Prologue
"BWAHAHAHA!"
The laughter made me jump and my heart skip a beat. A Jockey.
Frankly, Jockeys were just annoying. Their laughter was reminiscent of the Joker. They also could jump like Jesse Owens. It scared me.
"God," I muttered through gritted teeth, the almost-empty box of ammo in between my teeth while I jammed the last rounds into my plain Jane pump-action shotgun.
The maniac laughter grew closer and closer, making my neck hairs stiffen and needles spike my skin. I had killed a fair amount of these things before, how could I get so scared right now?
Probably because I had been so careless to spill Boomer Bile all over myself while running from a whole horde.
"Oh Jesus."
It was one zombie, then four, then ten. Twenty and counting.
I barely had enough bullets for fifteen. Maybe tell them to get in line and blast off some headshots?
Yeah, right.
A zombie dashed up to me, grabbing my arm as its teeth hungrily clipped together, going in for a bite. I elbowed its sorry face and watched it fall backwards and break its own neck. Zombies were just downright retarded.
They had no brains, duh.
Taking no more chances, I maneuvered my way up onto a fairly large storage container, a decent distance from the ground and to where only fugly Jockeys could reach me.
"BWAHAHAHA!"
I braced myself for the heart-stopping grab of the Jockey, mounting me and riding me like I was some unicorn on a Merry-Go-Round. But there was nothing, only the hiss and snarl of the ravenous undead below me. Suddenly, a creeping, cold feeling washed over me as I wasted a couple of corpses.
"Ohohoho," the dainty voice cried.
A Witch.
What the hell was wrong with the world? I wanted to slam my face into a brick wall.
As the horde dwindled in numbers less than seven, I finished them off, creeping down from the container and silently making my way around the many other storage containers and random items, such as: dirty mattresses, blown-over lawn chairs, a barbeque that was overturned with ashes everywhere, garbage cans, candy wrappers, and trash. They all littered the abandon storage unit.
As I turned the corner, peeking around the metal container first, it came onto me.
"OH SHIT-"
The Jockey had found me, its crazy laughter shattering my eardrums and its breath coming cold and erratic against my neck as it rode me, tossing me to the ground and thrashing against me. I had dropped my shotgun in this process, mentally cursing myself.
"Get off me!" I shouted as I punched it square in the face, puss and blood smearing my already nasty fingers.
The wind shifted, and the smell of deceased filled my nostrils: Another horde.
I fought for the shotgun, fingertips brushing the cold steel of its barrel achingly numerous times as the Jockey drained my strength from me, cackling and bouncing off of me.
"Got it."
The barrel became one with my hand as I grasped it, and I spun it around swiftly and shot the Jockey's head off.
Its body fell lifelessly to the ground, the head making a dull thud as it fell alongside the carcass.
I brushed my dirty, bloody hands on my jeans. The horde came within the next minute.
"Crap," I muttered. "I only have a few shells left."
I was tackled from the rear, head hitting the hard concrete hard, zombies spinning around me. I guess I startled the witch, because I heard this loud screech and before I knew it she jumped on me, claws digging into my skin like knives.
The last thing I heard (and saw) was four people, mobbing their way towards me, shooting undead left and right. I remembered the face of a man, his white and blue hat washed pale by the moon. He had a grin on his face as he said something that sounded far off:
"Looks like she's a little out of it, eh Coach?"