Mitch cursed under his breath. Not only had those damn three armed tweenies stolen all his gear and then shot at him from no real reason, but all their shooting had worked up three hundred zombies that he was being chased straight into. They came stumbling across the desert sand and rock. Every body had hundreds of thorns protruding from them like he was about to be forced to fight rotting porcupines.
Behind him he heard the hooting and shouts of the young men. I guess hunting an old unarmed man is great sport to them, he thought to himself. They’re also closer than I thought. How the hell am I going to get though this one?
He was just trying to decide it traveling north or south would be better and had picked north since water remained more likely to find in that direction, when he heard a scream come from behind him.
“That old son of a bitch. Ahhhh! Get it off me! Get it off me!”
Mitch allowed himself a grin. “I guess they’re learning a little bit about how to set traps from me after all. Have fun with that rattlesnake, boys.”
Mitch enjoyed his success, but with the crowd of zombies pushing uphill through the cactus, he knew it would be short lived. He turned to head north, but then paused.
He’d given those kids no reason to need to hurt him, but they had tried to shoot him down. Now he’d hurt one of them, so they had a reason to stay on his heels and perhaps seek revenge, but then his thoughts took a darker turn. Between the three of them, the youths had two rifles and a pistol. Mitch had some firearms, but lacked bullets. Having some a few guns for back up wouldn’t hurt his situation at all here in the mountains.
The zombies drew in close enough for him to be able to smell their foulness on the wind. “Screw it,” he said aloud. “Can’t have those punks following me. Poke old man rattler and see what you get.” He turned east and began to circle away from the zombies, but up and back around to where he had set his rattlesnake trap. “I’m not going to be their bitch.”
A lone zombie moaned as it lumbered forward on stiff legs. Black liquid dripped from his eyes like post modem mascara as it tried to block his path, but Mitch still had his club. He rushed in and gave it a homerun to the forehead. He must have scored a good shot for it didn’t get back up.
More shouts echoed through the hills. “I’m going to kill that asshole. Not fast, but slow. Feed him to zombies as inch at a time. Oh damn, this hurts so bad.”
Mitch could tell that it was Rus who had gotten bitten and he couldn’t imagine a better fate for the fat bully.
He had climbed high enough to fall out of sight from the zombies in the foothills below. Looking back, while he caught his breath, he saw that Rus’s shouting drew most of the gathering horde into the canyon Mitch had set the trap in.
“Soon those kids will have far worse problems than me,” Mitch chuckled.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, you old puke,” he heard Brad’s voice say from behind him this was followed by the sounds of a gun being aimed. He had just enough time to curse, before he looked back to see Brad pulling the trigger.
Check in next weekend for the next part of Mitch’s journey into the beginning of the second year of the Eternal Aftermath.