The next morning I woke up at my usual time of six thirty. I was in a sitting position against the door still in my camo gear and my rifle across my legs. I put the rifle to one side next to my bow and got up, looking around I took in the familiar sites of the sheep shed. Seeming my family didn’t actually own any sheep we used the shed for storage, it was loaded with heaps of boxes filled with items from what seemed like a life time ago. As I scanned the area I caught sight of my dad’s old world war two bayonet, ever since I had started writing a book I had nicknamed it Cruor Latin for blood or the bloodied one. I picked it up and strapped its sheath of hardened leather to my belt. It felt good, a reassuring weight against the side of my leg. I started to think, if we’re going out there we’re going to need weapons. I thought to all the knives, blades and guns and other weapons my father had collected up over the years and a few that my brother and had found and bought ourselves. I left to go and collect up as many things as I could, being careful not to wake anyone, I slipped through the door and started walking down towards the house. I stopped when I saw a lone figure shambling around the cars. I started to run thinking to myself ‘if things are already bad enough for people to start looting then things are worse than I had thought.’ When I got to the cars I saw that there were a couple more of them and that they weren’t people, or at least they weren’t anymore. One of them was missing half their face and all of them had multiple bite marks on them. “Shit” was the only word that got out before they turned at my approach and started to come towards me groaning. I reached for my rifle but then remembered that I had left it up at the shed, as I brought my hand back up it brushed Cruor. I clenched the hilt and yanked it from its sheath; I held it out in front me and relaxed; bringing it back into a ready position. I flipped it around in my hand so that it pointed down and leapt at the walking corpse. It didn’t give as much resistance to being tackled as I had thought and so we fell to the ground, seeing that all of the things had lots of bite marks on them and assuming that they had only become these things after being bitten or just dying, I kept my limbs away from its snapping mouth. It wrapped its arms around me and tried to pull me closer, I pushed myself up with one hand around its throat and the other trying to get a good shot at its heart with Cruor. I managed to slip the blade up under the things ribcage and into what felt like the heart, but it just kept coming; I pulled the blade out partially and shoved it back in, blood spurting from the wound. It didn’t stop or even slow, so I pulled Cruor out and stabbed the thing in its left eye, I pushed it down until I could feel it digging into the ground behind the things skull, then it finally lay still. By now the other two were closing in on me, but luckily one had tripped over a rock or something. Armed with the knowledge that I needed to aim for the head, I dispatched them fairly quickly, sliding Cruor through the second’s eye and then slamming it into the back of the thirds head. After wiping Cruor off on their clothing, shakily, I had a closer look at their faces, I didn’t know the first two but the last was a girl who had been a real bitch at school and I wasn’t sorry to find her dead. “Well I guess this makes up for all those times you made my life miserable.” I said to the corpse “Now if you will excuse me I need to prepare.”
After that gruesome piece of business I was able to collect three combat knives from varying eras of war, several of my dad’s more modern knives and a bunch of pocket knives, a mini-machete whose sheath was made of wood and covered in camo netting, the two shotguns, extra rifle and ammo plus the other bow from the cottage, two axes, two hatchets, a splitter and a .44 from one of my dad’s drawers. I gathered them all and deposited them on the tray of my dad’s car, a big, grey four wheel drive, and started sorting through them. I attached two of the more modern day combat knives to my belt and across my chest, attaching it to my harness and then put the mini-machete next to Cruor. I pulled out the machete and admired it for a few seconds “I should think of a name for you as well.” I said to the blade “What about…” I thought for a moment “Split.” I said “There we go.” And I slid it back into its sheath. I took the .44 and put it in a holster that I had attached to the opposite side of my belt. Leaving the rest for everyone else I then went down to the closest front gate to try and get an idea of where those things that attacked me had come from. When I came into view of Bredbo I almost didn’t believe it. Another house had caught fire maybe a few seconds ago and was only just starting to smoke, while the other was only a smouldering wreck. I looked around wide eyed, there were heaps of people walking around but none of them were doing anything to stop the fire. I whispered under my breath “Shit” as I realised that none of them were people. They were all corpses. Walking corpses.