Part one: A personal first

I remember my personal first encounter with zombie kind. My maths teacher (she had it in for me as well, I'm sure). I was walking home from the allotments (food free for the taking, if you're quick.... and armed)  at around 11 at night, my dads old air rifle slung over my back, and a bag of tomatoes in my hand, and as I was turning onto the road, there she was, the scurge of my life for 5 years, and I swear down, my first thought was ahh, no, she's here to give me homework!  (as was her habit of finding you, no matter where you were, to deliver the bad news) That was, until I remembered that not only would I never again have any homework, but that she had died three weeks before. She had blood smeared all over her face, her yellow blouse torn, and a huge chunk missing from her neck with blood crusted around the wound, as if it had just started to heal before she died.

SOME OBSERVATIONS

Dead people smell bad.... really bad

They creak when they move, something to do with the ligaments

Their limbs aren't attached very well, and have a tendancy to fall off

They're relentless, they may be slow, but they never give in. I wouldn't call it determination, though.

Sliced tomatoes taste really quite good with a little bit of sea-salt

   For a moment, neither of us did anything, exept for groan (that was her, not me) and scream a long list of mental profanities, but the still didn't last long. I'd say the moment ended but that sounds too romantic, it was less of a moment and more of an anti-moment. That made more sense in my head... I don't really know who got their act together and moved first, I'd like to think it was me and that I hadn't lost a mental race with a dead person, but I fear that it was her shambolic charge that spurred me to life (I say charge although it was really more of a pricarious shuffle, and only vagely aimed at best). I dropped the tomatoes over the road, and fumbled for the gun at my back. My hands shook as I tried to load the pellets, and several dropped to the floor, and rolled to the feet of my teacher, doing considerably less harm than was intended.

  The wind changed, and the stench rolled towards me. A smell that strong, it hits you like a physical blow. I staggered back, dropping yet more pellets. My teacher took another step. To my suprise, I found that she was gaining on me (I know, it's amazing. But have you ever had one of those dreams where you try to run, or do something with your hands, only to find that your legs or hands are like lead, and no matter how hard you try the best you can do is a clumsy shubble?.... I like that word) I saw that in a couple more steps she would be able to reach me. With the extra adrenaline, I managed to load the gun and crack it closed. Shaking like a leaf, I took aim and fired.

   Only to find that it was useless without all but a direct hit to the eye. Damn, I really wish my dad had got it mended when he had the chance.

   I realised that I was running out of options, running out of time and running out of nerve. I have no doubt that had I waited for much longer I would have turned tail and ran, or at least tried to had my feet not been made by lead.... or at least that's what they felt like at the time.

   I took a deep breath, realised that it was a bad idea, and held onto the gun with both hands, one on the barrel and one at the shoulder resty thing. I don't know what it's called. I let out a "fierce" battle-cry, my voice breaking and tears pouring out of my eyes that I could hardly see. I swing the gun with all my strength at the creature's head, once, twice, thrice, and I'm not even sure if that's a real word, but that's what I did. Down she went, and when she landed she made the strangest sound... it was like all the air was forced out of her lungs with a gurgle and weeze, and as the gun hit home I could hear her skull cracking so loudly.... ugh, I actually cried. I cried. That's not at all like me, not at the darkest of times.

   I threw my self backwards, falling to the ground with a sob, before standing up and flying along the road, forgetting the tomatoes (bar the one I slipped on) that taste oh so nice with salt.