The zombie game

chapter 20

THWOKK!!

The sound of a blade hitting wood filled the air. Joe and Ken had a couple of piles of firewood sitting beside them, waiting to be delivered to Dave. Joe raised his ax and slammed down on a piece of wood, splitting it directly in half like a thin tree truck being split like a bolt of lightning.

“Bring Dave a pile,” Joe ordered. Ken grabbed a bundle of wood and walked it back toward the front door, before going into the building and giving it to Dave.

“Why thank you,” Dave said, hands crossing. Ken tried to muster a smile before walking back out into the intense heat.

“How are you doing?” asked Ken.

Joe replied, “Hot as hell.” Joe had sweat soaking through his hair and collecting under his armpits. The salty liquid trickled down the side of his face. The grip on his ax and was slowly slipping away.

“Here lemme try some,” said Ken.

“Alright,” said Joe. He handed the ax to Ken and watched as Ken beat the wood up, creating another pile of wood. Joe brought it to Dave and was immediately back outside.

“What the hell does he need all this wood anyway?” demanded Ken.

“Probably for something for us to do while he just sits on his thrown.”

“This is ridiculous,” said Ken.

“I know, but it beats sitting in a cell all day.”

“I'd prefer that.” Joe chuckled.

“We should get back to work,” he said.

“Yea,” said Joe. They chopped another pile of wood. He sat down on a stump of a tree that had been cut down, waiting to cool down, which didn't seem like it would happen. Buckets of sweat were profusely pouring down the right side of his face, his hair completely soaked as if he had stepped out of the shower. Ken sat down beside Joe.

“Are you feel alright?” Ken asked. Joe nodded. In truth, he wasn't. He felt as if his insides were slowly but surely being fried because of the heat—he also felt lightheaded and everything seemingly spun around in his head. He turned his head up and saw a couple of zombies slowly traipsing forward, being blocked out by the massive cement walls of the warehouse. Joe stood up, swung his ax over his head, and buried it in the wood, splitting it in half. They needed to get this done though. They just needed too.

*******

Lewis was sitting on the floor of his room feeling hungry and strained. His skin had grown a translucent pale, and his eyes were becoming bloodshot. He tried to get up, but he only stumbled forward. His stomach was feeling uneasy—a sharp pain coursing through it, burning through his stomach. Lewis hadn't been used to this—he didn't know where his life was going, he didn't know anything about that, but he did know that he was going to die; whether he was going to be killed by these evil men or he was going to die in this dirty, nasty cell. He heard a large clattering sound of keys and then the door swung open. A figure stood in the doorway. Carrying what? A gun? Lewis looked up at the figure and nearly vomited.

“Get the hell up and come with me,” ordered the soldier. It took Lewis a few moments to hear what the man was trying to say. Then he understood.

“N—no,” Lewis stuttered, “I n—n—need help...”

“Get your ass up,” demanded the soldier a little more forcefully.

“I need to get help,” said Lewis more clearly.

“I don't care.” The guard grabbed Lewis by the arm and started to drag him away.

“No...get me help or just let me die,” pleaded Lewis.

“You really want to die?” asked the guard, smiling. He pulled his gun from his holster and pointed it at his head. “Is this what you really want?”

Lewis nodded. “Yes.” The cold metal of the barrel of the gun pressed against Lewis's head. The trigger was pulled and his head exploded in a flash of blood and brain. A splatter of blood speckled the wall. The headless body of Lewis slumped to the ground. The guard put his gun in his holster and slowly walked away from the body.

*****

“What the hell was that?” Dave asked the guard a few minutes later.

“He wanted to die...he begged me to kill him,” stuttered the guard.

“Why did you listen to him? He is our prisoner,” said Dave.

“He was really suffering...he wasn't gonna last long anyway,” muttered the guard, his head looking on the floor.

“You still shouldn't have done it...I needed him. I need all of them. That's why I haven't killed em yet—I needed them and look what the hell you did?!” screamed Dave in a fit of rage. His fist arced across the sky and slammed into the guard's face. Bone crunched under Dave's fist, blood exploding from the man's face. He fell to the ground, holding his nose. Dave kicked his feet into the man's side and he grunted. Dave grabbed his pistol and helped the man up.

“How does this make you feel,” said Dave coldly. He put the barrel of his gun into the gut of the man.

“No—please—I can make it up...”

“No!” Dave shouted. His dug the gun into the man's belly and pulled the trigger, causing blood and guts to spill out over the floor. The body slumped to the ground, blood and gore spreading from the ragged hole in his stomach. “Heath,” ordered Dave, “grab the body and throw it out back to the zombies.”

“Sure,” said Heath, one of the guards. He dragged the body across the floor and out back, leaving a trail of dark blood smearing the floor. Dave looked pleased with himself.

“One less man I have to deal with,” he said to himself.