Last Dawn of a Horde

Chapter Eight: The Cure ~6 John

~John~

I hear the chainsaw so near my ears soft wind was like whispering at me.

            I felt no pain, and the chainsaw was still whirring on mid-air. My heart was still steadily beating, but my shin felt blood dripping.

            I looked to where the man should be. He was kicked aside, and a tall guy’s figure loomed out of the smog. Something silver glinted from his hands—long and shiny, and was dripping with blood.

            The infected man fell on my side, lifeless, his chainsaw fading from power.

            A hand was offered for me.

            “Stand up, now,” says Jules. “We got more asses to kick.”

            I felt thankful I was still alive. The only problem I got was my lightly-damaged left arm, and nothing else.

            Jules and I fight our way out of the grounds, and it’s not any nicer or easier than being pinned on the ground to be sawed to die. About three feet tall, zombies were darting past me and then I felt my back being scratched by sharp nails.

            “Walk faster!” Jules said.

            The morning air was biting cold, and I see faint sunlight filtering through trees. We were near the lobby when about seven infected kids were baring their bloody teeth at us.

            Creepy.

            Jules swiped about three of them, and I got the other four’s bodies scorching in flames. I don’t know, but the moment the Scythe hacked on their chests fire suddenly broke.

            Just a bit of smoke that made my eyes tear was welcoming us, and I see about three people standing next to a truck. At first I wondered foolishly why they haven’t started the truck yet, but when I saw one of its large tires was blown, I started to worry.

            Jules patted my back, and he quickly went to the load of the truck. I was about to step closer, when I hear a fast bullet whizz past my right arm. A zombie behind me yelped, and he was carrying a long kitchen knife while still wearing his cooking clothes.

            Bridge, James, and Jimmy were the ones standing next to the truck. James went to hug me, and whispered, “Thank God you’re alive, dude.”

            I pat his back.

            He sets off, and I hear people groaning from the load of the truck.

            “Why aren’t we moving?” Lovely trills from the load.

            “Where’s my gun?” asked Ronald.

            Then I hear James yell, “Shut up guys! We’re doing something!”

            Bridge nods, and then looks at me. “Hey, Mr. Eddington? I think you need to fix the tire.”

            Before I answered, Jimmy yelled, “Behind you!” and I quickly turned to see a zombie carrying a shotgun pointed at me. I swiftly slashed, and thank God it got his head off. It fell to the ground with a thud, and I smell something burning aftermath.

            “What? You know how to fix this?” Jimmy asks.

            I shake my head, and they turned their heads down, so does hope in being able to escape here.

            I was about to think of any alternatives, when I saw zombies flooding out of the lobby, hungrily coming for us. Bad thoughts about dying swirled around my mind, and I was sure I cheated Death a lot of times now. I may be one on his high-profile lists. To die immediately.

            Before I closed my eyes to pray for a miracle to come, as Jimmy and Bridge quickly enters the front seats of the truck, James stood by my side, and the zombies were sloping down.

            The end, I thought.

            Something dropped amidst of the sea of the infected. I was about to make out something, but a second later, zombies on contact exploded into chums and grime. I was pushed hard to the truck, and the truck almost tilted to the side; the girls were screaming, as livers and stomachs in bits flew towards our direction.

            “What happened, John?” James screeched from behind. “Jules! Are you mad?”

            Jules answered, “Shit, I didn’t do anything!”

            I turned to James. He was poking his nose on the glass, and fogged the glass across his mouth. “What the hell happened?” I asked. And even though more zombies are coming, I can’t help but feel awe. Shaking off zombie brains that stuck on my shirt, I lifted my head to the lobby.

            Two grown-ups were marching towards me; the smoke was concealing their faces, and I was ready to take a step back, and the Scythe was glowing faintly on my hands. If I did the flaming thing, I know I can do it again.

            If the Mutated ones are equipped with working minds, then I will believe that the things they were carrying were guns. Shotguns, by the way. They were pointed at me, and I was ready to slash.

            The only problem is that I hear the one on the right say while fending the smoke off:

            “Who are you?” he asked in a deep, old tone.

            The other one said in a familiar, cold voice, “That’s Eddington, sir. He’s my student.”