They were back-to-back, shitty swords in hand. Corpses came from all directions, and were quickly trapping the two Striders in a circle made out of reanimated dead. Dave gripped the handle on his katana, glancing back at his brother with a dull fire in his eyes. He was greeted with a smug look in return.
Dave, with assumed permission to go first, dashed out and away from their protected position. He avoided the clawing and chomping of the zombies and swung his sword at the things with no shits given whatsoever. Killing was a part of the day, it was normal in a post-apocalyptic world. Their routine consisted of killing and killing and killing until they found food. It was rare to find anything other then canned foods, and hunting for food wasn't an option.
They lived in the forest.
They lived everywhere!
Dave wouldn't be surprised if zombies lived in the fucking ocean.
Dave saw a blur of unthinkable speed and realized Bro had gone to get the dead on his side. He felt a breeze of wind and that only fueled him to try and kill the last three zombies before Bro whacked all his. But, in less than fifteen seconds, the older of the two had ridden of them just as Dave shoved the blade of his sword through the last zombie.
"Fuck, you win again, asshole." Dave tried to catch his breath, "How do they not die? They live out here and fry under the sun; probably have a pretty good tan going on if they just shed their old, rotten skin like some sort of sick mutant snake. They never chow down on anything, and yet, still survive somehow. Are the rising dead dipped in the sparkling water that is the fountain of youth? Does some religious demonic summoning shit happen and all of the zombies are coated in some external layer of live-forever mod-podge?"
Bro rolled his eyes at the rambling, "Let's just get back before they start to worry."
I thought, "Why not join in on zombiestuck?"
