Meet the players

Abigail backed slowly into the niche in the wall. She melted into the darkness and became a shadow. As she stood there holding her breath, she counted six zombies as they rambled by. The group dragged themselves along, walking straight with no real focus. As long as she kept quiet, they’d never even know she was there. There was a Trick or Treater with the group: it was a little girl dressed up like an angel. A shiver ran up Abigail’s back.

Abigail wrinkled her nose. The rotting skin peeling off their rotting bodies didn’t bother Abigail. The incessant moaning didn’t bother her. It was the stench that made her gag every time. It was like a dead, rotting, wet dog dipped in sour milk and left to ferment in a barrel of used baby diapers. So gross! She began inching her hand up to her mouth in anticipation of what was to come. She began to gag, but fought to keep it in. Her eyes began to water and, not wanting to inhale any more of the foul stench through here nostrils, began gulping down air through her mouth.

She didn’t think she made any noise, but one of the walking diaper bags stopped and looked back towards where Abigail was hiding. Her hand dropped to her belt and the knife resting in it. The zombie took a few tentative steps and stopped short of where Abigail was hiding. He was staring at something, mesmerized. When the mindless creature swiped at nothing, Abigail finally realized that it was seeing its reflection in the store window next to her. She smiled, but quickly stopped in case her teeth reflected any light.

Confused and bored, the zombie turned back and continued on his original course and Abigail finally relaxed. She stepped out of the shadow and then all hell broke loose…again.

A man stepped out about twenty feet in front of the zombie mob. He held a crowbar in each hand. He wore a giant smile on his face and there was pure fury in his eyes. Abigail almost felt sorry for the dead walkers.

The dance that she watched was brutal and graceful. He smashed skulls and ripped flesh. Blood splattered and guts poured. The six zombies never stood a chance. He didn’t just hit them, he pulverized them. Abigail learned a while back just what a bloody pulp looked like. He wasn’t a particularly large or muscular man; fairly average, mildly athletic. Strength wasn’t the tool this man used against the zombies; it was anger, hatred, blind rage. 

The man hated zombies and he seemed to love killing them. He was brutal and completely uncaring in the way he displaced them. In the short time she’d been with him, Abigail had seen him run into several zombie groups, swinging his crowbars and decimating any walking dead that stood in his way. Most people who fought zombie fought for survival. They were desperate to stay alive. This man had no such concerns. Abigail stayed with him because she knew she’d never have any trouble with zombies. He’d kill ‘em all.