𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝙾𝚏 𝚅𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 | 𝚃. 𝙾𝚝𝚝𝚘 𐂃

Chapter 12

Cristine coldly glared at the silvery eyes that looked like dull coins. Yellowed teeth snapped, showcasing the feral appetite of the incoming infected. She took the machete from the side of her belt and swung it down the bloated and grayish face.

But with one dead down, four more took over. When she looked at the rest, her situation wasn't special. The others were in the same predicament as her. "Don't use your guns unless necessary or we'll attract more!" In one fluid motion Cristine raised her blade and hacked the rotten infected down into cranium after cranium. She had to twist her head sideway when the direct hits send brain matter across her face.

While the dead lacked any sort of communication, they marched towards them like one sentient mass. Their groans and snarls were unpleasantly harsh and hair raising. They came from the cool shadows where the awning of leaves blocked out the sun and at a glance it didn't seem that so many dead greeted them. But the way they were dispersed and emerged from every opening in the woods just added to the problem that this was a scattered horde. It was a mystery where this swarm obsessed with fresh meat came from and how it migrated into such a large group. There was young and old, men and women, workers and businessmen, children, government servants, each and every one of them decomposed.

The collective hissing and snarling as they trek as a single being towards them, made Cristine her skin crawl. The dead came from one side, so the only option was to run in the opposite direction; deeper into the woods. At this point, everyone realized the only chance for survival is to run away now or get torn into the couple of hundreds, if not more dead coming their way. It was impossible to see the full length or size of the full herd due to to trees, but it didn't leave much to the imagination that playing hero or brave by taking it on with guns would prove futile.

"Let's go!" Troy's voice pierces the noise of the growling.

Everyone bolted into action. Their bodies heavy with the riffles dangling like anchors that slowed down instead of protection at this point. Their boots thumped into the soil, trampling a few dry leaves in the process. The warm air irritating the lungs and throat when inhaling much faster and deeper. It was all or nothing at this point.

The marching mass of unbalancing dead whilst slow, didn't tire and even with the distance created. It wouldn't take them very long to run out of fumes with no place to hide from the dead. Also, the deeper they got pushed into the forest, the larger the unfamiliarity of this side.

"We need a fucking plan man!" Willy yelled after cutting down a single roamer in mid-run with a swift swing of his bladed weapon.

At the front, Troy sucked in a harsh breath as he thought of a plan to get them into safety, at least until this damn horde passed them. His mind went one hundred miles per hour as the gears of his brains mulled over an escape without the risk of having to fight head on. Because that was a fight they would lose and it was better to be smart about it than brave.

Troy's eyes moved between the open space of the trees. In mid-run he unconsciously tuned out the loud and repetitive growls, beating riffle on his chest, and the complaints and frantic cusses of the others. He exhaled and tasted the droplet of salt on his lips. The path was straightforward and as it stretched and stretched deeper, his brain started to refocus, searching for a way to safety... should they kill what they can... run up to the end of this path, where the path split in every direction...

If Troy's thoughts were visible they would be part chaotic explosion with twists and turns. Spinning with what could be coined thoughtless and no logic, dancing their way back to do the irrational. His pupils dilated when a walking corpse swayed towards him. It bit and snarled at the air, blackened incisors exposed. Troy's body processed his plan quicker than his mind. Reacting on reflex, Troy slams his machete through the cheek, thinned muscles of the jaw and like a hot knife through butter watched its lower jaw drop down. Troy then slammed the end of his riffle on the intact teeth with so much force, he felt the vibrations of the blow all the way up his lower arms.