My first thought was to take my beater of a car, but then I saw Jon’s keys, and Jon had a Humvee, so my mind changed rather quickly. I went down and grabbed the shotgun, and all the shells I had. Not only did I grab the ammo, I grabbed what I call entertainment; my broadsword and my machete. Of course I couldn’t shake the horrible image of my own body being ripped apart in a similar fashion to that of Jon’s girlfriend, so I got prepared. I grabbed my heavily studded and quite worn down leather jacket, with a few old patches on it that were barely hanging on. The jacket cost fifteen dollars at a local thrift shop, and it was worth every penny. It was several sizes too small, and I had tacked on scores upon scores of little silver studs and a few two-inch silver spikes. I figured it would help me out, if only a little. I even grabbed my leather gloves with the knuckles accented with slightly sharp studs. Of course it seemed ridiculous to me. What, was I going to punch the zombies? But every safety precaution makes you feel slightly better. As far as shoes go, I figured my chucks would do. I thought I'd put on the only other pair of pants I had in my possession (for that extra layer of protection), but halfway through my double panting I realized that it was really just stupid.
I went to the door and cautiously opened it up to see what I imagined hell would look like. All around me were neighbors upon neighbors eating contently, while those whose bodies were now lunch were still screaming in agony. There was blood and limbs in the street and chaos everywhere I looked. Deep down I really wanted to try and save those poor people, but when fight or flight kicks in and you are staring a horrible death right in the eyes, flight is all you know. Even if I were up for playing the courageous hero, to what I could tell, these people were beyond saving. Naturally, the police were nowhere to be found and these forsaken people had been left to die alone. The Humvee was across the street and I didn’t know how many walking corpses there were between it and myself, but I surely didn’t want to attract any attention to myself. So I decided that this situation was clearly machete work.
I ran as quietly as I could to the Humvee and went fairly unnoticed… fairly. However, two dead heads who were less concerned with their current buffet and more concerned with making me desert decided it was the end of the road for me. All I knew at that point is that I would NOT go down without a fight. They moved surprisingly fast, but a little too slow for one of them to dodge a machete to the temple. And that was one down, one to go. I didn’t have time to hack the other one, so I kicked it in the chest and turned his head into a canoe with the .357. Before then, I had not realized what loud and violent bangs can do to a large group of zombies. Naturally, they all jolted and had the same idea, which was not a good idea for me if I wanted to stay alive. With limbs jerking like marionettes dancing to an off-beat organ they started towards me, but I was all but gone in the Humvee. All they got from me was a few bullets and the exhaust as I was on my way to Brando’s.
The only hint of order I saw on my way was as I was passing the police station. There was a barricade of police cars surrounding the entrance and about twenty policemen all heavily armed defending it. 'Leave it to the police to leave everyone to die while saving their own asses' ,I thought, but I realized that I had done just the same. I heard one on a megaphone not-so-politely asking me to stop, but that sure as hell wasn’t happening. They get a well known two-word saying among all Americans, the second word, of course, being “off”. They also received a well deserved middle finger.
As I got further from downtown I started to see less violence, until finally Janesville seemed to look normal again. However, at the rate that the zombies were moving I didn’t expect to see peace for too much longer. I knew that death was coming fast in the most horrible form imaginable.
My newly acquired Humvee was drawing attention from the walking dead, and I had enough time to notice that some were hobbling along quite slowly, while others followed in a freakishly fast sprint. As soon as they noticed an easier meal however, they seemed to forget me completely and made a beeline for the next target. Every time a reeker broke off from me and headed towards someone else a fresh wave of guilt washed over me. Man, what a shitty day.
Soon enough I was on Brandon's street with only a couple of the dead ones interested in me. I pulled up onto his yard and just nearly missed clipping him. He kept his cool and jumped in while giving me the look of a skeptic.
“Nice ride, isn’t this your neighbor’s?” he asked
“He doesn’t need it now. Shut up, lean out the window, and shoot those things, before they kill anyone else!” I motioned towards the shotgun and pulled a fast “U” turn. Making sure to damn near take out the curb before slamming the pedal down and heading back towards where I came from.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE!?! THEY’RE… DEAD!” Brandon exclaimed.
I started driving towards a small group of them, but before I could yell at him again to start shooting, he had already taken two down. Unfortunately the shots to the torso knocked them down, but didn't quite put them out of their misery.
"In the head, Brando!" I yelled.
A few more shots and Brando got the job done. I leaned my arm out the window and took one out myself at a distance of about three feet (any more than that and I knew I would miss). I also half accidentally hit one with the big vehicle and saw its head pop like a grape on the grill of the car. Shocked, I stopped the car.
“We missed one.” I said as I handed him the .357. Without a word, he stepped out of the car, took aim, as well as his damn sweet time.
“Wait just one damn second,” he yelled, “that’s my geometry teacher. This is gonna be fun! Hey, hand me that machete.” And naturally, I did.
As I looked back, I saw Brandon and heard him yell “hey, bitch!” as the zombie continued his lumbering gait towards him. I grabbed the shotgun and covered Brandon just in case, but as the zombie lunged at him I saw a swing of the machete and an arm drop. Brandon danced around him, and gave the corpse a hard jab to the nose and a swift disemboweling swing of the machete. Unfazed, the zombie lunged again, mouth open wide, but Brandon made the dead head’s mouth much wider with a machete swipe that disconnected the jaws of the thing. Looking pretty satisfied, he shot the still living head square between the eyes and walked back to the car.
“Hope you’re satisfied, Rambo” I teased.
“Ya damn right there Mad Max! Now then, where to?” Brando retorts, as he slapped my jacket.
“Well, ya know how Doiel’s got that sweet garage over on Sixth? Well I’m thinking we go there. I know he’s there, where the hell else would he be? And we could use some modifications on this beast. I'm thinking something a little more protective.”
“We could also use some gas.” Brandon adds.