shoulder blade, only the hilt still showing. The white cotton top she wore was caked in dried blood, yet the lower half of her emaciated body was naked. The long brown hair that hung drably from the woman’s skull like a worn mop reminded Schafer of the photographs. He had seen this woman before at a time when she had been happy, when she had been surrounded by her family, and facing a glorious future instead of an ignominious death.
All of Schafer’s excitement dissipated in a moment, his spirit broken like an egg shell. Suddenly he felt very alone and very afraid. “Who are-?” Schafer recognized the woman, but he didn’t recognize the deathly veil that hung over her. The life that was in her eyes was all gone now, and as she lunged for him a cluster of blow flies crawled from a fissure on her skull.
Schafer stumbled back, the woman lurching down the last step and grabbing at him. Her face pressed up against his and he felt the woman’s bony hands dig into his shoulders as she tried to hold him. Her mouth opened, and her rotten teeth tried to clamp down on his neck. Schafer felt the woman’s ice-cold skin brush against his beard, and he screamed, terrified she was going to take a chunk out of him. He had the bat in his hands, but there was no way he could bring it up to strike her.
Schafer used his body weight and one free arm to push the woman back, but she was surprisingly strong, and managed to keep hold of him. His back was to the front door, and as he tried to repel the zombie, he heard a banging noise at the door. It wasn’t the sound of anyone knocking to come in—it was the same thumping noise he associated with the night. When the zombies outside Jeremy’s house tried to break through the fence, they made the same sounds. Like children banging on toys with no purpose or aim, just to create as much mayhem and destruction as they could, so too the zombies acted like children, hoping they could just bash their way to what they wanted.
Schafer refused to submit. He had a lot to achieve, a lot to live for, and making sure Rilla and Magda were going to be okay was top of the list. He grunted with the effort and managed to push the dead woman away from him. Her feet tripped on the lower step, and she fell onto her back on the stairs. Schafer pulled at the knife in her shoulder, intending to run it through her brain and put her down, but the knife was stuck in bone and refused to budge. As he let go of the knife, the woman pushed herself up, and began to come for him again as he stepped back.
Schafer gripped the baseball bat with both hands and lifted it to head height. The woman had been so happy. Were her husband and child upstairs? Had they died together? Had she turned first and eaten her child? All he knew was that they had gotten to her. It might have been a bite, a small wound that had insidiously changed her slowly, or it may have been a full on attack. The streets weren’t safe with them outside, and the woman had paid for her country’s lack of protection. Her whole family had probably paid the price, and now Schafer was left to clear up the mess.
He spat angrily and cracked the baseball bat against the dead woman’s skull. The bone splintered, and the woman staggered to the side, her arms unable to protect her as she tried to remain standing. Schafer aimed the bat at her again. He swung with all the force he could muster and smashed the woman’s skull again, this time bringing her to her knees. The woman looked up at him with something approaching reproach and pity in her eyes. He knew he was imagining it. These people, these abominable creatures, didn’t think or feel or desire anything but death. Schafer put it out of his mind. Remember the woman from the photograph, he told himself, remember the beautiful mother she once was instead of the pathetic zombie now trying to cling to life.
Schafer cracked the bat a third time against the woman’s skull, and it smashed open like a coconut,
All of Schafer’s excitement dissipated in a moment, his spirit broken like an egg shell. Suddenly he felt very alone and very afraid. “Who are-?” Schafer recognized the woman, but he didn’t recognize the deathly veil that hung over her. The life that was in her eyes was all gone now, and as she lunged for him a cluster of blow flies crawled from a fissure on her skull.
Schafer stumbled back, the woman lurching down the last step and grabbing at him. Her face pressed up against his and he felt the woman’s bony hands dig into his shoulders as she tried to hold him. Her mouth opened, and her rotten teeth tried to clamp down on his neck. Schafer felt the woman’s ice-cold skin brush against his beard, and he screamed, terrified she was going to take a chunk out of him. He had the bat in his hands, but there was no way he could bring it up to strike her.
Schafer used his body weight and one free arm to push the woman back, but she was surprisingly strong, and managed to keep hold of him. His back was to the front door, and as he tried to repel the zombie, he heard a banging noise at the door. It wasn’t the sound of anyone knocking to come in—it was the same thumping noise he associated with the night. When the zombies outside Jeremy’s house tried to break through the fence, they made the same sounds. Like children banging on toys with no purpose or aim, just to create as much mayhem and destruction as they could, so too the zombies acted like children, hoping they could just bash their way to what they wanted.
Schafer refused to submit. He had a lot to achieve, a lot to live for, and making sure Rilla and Magda were going to be okay was top of the list. He grunted with the effort and managed to push the dead woman away from him. Her feet tripped on the lower step, and she fell onto her back on the stairs. Schafer pulled at the knife in her shoulder, intending to run it through her brain and put her down, but the knife was stuck in bone and refused to budge. As he let go of the knife, the woman pushed herself up, and began to come for him again as he stepped back.
Schafer gripped the baseball bat with both hands and lifted it to head height. The woman had been so happy. Were her husband and child upstairs? Had they died together? Had she turned first and eaten her child? All he knew was that they had gotten to her. It might have been a bite, a small wound that had insidiously changed her slowly, or it may have been a full on attack. The streets weren’t safe with them outside, and the woman had paid for her country’s lack of protection. Her whole family had probably paid the price, and now Schafer was left to clear up the mess.
He spat angrily and cracked the baseball bat against the dead woman’s skull. The bone splintered, and the woman staggered to the side, her arms unable to protect her as she tried to remain standing. Schafer aimed the bat at her again. He swung with all the force he could muster and smashed the woman’s skull again, this time bringing her to her knees. The woman looked up at him with something approaching reproach and pity in her eyes. He knew he was imagining it. These people, these abominable creatures, didn’t think or feel or desire anything but death. Schafer put it out of his mind. Remember the woman from the photograph, he told himself, remember the beautiful mother she once was instead of the pathetic zombie now trying to cling to life.
Schafer cracked the bat a third time against the woman’s skull, and it smashed open like a coconut,
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