Insomnia and Other Short Stories

A Good Day to Die

I wandered deep into the woods. The sound of wind sifting through the trees broke the silence around me. That, and the debris crunching underfoot.

Darkness had long since fallen, but I kept going. Winter was coming, and as the animals migrate, so, too, would my people need to move camp.

But moving required strength, which required food. We'd been in short supply of both since––

A crack. I froze, straining my ears to hear anything else. My hand tightened around my bow as I stood, tense and ready.

There. The sound of crackling leaves to my left.

I dropped to a crouch, using the weak light of the moon to guide me to a nearby bush. It was almost barren of leaves. But it'd work for a hiding place.

Adjusting my grip on my bow, I moved some branches with my free hand. Slow and careful.

The sound of sloppy, loud chewing reached my ears before I saw it. A zombie. Of course. This was just my luck.

Even better, the thing was bent over the corpse of a deer. Its entrails lay in the open as the zombie feasted, its long and elegant neck stretched so that its blank eyes met mine. The moon reflected off of their dark depths.

My lips pressed together, holding back a groan. I could have brought that deer back to my group. We needed the food badly. But now the deer was nothing more than poisoned meat.

No matter.

My foot slid backwards, my eyes focused on the zombie. No point in engaging it unless I had to. Especially since it was new, explaining the lack of stench, its flesh not yet––

A crack sounded underneath my foot.

The zombie looked up.

I cursed.

Putting away my bow, I pulled out my knife, charging toward the zombie. Snarls escaped its lips as it ran forward, reaching out to grab me.

I dived, rolling out of the way.

Moving with a speed only the newly dead attained, the zombie launched itself at me.

I drove myself forward, grabbing the zombie around its waist. The world became a blur of dark forest, bared teeth, and yellowing flesh.

We landed at the bottom of a hole. Immediately, I was aware of the dampness on my leg and the scent of wet earth.

No time to dwell. I could already hear the zombie stand up. Its snarls sounded angry.

I yanked the knife out of my leg with a scream. As the zombie ran at me, I spun around, hooking my legs around its ankle. It went down. Before it had time to react, my knife plunged into its eye.

The zombie spasmed, then twitched. I drove the knife deeper until it was sure to hit the brain. Black, congealed blood ran down its pale face.

With one last growl, the zombie went completely still.

I panted, my brown hair curtaining my face. For one, long moment, I didn't move. Instead, I studied the zombie's face.

It had once been a man, not much older than thirty. Its skin had been discoloured by death, eyes faded to grey, as all zombies' eyes did. There was a bite mark on its neck. The man had died like an amateur. It was amazing the rest of the body was intact.

I pushed myself away from the body, yanking my knife out at the same time. Adjusting myself into a sitting position, I took stock of the wound in my thigh.