Fist Fighting the Undead

The night dragged on as every gush of wind howled and trees creaked around the shelter. Cold, alone, afraid. The isolation of that small tent in the middle of hundreds of acres of damp, overgrown grass. Fields laden with corpses and blood stained mud.

“Do you want to live?” she asked with that calm tone reminiscent of my wife.

“Yes,” I said. Deep down having the knowledge that we wouldn’t pass into the next night so fortunate. THEY were coming. THEY were hungry. THEY would tear us apart. I felt the dash of ice splash against my spine as I snuggled closer to the brunette, her plump body cushioned my head. She was just another outlaw, survivor. I suppose now the world is overrun by the undead, she’d be the best pillow for a long time. The worst part was the tent had holes in, and water trickled in on rainy days.

“What are we going to do if they turn up?” She puts her arm around my shoulder as we gaze through the netting into the moonlight. Endless fields illuminated beneath white speckled light. Beads of sweat drip down my face. Oh the fever, it is getting worse.

“We fight. We fight like we have never fought before.” I reciprocate and feel her warm breath on my neck. In the distance the howls of rogue wolves and the stench of burned sulfur drifts over us. The foul stench of death…

Thank you for reading this small excerpt of my short story. I will release a little more at some point. The full story won’t be finished until sometime from August as I have another project I am currently editing. You can check that here 👇

A New Story Coming to you this Summer — psychedelicwizard (wordpress.com)