The Final Choice

Old Hut

Harold sat with his back wedged against the wooden door, feet pressed into the ground in front of him, pushing his full weight back, holding the door against the constant assault from the other side. He looked around the room to see Macy suddenly knocked back from the window she had been trying to block with a large plank of wood. Hoping she could hear his shout over the near deafening moans and roars of the surrounding horde he pulled his revolver clear and slid it across the ground to her.

Knocking into her hand she scrabbled for the pistol, aimed and pulled the trigger, sending a dark skinned zombie flying back into the night. Almost immediately two more appeared at the window, desperately pulling at the opening, and trying to drag themselves in. Another survivor, David pushed back from the door he was trying to hold shut, swung his shotgun up and fired a heavy slug into the head that had forced its way around the door frame. Lashing out he kicked the now lifeless head back and closed the door, sliding the dead bolt in place.

With a smash of splinters Harold was flung forward as something heavy slammed into the door with a deafening crash. Immediately Harold jumped to his feet and sprang back toward the door, only to meet it nose first as it swung inwards and two heavy set zombies spilled into the room.

Stunned, with blood pouring from his crushed nose Harold crawled toward Macy’s feet as she began to unload the pistol wildly into the doorway, killing the two zombies with two perfectly placed shots along with two more rounds out through into the night air and into the tightly packed throng of zombies surrounding the small hut.

She shouldered the door shut and braced herself against it, turning to look back into the room and hold the door in place. As his vision began to clear, Harold picked himself up, only to be struck again in the face as David’s shotgun was flung across the room with David quickly following locked in a hand to hand struggle with another zombie that had forced its way into the building.

Harold again staggered to his feet, only to find several zombies pushing their way over the now prone, but violently convulsing David as his life blood poured to the ground. Harold looked over at Macy, who wild eyed looked back to him. Tears falling from her eyes she whispered to him, her voice strangely floating clear over the background noise of the walking dead “I’m sorry”. With that she placed the pistol to her temple and pulled the trigger.

Harold watched in shock as blood sprayed back against the door and her lifeless body fell to the floor. Looking up he ducked under the swing of an approaching zombie, dropped to one knee and scooped up the shotgun. Pumping a cartridge into the chamber he leveled the barrel to his attacker’s skull and pulled the trigger. The boom set his ears ringing as blood, bone and hair shot across the room.

More zombies flooded into the room, their arms outstretched and pallid skin hanging loosely from their flesh. Harold pumped the shotgun one final time, reversed the gun to his mouth and pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked.

Wild eyed and desperate Harold again pumped the shotgun, aimed it to his mouth and pulled the trigger, again it clicked.

Harold’s screams echoed through the night air for a few agonizing minutes, until finally, he was silenced. If anyone had been listening, they would have heard a new voice added to the zombie horde as it milled around the deserted building. They stayed there for days, until finally one of the zombies spotted something in the distance and with a lurch, they set off in search of fresh prey.


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