A lot of things flash through your mind when you’re about to die, especially when it’s at the hands of a slobbering flesh eating zombie; quite literally at the hands of a flesh eating zombie. As John Sterling felt the hands emerge from the fallowed ground of the grave yard and attached to his ankles, he suddenly found himself thinking about boomerangs, more specifically about the song ‘My Boomerang won’t come back’.
While John didn’t own a boomerang, he did own a Frisbee that was now nestled in the hands of a particularly sinister looking zombie that was tearing into his faithful dog Shanty with the fervor of a man who had been on a hunger strike for ten years. Blood and gore spilled from the gaping wound that used to be Shanty’s head, and John looked on in fascination as the zombie simply began to suck the entrails that were grossly spilling from the dog’s split stomach. It was ghastly, disgusting but more than that it made John extremely mad!
Sadly for John he wasn’t the Incredible Hulk so no matter how mad he got, no bulging muscles instantly materialized on his rake thin arms to bust out of his Green Day t-shirt. John wasn’t the sharpest kid in his school, but he was smart enough to know that his situation was extremely dire. As he felt the grip of the zombie’s hands tighten on his ankles he realized that the zombie was pulling himself out of the ground, the top of his distorted head was emerging and John knew that his time was nearly up, the decayed teeth would be soon snacking on his legs!
Around him other hands were emerging from the ground as if a pack of wolves sensed there was a fresh meal; there was a certain fervor to the scraping and scratching sounds that the hands and bodies made as they crawled out of the earth, their fetid breath casting clouds of mist and their rotten bodies dripping slime and blood. John felt himself go cold as he realized that there simply was no escape. Even if he managed to get away from the hands that manacled him, there was no way he could out run the denizens of evil that had spawned around him.
John looked around wildly searching for an egress; the zombie that had dined on Shanty was now lumbering towards him, blood dribbling from his chin, his arms extended with the Frisbee like some strange offering. Gobbets of flesh splattered John’s face as the zombie screamed at him; the scream was a cross between the wild screeching of a band of female teenagers seeing their favorite boy band and the dire sorrowful cries of a widow who realized her dead husband had left the inheritance to the mistress! It was hideously loud and scary.
As the zombie below him emerged, rotted teeth bearing down on John’s calf muscles, he had a sudden inspiration. Grabbing the Frisbee out of the oncoming zombie’s hands, he thrust it down and into the mouth of the zombie below him. A strange perplexed look crossed the face of the zombie – and believe me, when a zombie is perplexed, the grimace on his face is enough to scare even Arnold Schwarzenegger – the zombie tried to bite down, but only succeeded in forcing the Frisbee deeper into its throat. John felt the grip loosen and immediately dragged himself away from the zombie.
“Aha, success” he thought, briefly pleased that he had escaped one zombie, now all he had to do was escape the grasp of the other dozen or so zombies that were now lumbering towards him like a pack of hyenas on the prowl, and find a super hero to save the day.
Suddenly, the Frisbee chewing zombie lurched out of control and stumbled into several of the encircling zombies providing a small but tangible gap in the undead ranks. John took the opportunity and ran like a bat out of hell! Scraping through just as the ranks closed on him, John felt one of the zombies take a swipe at his arm as he passed, but luckily for him his anorak was slippery and he was able to evade the grasp, although his mom certainly wouldn’t be happy at the jagged gash in the arm of the anorak.
As he ran away, he was surprised at how quickly the amassed zombies turned and followed him, their mournful cries of surprise turning into ghastly excited screams as their prey moved away from them – they were surprisingly quick and John really began to panic when he realized his geeky legs were already feeling heavy and the zombies were catching up with him.
Suddenly he saw a dark figure rise ahead of him directly in the line of his escape; his heart nearly stopped there and then until the figure shouted at him, in a deeply manly voice ‘Get Down’. John obeyed instantly and dropped like a lead balloon – just in time too as he heard a whoosh above him, and felt the intense heat of a flamethrower – lucky or what?
Behind him he heard the screams of zombies as they disintegrated in the intense flame; a noxious smell pervaded his senses for a second. The whoosh seemed to go on forever making John extremely hot, but before he knew it, it was all over! His hero stood over him barely panting like a bastion against the dark and offered his hand to John. John pulled himself up, briefly noticing the faint trickle of blood on his arm where the jagged claws of a zombie must have got through the anorak and hugged his savior.
As he stood there, his head on the man’s shoulder, something strange began to happen – he felt saliva collecting in his throat and had a very strange urge indeed. As John sunk his teeth into the man, his very last intelligible thoughts were
“Yummm, tastes like chicken”.