Decisions, Decisions.

The figures moved across the field toward Tom with purpose. Tears streaming from his eyes he looked down at his horribly twisted leg and where his foot disappeared into the hole. He could feel the broken bones grinding against each other as he attempted to drag himself up and with a cry, gritted his teeth and pulled his leg free.

He rolled onto his back and looked back at the five pursuers, now half way across the field, their sullen blank eyes fixed on him. He pulled the revolver from his pocket and opened the chamber. Five rounds stared back at him. He smiled, clicked the chamber back in place, took aim and shot the closest clean between the eyes. The second fell as the bullet went through its eye and the third snapped backward and over as the bullet sheared through the upper right portion of its skull.

Tom took careful aim at the fourth and squeezed the trigger. The gunshot echoed over the field and the zombie jerked back as the bullet hit its shoulder, but immediately started forward again.

Tom looked at the pistol and then at the two advancing horrors and knew then what he had to do.

He raised the gun up and fired.

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One Response to Decisions, Decisions.

  1. Matt says:

    I like that guy. I think we could have been friends. He seemed solid, prepared, a survivor. He was just dealt a bad hand, and didn’t make it out. It could happen to anyone, no matter how well trained or skilled or prepared. You might walk around a corner and get zombie on your face, or you might walk over a sewer drain and lose several toes, or you might walk down the sidewalk and be pummeled by a zombie falling from above.

    Just a day of bad luck, like any other day, except you die.

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