The Zombie Catastrophe

SURVIVING

He watched in horror as they clustered around him on all sides, yelling, shrieking and making whatever horrifying sounds they could.

With a yell, he started to run towards a small space they had not yet occupied in a feeble attempt to survive, only stopping when he saw that space filling up. Quickly, he took a grenade, pulled out its pin, and threw it at one approaching horde.

The explosion rang out and took several down, giving Max some time to position himself and shoot, which he began when the air cleared, shooting sporadically. Realising that they died faster when he shot at their heads, he raised his beam higher and continued shooting.

The zombies coming to him had stopped running now, but were only coming close, creeping, seeing that he was a danger. One by one, he stopped to shoot, killing any one that dared come close.

Nothing matched his relief when they began to step back, and he took out his last grenade and threw it at them to ensure they would see he was not one to be messed with.

In the distance, the van he and the two other men had come in stood waiting, and he knew that all his chances of survival depended on how fast he could get to that van.

Taking cautious steps forward, he kept shooting, firing to hit the zombies so that they would clear enough space for him to go closer to the car. He was only half the distance and with a clear space in front when the last bullet left his machine gun and it stopped shooting.

“Oh no.” He whispered to himself. He had run out of all bullets in his machine gun, and was left with only a pistol and the moment the zombies saw that he was now harmless, they would come after him, and he would only be safe the moment he was in that van.

Pulling out the pistol, he shot twice and began to run towards the van, not daring to look behind him with the way the ground under his feet vibrated. He ran faster and faster until he was close, opening the door as fast as he could and jumping in. As he was about to shut it back, a zombie followed, so that its head got caught in the door.

With one clean shot, Max dispatched it and opened the door a little to let it fall off, but other zombies were now around the van, and they pulled the van door open.

He shot at the glass, breaking it and sending shards of glass onto the zombies, and shot through the window as well, trying desperately to slam the door until it did. Locking it, he turned to the ignition but there was no key.

“Holy fuck.” He yelled, running out of options.

They had gathered the van now, and were even struggling to get in the window he had broken, trying to bite him. He looked in the passenger's side, found a handheld flamethrower there, and shot a stream of flame directly at them, burning them instantly. Again they began to move off, reminded that he was dangerous, and he hit the car's keyhole with the butt of his pistol to break it open.

Once it did, he pulled out the protruding wires and then connected them, starting the car and driving off without looking back.

That was the only way he escaped, but still yet with several scratches.

As he drove, without stopping to look, he could see that the zombies were everywhere, and he hit as many of them with his car as he could, driving over them and looking for a safe place. At one particular luxury house that seemed quiet and unaffected, he stopped and got out of his military van, taking his pistol with him.

Thankfully, there were rounds of bullets stowed away in the back of the car, and Max loaded his machine gun with them until he remembered the flamethrower and how it had burned the zombies quickly. He picked up the second weapon, got out and went into the house to hide in it.

He went through all of the rooms, finding no one in and returning to the living room only to find two zombies there. They screamed and began running towards him while he took out the flamethrower and turned it on them, relieved as they ran backwards, seemingly afraid of the fire.

He followed and turned the flame on them until they screamed and burned, the flamethrower running out of propane at the same time. With the way it happened, he thought they were quite flammable.

Returning to the wealth inside of the house, Max wanted to turn and go, only stopping when he realised that all who owned the property were probably dead, and all they owned was now left to rot.

In a spare moment of joy considering all that was happening, he took loads of what they had that he liked and put it in the back of his van. When he was done, he did not want to stay there, despite the fact that he had encountered no zombies. It was in a bid to avoid questions— just in the slim chances of anyone coming to ask.

He drove off and deeper into the city until evening came. The streets were lonely and empty, and all the stalls and places he had known and enjoyed visiting were all empty, broken, or with zombies in them, doing nothing but destroying. He stopped to shoot at some of them, but for the most, he let go, only turning his face away.

As evening came there were no noises, or evidence of nocturnal people coming out to enjoy the nightlife everyone enjoyed in Middlestown. Even the crickets were not chirping or the owls hooting, so that Max was tempted to believe he was the only one alive in the entire town.

When the darkness crept in, he stopped his van and went into the kitchen of a random house with his machine gun to make a fire, hoping the zombies would keep off when they saw a fire burning.

That was where he came across the only living man he had seen since the rest of his squad left him, and as the man awoke from where he lay sleeping, he still remained convinced that this was the Allfather, the all powerful individual who had single handedly destroyed Middlestown.