Riding a bike through crowds of milling undead is harder than he might have thought. Max was just trying to get to one of the bigger houses that had their backs to the forest, but he wondered if he would ever get there.
A hand swiped at him and he passed, almost causing him to spill. This made him so distracted that he road straight into a big male zombie. The bike’s impact wasn’t enough to knock over the walking corpse, but it did cause Max to jerk forward far enough that the zombie grabbed a handful of his hair.
He cried out and tried to pull away from the jaws already snapping at his face. Another zombie came in and clawed at his back attempting to get a hold. This second one got a kick to the chest that sent it falling back into yet a third one that had drawn close.
Max’s sword came free and as the hairpuller leaned in to deliver a bite that would cost Max his life, the point of the sword went up through the walker’s chin and became buried deep into its skull.
It saved his life, but cost him his sword, for he lost his grip when the zombie fell backwards. Getting situated on the bike, as another dozen lurched his way, Max sped out of there. They were thinner closer to the woods and he had no more accidents, but now he had other issues.
How can I go to one of these houses if the damn things can see me? If even one knows I’m there, it will attract others and I‘ll be back where I started.
Then he had an idea.
He rode his bike east, south, and then west again. The whole time random zombies lurched and grabbed at him, but they were more spread out and his ability to avoid them got better as he went. Once he had made it to a three-way intersection about an eighth of a mile from the house he had picked, he stopped, took a deep breath, and released the biggest scream he could muster.
They came from every direction. Before half a minute went by, he was already second guessing his plan. When the first one got within ten feet of him, he took off. Hands groped at him and fingers racked at his clothes. Despite the horror he endured, he struggled back toward his fallen sword, which was luckily only a block away.
He made it to his old blade. Pausing to grab it could easily cost him his life, but he did it anyway. First, he hopped off his bike and ghost rode it into the zombie closest to his fallen weapon. The bike crashed into the zombie, knocking him off his feet and tripping up two that were lumbering in behind him. Max hurried to pull the sword out of the one he had killed earlier and with a fluid motion decapitated an undead housewife that loomed in behind him.
“Hot damn!” he shouted, but already he was in trouble. He made the impossible shot off by fencing forward and stabbing another through the eye, but they were coming at him from every direction. The three zombies he had knocked over still covered his bicycle. “Screw it,” he said aloud and then began to lay into them like a berserking Viking. Fingers and then half an arm went flying, but he had yet to incapacitate one.
Hands tried to find hold on his back and with another yell he jumped away. The western side of the street met a thick section of woods that bordered a sharp rocky hill. Without a look back, he made for it. Hands grasped at him, but he pushed past and entered the forest. They moaned as the horde followed, but just as he a hoped, the trees slowed their pursuit.
He raced down the rocky hill. I need to slow down. One misstep and a broken ankle ends it all. Looking back, he actually smiled when several zombies tumbled violently down the embankment. He wanted to stay and finish them off, but they were too many and from the sounds of it, some zombies were moving through the woods.
I need to get out of these woods and to that big house before it’s dark or I’m screwed. After casting a final look at the mass of undead, he started jogging. These woods connected to the forest behind the house he had picked. With a little luck he could make it there without any of them being in sight when he broke in.