Zombie Hour (sequel to zombie game)

Zombie Hour

1

Joe stepped over the empty shell of a car, a rifle and a crossbow slung over his shoulder, a quiver of arrows slung around his waist, and a .45 in the waistband of his jeans. He had been tracking a deer. Ever since him, Linda, and Tom had made camp a few miles away, Joe had found a deer slinking around, looking for food. He had told them he was going to track the deer for awhile and that is what he was doing.

The last nine days had been peaceful. Ten days ago, Joe, Linda and Tom had fought a bunch of zombies in a destroyed town; Tom had been hit with a bullet. They had also fought this crazy man named Timothy, who had wanted to die in the city because he thought all was lost. That man had been shot in the head. But the zombies had kept coming and they had continued to fight them. Since then they had see a couple of zombies wandering around that were easily brought down, but there had not been large groups of zombies congregating around the area.

Joe was standing on the car, thinking. He hoped Linda and Tom were doing OK out there, the wilderness, alone. Sure they knew how to fight, but Joe was still concerned. He looked around the area from the view point of the car. It was like a car graveyard. He had seen these things before, but this was just thousands and thousand of cars sitting tumultuously in the midst of the street.

He heard a noise.

He looked around and saw what he was looking for.

The deer. It was a brown deer, with white legs and a black stripe running down it's very large back. It had two stubs of horns sprouting from the top of its head.

Joe unslung his crossbow from his shoulder and raised it, aiming at the deer, looking through the scope that was mounted atop the crossbow. He grabbed an arrow from his quiver and placed it into the crossbow, and was about to pull the trigger, when he saw something that sent chills down his spine.

His hair stood up on end.

He saw about sixty of seventy zombies slowly advancing. Low moans could be heard from the undead corpses. They were slowly traipsing forward, dragging their legs along, wearing ripped and dirty and bloody clothes. He saw the lead zombie; saw the crimson red blood that smeared its mouth and he grimaced.

Joe gasped. He knew he had to be hidden, but he also knew that the zombies could smell human from miles and miles away. If he didn't try sneaking out of there he would be mauled by the zombies as well as ripped apart. He saw a zombie lift its head. It sniffed. And it smelled something, presumably Joe. And they started to run—run—and that was unheard of for zombies; Joe had see a few zombies do that, but he hadn't faced a whole group like this who could run and haul ass. Joe aimed the crossbow at the leading zombie and pulled the trigger.