All I could hear was bombs thundering in the distance, underneath me the sloppy mud rumbled with each explosion. I opened my mud crusted eyes to corpses scattered around me like ragged dolls, I rolled my weighted body over to stare at the black sky. Not a single star dotted the dark scape, only a blood red moon hungover us like a man staring down, mocking and taunting. With weakened arms I slowly pushed my leadened body into a seated position against the sandbags piled up to shelter gunners. I pressed a hand to my chest and breathed deeply, but something felt wrong. My heart wasn't beating. But before I could grasp onto my first instinct, a zombie man jumped over the wall of dirty sandbags and began shooting behind him before he had a chance to crouch down for cover. The zombie ducked down to reload, but stopped halfway through to look at me. "Come on man! We need all the help we can get!" He sounded like a stereotypical hippie, not one you'd think to join a war, or be a zombie. I heard a loud click as he finished reloading, looking up at his face. I was horrified beyond belief, the right half of his face was only skull. As it reached over to the left, you could see the bloody flesh where his face was ripped, the tear was like a lighting bolt straight down to the neck. The zombie hippie still had two arms and legs, but they were all missing chunks of muscle. Flies swarm around his chest where one could see into most of the rib cage, while the rest sat feeding on his open brain. Long dirty blond hair hung from the intact side of the scalp, and probably the only reason his brains haven't spilled out was the tie dye head band bound around his skull. Ragged drapes were all there was left of the once sturdy battle armor blowing in the cold breeze that stung my mud caked face. The zombie cleared his throat, yanking me from my mind. "Well sir.. I don't have a gun." He laughed, which sounded like a man violently throwing up. "We can fix that little dilemma!" Crouching down below the sandbags, the undead hippie crawled to a dead body and pulled out a pistol and shot gun. I crawled halfway over to meet him, taking the guns quickly, not wanting to touch his hands. Both which we're missing quite a few fingers. The larger of the two guns was put into a sheath on my back, and the other I swiftly loaded. "By the way." The zombie held out his hand, "I'm Harry." I took his hand, feeling it was rude to ignore the gesture. "And welcome to No Man's Land."
