[Longlisted!] -Ghosts of Galena- [#Wattys2018]

Ghosts

    Time stands still.

    Somewhere on the outskirts of my consciousness, there's an awareness of things that are happening, but on the inside of my mind, it's a mad scramble for any scrap of information that can turn the tides in my favor.

    Air rifle...

    Ree stumbles and falls, her trajectory given extra momentum by the foot that her assailant presses to her back. With one swift kick, he breaches the front line of the zombie horde, sending her sprawling into the swelling mass of undead. I try to keep track of her, craning my neck and straining my eyes, but The Leader is there with his skull-for-a-face visage.

    Bowie knife...

    "You look awful concerned," he says. "Kinda young isn't he?"

    There's a small swell of laughter from the circle of bodies surrounding me. They're laughing. Laughing at me. Laughing at Ree. Laughing at all of this. It's surreal and unbelievable.

It's insanity.

    Baseball bat...

    The bubble of space collapses and the Dead Ones close in. Pretty soon they won't even have to kick me into the crowd, because I'll just be absorbed, assimilated into the whole and recycled into one of them. Even now, the shuffling mass is inching closer, although there doesn't seem to be any real urgency in their movement anymore.

    Air rifle...

    I don't have an instruction manual for this. I don't have a little booklet that teaches me how to get out of a situation like this. And Ree--

    "Somebody help me!" The sound comes out on a sniveling whine, each word elongated and punctuated by tears. "Please..."

    Bowie knife...

    When I turn my head, there he is, the same one as before, still yelling for help that'll never come. I gave him a fighting chance that he didn't take, and yet... he's still there.

    "Well, hell," The Leader says. "It would be that one."

    Baseball bat...

    That one.

    The one that's still alive. The one that's still tied to a post in the middle of a zombie legion with snot running from his nose, and spit dripping from his chin. His eyes are reddened and swollen, having lost the battle with his tears. There's a hitch in his breath too, and every time he opens his mouth to scream for help, the words are interrupted by hiccups.

    Ghosts...

    "I say we just leave him," one of the others adds, shaking his head.

    The Leader frowns. "We can't. He's one of us."

    "He's gonna be useless." A third voice.

    Stern, but with the requisite authority, The Leader insists, "No. We take them all."

    Air rifle, bowie knife, baseball bat...

    Ghosts.

    The distraction is enough. The fact that that boy pulled their attention away for just a moment... is enough. My hands flash out, moving of their own volition, snatching the gun out of the grip of the one who's holding it. He makes a sound of alarm, but he wasn't grasping it all that tight, and just like that--

    Air rifle.

    Bracing the barrel in my hands, I bring the butt up, catching him under the chin and snapping his head back. He stumbles, and one of the others steps forward, intent on clubbing me, but I flip the gun over, putting my finger on the trigger and taking aim. There's a small pop followed by a scream, and I manage to catch the nail-studded bludgeon before it hits the ground--