as the zombie convulsed, and as the blade sheered through the brain, the zombie stopped moving, falling to the ground in a pool of blood—

And then, in the distance, they saw the whole army of zombies advancing forward, lumbering, moaning, arms outstretched, and Joe knew, just knew, that now was the time to use the gun since all of the zombies were already converging on them. Joe took out his machine gun and pulled the trigger, spraying the zombies with bullets. A few bullets ripped through three zombies, blood flying as the zombies were killed. Tom charged into a group of zombies and stabbed forward, cutting one in the chest, through the heart, and then rearing the bloodstained blade up, slicing the zombie's head clean off, blood splashing everywhere. Carl took out his pistol and pulled the trigger. A couple of bullets whirled through the air, causing a zombie's head to explode in a mixture of bone and brain. Tom slashed through the zombies, dancing around, as brilliant as Linda with a sword, tossing some of the creatures to the right, to the left, and stabbing through the masses causing blood to fly and splatter his entire body as he worked through them. He cut another couple of the zombies down. It seemed that his strength in fighting would never leave him.

Joe was ducking behind a car, the machine gun rested on the hood of it, spraying the zombies with bullets, killing them, the bullets ripping and tearing through the zombies. Linda was sitting on the ground right in front of the doorway, looking upon the battle, unsure on whether or not she should try to fight. Tom swung the sword, taking another head off, stabbing another in the throat, causing more and more bloodshed. He whirled around and killed a couple of more who tried to get behind him. But it seemed that there was no end to the zombies. Joe took out a few more, emptying the clip of his machine gun. He fished around for another clip, but couldn't find one. Joe thew the empty, useless machine gun to the ground and drew a pistol he had in his waistband, putting it up against the hood of the car, and firing, taking down even more zombies. The ground was a white piece of paper being expertly painted in blood.

Joe continued to fired, being wary of Tom who was dancing through the zombie ranks, slashing through them. Blood painted his blade a crimson red. Carl was down on the ground, shooting. He had an assault rifle in both hands.

The sounds of gunfire reverberated through the air, probably attracting even more zombies that were miles from this city.

Joe dug around in his pocket and took out a grenade he had stolen from a couple of soldiers back at that village a few months ago.

“Tom!! Get the hell outta there now!” screamed Joe. Tom whipped around, looking confused, trying to see what Joe had said. “Get out! It's gonna blow.” Tom still didn't here it. Fuck it, Joe thought, I'll just throw the grenade. He pulled the pin and hurled it through the air. It arced through the air in a parabola, clattering to the ground, and it was then that Tom got it. He jumped to the right as the grenade exploded, a fireball ripping through a mass of zombies. Limbs were sent flying every which way.

And yet, zombies kept advancing.

Joe fired more of his pistol, taking out three zombies, watching them with a sort of visceral glee as they were ripped apart. He shot one zombie in the stomach, intestines oozing out. Tom finished the job, ramming the blade so far into the creatures eye socket, that the blade sheered through the brain and crushed the skull.

Joe shot three more zombies in the head.

But they kept coming.

Shit.

Tom plowed through the zombies with a renewed vigor, cutting them up, blood and brains and even some bone flying. Tom slammed his foot into a zombie, breaking its ribs, and he grabbed it on both sides of its head and twisted at a 180 degree angle, snapping the neck. The zombie went limp. Carl fired and fired his pistol, but he was unable to stop the advancing zombies.

And then the unthinkable happened—

Another clatter of gunfire that wasn't coming from Joe, Carl, Linda or Tom. Joe whipped around and saw a group of twenty people armed to the teeth, led by George, the man who had blown up the CDC.