As the moans neared he readied his weapon, clutching it with such force it was as if it became apart of him, a life line. His heart was like a funeral drum in his ears, and his lungs strained at the effort to bring in breath. Even if he had just gotten up, he was already exhausted. His thoughts trailed to the heaviness of his chest and the button, safely tucked into his front pocket. He was surrounded, and he knew that, but he was not going down without a fight.
A hand. Scrawny, wrinkled, rotten gripped the side of the van, just centimetres from his face. The smell, the unholyness of it burnt the back of his throat and brung tears to his eyes. Fear over took him, he was not strong like the others, he could not help but freeze before the things which ran wild in the worst of his nightmares. It pulled the rest of itself forward, revealing the most unsightly creature known to man.
Zombie.
A fierce, inhuman sound erupted from his throat. It was like a dying animal fighting its way from the jaws of its predictor in a helpless attempt to break free. Terrified beyond wit, he swung his axe.
Crunch.
His tightly closed eyes could not protect him from the horrors of the dead. His imagination ran wild and all that he could do was open them back up to escape from the hell which he brought upon himself. But escape was futile, and as he stared at the dead, grey eyes of the female zombie at the receiving end of his axe, he wished that escaping was as easy as opening your eyes.
Hastily, but with much effort, he pulled the axe out between the zombies eyes and kicked at the corpse to the crowd of more, turning their emotionless faces to him. Moaning became screeching and all attention was brought to him. He swung his axe again, but this time not as lucky, and the blade landed on an arm. He tugged with what strength he had left but it was far to late. Hands, millions of hands, dug their nails into all the flesh he had. His struggling was futile, and one by one they took long hard bites out of him. Their clothes formed new stains which mixed well with the already torn and dripping parts of flesh uneaten painted across them.
It was cold. He looked to the sky as he was pulled down by the grumbling beasts. His trusty axe fell to his side, the struggle left him and his thoughts travelled back to his friends. He hoped they were all right, they should have made it through alive far longer then him. Oh well, he thought to himself, it wasn't like I went out without a bang. He reached for his front pocket with the arm which ha not been already torn off and thrown to the side. The life left him, but not until he clicked the button. His last thought was see you in hell as the explosives around his chest ignited. The blast would have been heard for miles, and the heat scorched every last walker which crowded around him. A second blast from the van taking flight destroyed anyone who remained and finished the job. Yes, Ed had died, but not without a fight.