A Well Planned Harvest

“Come on! Over here! Come on!!” Screaming and waving his arms at the advancing horde of walking undead Mark smiled. He looked out across the fenced in field as the last few zombies walked into the enclosure, packed beneath their feet was row upon row of dynamite, a simple flick of the switch and the sky would rain body parts. He looked back as Trig plugged the firing cord into the detonator.

“Now” He screamed, and ducked down as Trig twisted the firing mechanism, sending a bolt of current down the stretched out wire toward the field. In the blink of an eye…

In the blink of an eye…

Mark looked up at the still unexploded field, at the first zombie, now only feet away from the splitter. The splitter that was not connected to the firing cord.

He jumped up and started to sprint toward the field.

Nathan, who had until now, been ducked down out of harms way, stood up, rifle in hand and started firing at the advancing horde, trying to buy Mark precious seconds. His shots were accurate, with so many targets he could not fail to hit something, yet they still advanced, walking over the still bodies of those in the front cut down by the rifle.

Trig, her eyes wide, with the firing mechanism clenched in her hands, watched as Mark dashed for his life and offered up a small prayer to anyone who might have been listening.

Lungs and legs burning Mark threw himself at the splitter, grabbing the firing cord up and ramming it into the circuit. He scrambled to his feet, lunging forward so as to sprint back, a hand grabbed his sleeve, twisting him around, the motion tripping him to the ground. He looked up as the bloated face of a long undead woman bared down on him.

As his screams echoed back to the two watchers, Nathan grabbed the mechanism from Trigs unmoving hands and flicked the switch.

After the roar had faded from his ears, and the blood had stopped falling from the sky, Nathan walked to the edge of the now torn apart field. Marks body lay still, half burnt from the explosion, but relatively unharmed.

“I’m sorry brother” he said, as he aimed the rifle at the now twitching eyes and pulled the trigger.


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