Somewhere Outside Washington, DC.
Devlin stood outside the bar in the abandoned town of Bloodfield. The layers of dust on the windows were thick, and he couldn’t tell if the bar was safe to enter. He looked around the street and could see no zombies nearby. He was thirsty and a bottle of whisky would clench his thirst, if there was any alcohol left in the bar. He knocked on the door and waited a few seconds for any sounds coming from within the bar. Satisfied that no zombies were lurking inside, he entered.
The bar was in shambles. Several of the chairs were lying on the ground missing legs. Somebody had used them to ward off a zombie attack at one point. The tables that were still standing were covered in a decade’s worth of dust. The floor was littered with skeletal remains of former zombie meals. The walls were covered in spider webs and without humans to maintain the building, it had been overtaken by insects and rodents.
He walked behind the counter where two more skeletal remains lay on the floor. He was in luck; there were still some unopened bottles of whisky and other assorted alcoholic beverages. He grabbed all the bottles and placed them in his leather sack. He laughed at the large deer head mounted on the wall behind the counter. A spider was sitting in its mouth staring at him.
“Here’s to us,” Devlin said and took a swig from the whisky bottle. The spider kept staring at him. He sat down on one of the bar stools and rested. He had been traveling for weeks now looking for supplies to take back to the compound. He traveled alone. He didn’t have to worry about anybody but himself, which came in handy when battling zombies. He was a zombie hunter, one of the best. He was Special Ops from back in the day when the enemy was from the Middle East, not your next door neighbor mutated by a zombie virus. His Special Ops training made him the ideal zombie hunter. He was faster than most which gave him a distinct advantage over a slow moving zombie.
A shadow caught his attention. Zombies always knew when a human was nearby. They would all flock to the area where they smelled human flesh. He pulled out his laser gun from his vest. Without looking backward, he shot the zombie through the window. It fell backward from a direct hit, glass showering the ground all around it. In one swig, he drank the rest of the whisky and threw the bottle into the mirror shattering it. He walked over to the door and looked outside. Several zombies were heading for the bar. He stood by the door with his laser gun ready. He was ready for a good old western showdown.
He kicked the door open and jumped out shooting the nearest zombie’s head off. Its body fell forward and its head rolled toward him. He looked down at the eyes which were still moving. He kicked the head to the side and walked toward the group of zombies that were slowly approaching. He grabbed a large weapon that was attached to his back and aimed it toward the group. He pressed the trigger and a u-shaped blade shot toward the zombies, slicing through two of the zombies’ heads. Like a boomerang, the blade came back and reconnected to the weapon. He aimed the weapon toward the other three zombies and pressed the trigger. The blade shot toward them and in one swoop sliced off their heads. The blade came back and reconnected. He smiled at his weapon, the bang blade. He loved the advanced weaponry the government had developed to battle the zombies. The blade from the weapon was razor sharp and shot out faster than the best baseball player could ever pitch.
He walked back into the bar and retrieved his leather sack. He checked every room in the bar. He found a couple more bottles of alcohol and a fully stocked first aid kit. He exited the bar and walked over to his motorcycle and placed his leather sack in the side car. The computer monitor on the
Devlin stood outside the bar in the abandoned town of Bloodfield. The layers of dust on the windows were thick, and he couldn’t tell if the bar was safe to enter. He looked around the street and could see no zombies nearby. He was thirsty and a bottle of whisky would clench his thirst, if there was any alcohol left in the bar. He knocked on the door and waited a few seconds for any sounds coming from within the bar. Satisfied that no zombies were lurking inside, he entered.
The bar was in shambles. Several of the chairs were lying on the ground missing legs. Somebody had used them to ward off a zombie attack at one point. The tables that were still standing were covered in a decade’s worth of dust. The floor was littered with skeletal remains of former zombie meals. The walls were covered in spider webs and without humans to maintain the building, it had been overtaken by insects and rodents.
He walked behind the counter where two more skeletal remains lay on the floor. He was in luck; there were still some unopened bottles of whisky and other assorted alcoholic beverages. He grabbed all the bottles and placed them in his leather sack. He laughed at the large deer head mounted on the wall behind the counter. A spider was sitting in its mouth staring at him.
“Here’s to us,” Devlin said and took a swig from the whisky bottle. The spider kept staring at him. He sat down on one of the bar stools and rested. He had been traveling for weeks now looking for supplies to take back to the compound. He traveled alone. He didn’t have to worry about anybody but himself, which came in handy when battling zombies. He was a zombie hunter, one of the best. He was Special Ops from back in the day when the enemy was from the Middle East, not your next door neighbor mutated by a zombie virus. His Special Ops training made him the ideal zombie hunter. He was faster than most which gave him a distinct advantage over a slow moving zombie.
A shadow caught his attention. Zombies always knew when a human was nearby. They would all flock to the area where they smelled human flesh. He pulled out his laser gun from his vest. Without looking backward, he shot the zombie through the window. It fell backward from a direct hit, glass showering the ground all around it. In one swig, he drank the rest of the whisky and threw the bottle into the mirror shattering it. He walked over to the door and looked outside. Several zombies were heading for the bar. He stood by the door with his laser gun ready. He was ready for a good old western showdown.
He kicked the door open and jumped out shooting the nearest zombie’s head off. Its body fell forward and its head rolled toward him. He looked down at the eyes which were still moving. He kicked the head to the side and walked toward the group of zombies that were slowly approaching. He grabbed a large weapon that was attached to his back and aimed it toward the group. He pressed the trigger and a u-shaped blade shot toward the zombies, slicing through two of the zombies’ heads. Like a boomerang, the blade came back and reconnected to the weapon. He aimed the weapon toward the other three zombies and pressed the trigger. The blade shot toward them and in one swoop sliced off their heads. The blade came back and reconnected. He smiled at his weapon, the bang blade. He loved the advanced weaponry the government had developed to battle the zombies. The blade from the weapon was razor sharp and shot out faster than the best baseball player could ever pitch.
He walked back into the bar and retrieved his leather sack. He checked every room in the bar. He found a couple more bottles of alcohol and a fully stocked first aid kit. He exited the bar and walked over to his motorcycle and placed his leather sack in the side car. The computer monitor on the
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