His fingers glided over the six strings on his guitar, creating a melancholic melody befitting of the apocalyptic world his own life had become. Each note he plucked told a part of the story. It was his one true escape, the only thing in this forsaken land that brought a calmness and peace to Chaz Evans’ soul.
The .22 caliber assault rifle lay to his side, along with his 12 inch blade bowie knife and crossbow. He sat on the edge of the boot of his SUV, and continued to pick the strings of his instrument. He chewed on the end of his toothpick, and glanced up at the sun, high in the afternoon sky, casting its light over the debris and body strewn landscape laid out before him.
An inhuman growl woke him from his absent state. He glanced up the street. A group of human like figures; seven in total, were ambling down the street. Their decomposing flesh, the sores sprouting on their skin, the blood dripping from their mouths and the horrid stench betrayed their true nature. The group before him were zombies, the risen as he liked to call them. Members of the dead who were now un-dead flesh eaters. Abominations.
Chaz carefully placed his guitar back inside the SUV alongside his host of weaponry, then turned and picked up the assault rifle. He looked through the scope, and picked off two of the risen at three hundred metres with clean shots to the head. As they became aware of his presence, the remainder of the pack began sprinting, one dragging a lame leg as it struggled to reach its prey. Another was missing both arms, and another had a gaping hole in its stomach. To kill them, you had to take the head.
Chaz swapped his rifle for his crossbow and took aim. He killed another three of the creatures before they were getting too close. He swapped the crossbow for the knife and tossed it from hand to hand as he waited for the last two to reach him. One was the zombie with the hole in it; the other had no ailments aside from its un-dead condition. As the holey zombie reached him, he swung the blade across, slicing clean through its neck, leaving the head hanging by a single thread of rotten flesh which then snapped. Black liquid oozed from the neck of the creature as its body collapsed onto the floor.
The second zombie threw itself through the air, taking Chaz to the ground. They became locked in a grapple on the floor, Chaz keeping the thing’s mouth away from his own flesh, the thing trying to eat him. He sliced across its stomach, spilling rotten rancid guts over himself. The thing did not relent- evidently the fact that it had lost most of its internal organs did not phase it. Its mouth worked furiously, its jagged teeth attempting to rip through Chaz’s neck. He heaved it off, sat up and plunged the blade of the knife through the eye of the zombie. The thing writhed on the floor as it punctured its brain. Chaz sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. He rose then, wiped the blade clean, changed his shirt and then went to retrieve his arrows.
Chaz threaded the tube into the tank of the car and began siphoning more fuel for his SUV. A steady flow of liquid ran into the waiting container as he searched the interior of the vehicle for anything that may be of use. He found a baseball bat in the back seat, and a couple of unopened cans of food in the front.
As he brought the supplies back to his SUV, Bubbles let out a screech. Chaz looked over at the monkey, his one living companion in this world of death. The chimp wore a small red waistcoat, the same red waistcoat he had been wearing since they had first crossed paths. It had followed him for that entire day, and eventually, he had taken it in. They now shared a very close friendship.
Chaz turned away from the boot of his SUV, and glanced about. Something caught his eye. A pair of eyes was staring back at him through the window of a van parked nearby.