The zombie game

chapter 9

Tom suddenly woke up. He was sitting in his bed, eyes bloodshot. He placed his hands to his eyes and wiped the sleep out of them, before standing up and walking toward the kitchen. He looked back out of the window, and saw a couple of military trucks sitting in the middle of an abandoned road, bloody bodies lying in askew heaps along the sidewalk, but there was no soldiers in sight. He was still a bit scared. He had dreamed of what would happen if he were to get captured by the soldiers again, and the results wouldn't be pretty. Tom would most likely die. He would be shot. Tom grabbed a piece of bread and took a bite out of it, still looking out of the window. He figured the soldiers were searching for more people; he figured he would be next.

And just then, something answered his thoughts—a banging at the door. “We know someone is in there now let us in!” shouted a soldier. Tom jumped up from the table and crouched down. He raced to the living room, and bounded passed the couch, racing toward his room, and grabbing the ax that hung from his wall. It was a red painted ax, one of those things that was used for when there was a fire and someone had to get out very quickly.

“Come on now!” shouted another soldier. Glass suddenly broke, tinkling to the floor. The door was smashed in and two soldiers burst into the room, machine guns raised. Tom slammed his door and just sat there against it, hunkering down, hoping the soldiers wouldn't find him. He heard a breathing sound. Tom braced for impact. But the soldier just left the door unscathed. Tom breathed a sigh of relief. Another set of footsteps came right in front of his door, and he tense, trying not to make any sort of sound. Tom slowly moved away from his door, so he was ready if the soldier decided to open the door, and walked to his bed, the ax raised. Sure, he would probably get shot before he had a chance to use the ax, but on the off chance that he did get to use it, he definitely would.

The soldiers were talking about something—a murmured conversation that Tom could not even begin the hear, but when the soldiers stopped conversing, the footsteps were beginning to reapproach the door. Tom pinned to the wall and waited for the door to open.

“Lets check this room,” said a soldier. The doorknob was slowly being turned and the door was pushed open. Tom sprang without hesitation, slamming the blade against the soldier's throat, a cloud of crimson spraying across the wall in a arterial spray. Tom grabbed the pistol from the soldier's holster, and just before the second man had a chance to even bring up his machine gun, Tom fired, and the soldier fell forward, spray of blood exploding through his back.

Tom had get out of here. He stepped through the blood and gore that smeared the floor, creating distinct, crimson footprints. Tom grabbed the blade of his ax that jutted from the man's throat, wiped the blood off on his pants, and walked out of the through, tracing blood across the floor by with bottom of his feet.

He opened the front door and stepped out. But what he felt, and what he smelled repulsed him—outside was hot and humid, the sun beating down on everyone, and accompanying the feeling of heat was the smell of death; the metallic smell of blood and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. Tom saw bodies being piled up on the sidewalks, probably awaiting to be burned. And just then in the distance he saw a few walking corpses, arms outstretched. Things he had seen after escaping the FEMA camp.

He walked through the streets, seeing cars lining each side of the street, abandoned, as well as the zombies that seemed to be coming closer and closer to him. He raised the ax above his hand. A zombie was suddenly lunging at him. Tom swung the ax. THWOKK!! The ax head buried itself in the head of the zombie, crushing through skull and brain. Blood seeped from the cracks in the skull. Tom clenched the handle of the ax and yanked backward, trying to pull the jutting and bleeding blade from the head of the now dead zombie. He moved the ax back and forth and side to side, the squelching of flesh filling the air, nearly making him vomit. Finally he pulled free the blade and watched as a jet of blood splashed the hole in it's head, and the zombie fell to the ground in a pool of blood. Tom pivoted around and slashed the gore smeared ax at another zombie, smashing the blade into the side of it's head, more effectively crushing the skull, and watching as hot, slippery blood poured onto his hands, making the handle slick. He grasped hold of it and tried to get it free, but this one wouldn't come free.