Croquet

Blood pouring from his wounds Marcus pulled himself along under the table. He had no idea where the rest of his group were and he no longer cared, all that mattered was getting out of this nightmare and his only path to the door lay with the shotgun he was dragging and the shells stuffed into his pocket. Pausing he grabbed a handful and quietly tried to push the first one through the dried blood caked onto the reloading gate.

As the first one slid home with a loud click the table over his head was violently shoved aside revealing the dull green, dappled white, near naked zombie he had seen earlier at the stairs. It stared down at him through lidless eyes and let out a low hiss as it began to reach out for his face. Marcus swung the shotgun and pulled the trigger. With a violent boom the shotgun tore a bloody hole through the zombies chest, spraying blood clear across the room and cutting the creatures spinal column in half.

Falling to the floor it began to pull itself toward Marcus with agonizing deliberation, dragging its now useless legs behind it. Marcus began to panic as the shotgun, fired in haste, had twisted his fingers with the recoil and caused all feeling to flee from them. He tried to reload the shotgun and kick the zombie away from him at the same time. It reached past his foot and grabbed the shotgun, pulling it from his grasp and flinging it back across the blood spattered room.

In full panic and weak with the loss of blood, Marcus called out for help, hoping that someone would hear him and desperately trying to stop the creatures fingers from digging through his thigh. At the same time he pulled the remaining shotgun shells from his pocket and jammed them into the creatures mouth as it tried to bite down on his hip. Several shells jammed in its jaws and Marcus watched in disbelief as the creature bit down and forced the shells through the roof of its mouth and its cheek.

As he lay fighting for his life he heard footsteps at the door, calling out he saw a figure burst through. The man, who Marcus did not recognize, hoisted a sledgehammer from his shoulder and swung the solid steel head in an arc, past his ankle, and before Marcus could shout out a warning, connected perfectly with the creatures skull. The boom was the last thing Marcus heard as several shotgun shells detonated, taking the creatures head clean off and killing Marcus with a perfectly placed slug through the eye.

The man called Ortane picked himself up from the floor and looked at the devastated room. The two bodies lay motionless and in the case of one, completely headless. Buckshot and slug rounds had blown through the room in every direction, splintering the table and destroying the end of the sledgehammer. Ortane reached down for the shotgun, picked up a couple of undetonated shells by his feet and strode off to look for other survivors, vowing to be more careful next time.

Stair Well to Hell

Ortane kicked the table against the door, slid the deadbolt across and started running for the stairs. As he reached the first steps, he heard the door buckling behind him as they broke their way through the flimsy door.

Bounding up the stairs three at a time, he pulled his shotgun clear from its holster and started to re-load. He turned at the top, picked up the can of gasoline they had brought with them and started to pour the contents onto the stairs.

“Jane, get the kid and head for attic, once you get there, go out of the window, jump down and get over to the barn, hopefully there’s some sort of vehicle still here.” He said, as he sluing the now loaded shotgun over his shoulder and pulled a pistol free from the recesses of his long jacket.

Fear in her eyes she pulled her child close “Where are you going?” she asked.

The first zombie, pallid grey flesh and dead eyes reached the bottom of the stairs, Ortane smoothly raised his pistol and fired one shot. As the zombie fell to the ground he turned, smiled and said “Im going to meet you at the barn”. Spinning on his heel he hurled the half empty can at the next zombie who had begun to climb the stairs. Knocked back it stumbled and disappeared in a cloud of flame as Ortane fired again. Instantly the stairwell became a burning inferno, thick black smoke billowing up, engulfing the one time lawyer from view.

Grabbing her son, Jane ran to the attic ladder, pushed the child up ahead of her, and began to climb.

Defending the constitution

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.