Ortane took one last drag on his cigarette, dropped it to the ground and crushed it beneath the heel of his boot. At the far end of the ruined city street, four grotesque undead were pulling apart a now motionless body. As he watched, Ortane thought back on his life over the last few years.
He had been a respected constitutional lawyer by day, now he was a fearsome Zombie hunter by night, his intensity and zealotry fueled by the destruction of his country by his fellow countrymen.
In the beginning he had watched the mindless hordes tear down his country, its laws, institution and freedoms in disbelief, unable to comprehend that something this evil could happen in his own country. Only a few had stood against the initial assault, others had quietly slipped into the night or fled for safer lands. Now with the resistance grown, people were fighting back and Ortane had joined them on the front line, determined to make up for his inaction in the past.
He reached into the pocket of his long black coat, and pulled clear a road flare. Twisting the cap he ignited it and threw it to his side, letting the glow bath him in red. The four zombies looked up from their grisly meal at the sputtering of the flame and with several groans, began to lurch toward Ortane.
As they approached he smoothly loaded a flare gun, brought his arm up and fired. The flare roared away from him, slamming into the lead zombie’s right eye. With fire spurting from the now destroyed eye socket it fell to the ground, motionless. The second zombie stopped to look at the flame spurting skull and with a sigh as it released the air from its lungs fell to the ground next to the first.
Ortane stepped over the two bodies, pulling his blade from the second zombie’s skull. He stepped under the outreached arms of the third, smoothly sliding the blade up through the jaw and into the brain and with a quick side step dodged the body as it fell to the ground.
As Ortane turned the final zombie flailed out and knocked the blade from his hand, sending it skittering across the cracked and broken pavement. With a curse, Ortane reached into his coat and pulled clear a snub nosed shotgun, leveled it to the zombie’s forehead and pulled the trigger. With a roar that echoed around the street the powerful handgun took off the top half of its head clean off, and with a fine spray of ichor the zombie fell to the ground, joining the other three in a clumsy pile.
Ears ringing, Ortane quickly reloaded both the shotgun and the flare gun, grabbed his blade and set off down a side street as the moans of every zombie within ear shot began to converge on the sound of the shotguns discharge. Smiling, Ortane crouched down alongside a burnt out car and waited for the coming crowd of undead.