Screams, blood, the sickening reek of death. It was pervasive, overwhelming, horrifying. yet beautiful all the same. It meant life, it meant that he still drew breath, that there was still hope. For him at least, the corpse of his lover twitched in the corner of the barricaded room. Her neck torn open by one of the vile creatures, she had died, and now was beginning to rise again.
She still looked beautiful, even now, even in death, even with blood splattered across her face, her clothes ripped and torn from when they grabbed at her. Her body still had the same beauty that had first drawn his attention, her deep red hair still had the same shine, marred only by the bits of blood. But that was just it, her body was beautiful, but she was gone. Now all that was left was this hollow shell, a base, violent thing that sought only to satiate its hunger.
He would not allow himself to become fodder for these things, not like the others. They were weak, they tried to help those who had been bitten, who had been infected. They refused to accept fact, to face reality. Once you were infected, you became one of them. You had to be destroyed.
Destroyed, that made it so much easier. He wasn't killing her, he was destroying a monster that merely took her form. He grabbed the fire axe, he had snatched it up earlier when they tried to defend the old hotel. One strike, to the head, move on. No time for emotion, no time for looking back. It was about survival. They hadn't understood, it had cost them all. He wouldn't go down, not like them, he was strong, them and their morals had held him back. He knew what had to be done. Now it was survival of the strongest.
One blow, her head split apart, bits and pieces of her insides, no, it's insides splattered against the floor and wall. Shame, it was a nice carpet. He looked to the door, they had stopped pounding, they must have moved on to easier prey. Prey, no, not prey, HE wasn't some piece of meat to be hunted by these things, he was the hunter. He tossed the nightstand to the side, and pulled the door open.
More death, it didn't disgust him anymore, not like at first, now it meant he lived. He thrived on it, breathed it deep into his lungs and revelled in it. Life, pure, sweet, life. It was intoxicating, divine. He had never felt like this before, perhaps this sickness, this disease that caused the dead to rise wasn't a curse, but a blessing. His pastor had always said man would be judged, and only the worthy would go on. This stench of death made him truly appreciate the gift of life. He now only had to prove himself worthy of it.
Two more creatures came, shambling, their bodies wrecked and burnt. Two blows with the axe and they fell. As their bodies crumbled he felt stronger, more alive than even before. It strengthened him, striking down these monsters. It must be what it felt for the angels to strike down the Egyptians so long ago.
He continued on, down the hall to the main foyer. Another one rounded the corner, one of the cops that had come and tried to help fortify the old mansion turned hotel. The former officer's side arm dragged along the ground, still attached by a lanyard. A useful tool for his work, he brought the axe down again and the beast fell like the others. He grabbed the gun, the belt, the ammo. He put down the axe, opting instead for the pistol.
He entered the foyer, more of the shambling things turned to face him. One crawled up the curving staircase on the far side, two more were already atop the balcony overlooking the entrance and unlike the others they could move. They charged, three shots rang out and they both fell. The crawler emerged at the top, its lower torso and legs had been eaten away, it pulled itself along with its arms. Another shot, another creature killed.
With each one that fell he felt the high again, it strengthened him, his resolve, it deepened his understanding. There was no way to properly explain how he felt, how each shot fired, how each blow from the axe was like a divine essence infusing him with ever greater strength. Even as he became covered in blood and gore, he felt pure.
He continued on, eschewing the stairs down and to the way out he kept on going to the other side of the building. More of these things remained, more work had to be done. They would all fall. He reached the other hallway, his pistol firing away, three of the dead fell. A fourth charged at him, his shots going wide, he drew the baton from the belt, a quick flick of his wrist and it extended. The first strike, sideways, across its head and it fell to the ground. Movement, he struck again, bringing the metal stick down with all his strength. The head split, but it wasn't as clean as with the axe, it was more of a shattering, along the length of the head that had been struck. Still, it worked.
The sounds of the dead gone from the hall he could hear whimpering. He found the source, a door, he tried to open it. Nothing, it must have been barricaded like his own had been earlier. He tried knocking, still nothing, he pounded on it and still no response but more whimpering and sobbing. He turned away, stalked back to where he had struck the officer down and picked up his axe yet again. The pistol and baton holstered, he returned to the barricaded door. One blow, two blows, three blows. The fire axe did its job, the door didn't stand long, and was burst apart. But there was still furniture blocking the way.
He kicked, the furniture toppled over, he kicked again and the savaged door smashed inwards. He looked, a mother and her daughter held each other in the corner, weeping. Weak, pathetic things. The invigoration he had felt from dispatching the hellish things that haunted this building was fast leaving him. He was starting to feel weakened, his breath quickened, the calm serenity that he had felt was falling apart. His mind began to race, and he understood now more than ever what was occurring. This was indeed the judgement of man, and as he had delivered God's judgement upon the walking dead, so would he deliver the Lord's judgement onto these pitiful beings that dared call themselves people. They weren't worthy, the monsters couldn't help what they were, but these people could have, they could have shown strength, they could shown themselves worthy of the life they had been given and the chance to show what they were capable of. Instead they wept, huddled in a darkened corner, waiting to die. They would get their wish.
They turned to him, they were frightened, but beneath the gore that covered him they recognized him. "Oh thank God!" the Mother exclaimed.
"You aren't worthy of uttering that name," one blow. Like the others he had dispatched, only these ones lived, and screamed. It was a new sensation, but invigorating nonetheless. The daughter still lived, she scrambled to get away, shrieking and sobbing even more. A second blow and she stopped too.
The second level now clear, he returned to the foyer. The noise had attracted attention, over a dozen of the things now rushed to get up the stairs. He kicked one of the large potted plants down, it rolled, knocking most of them over. The others tripped over their fallen comrades as they raced to get to the fresh piece of meat that had shown itself.
He held the axe in one hand, the pistol in the other. He fired away, until the magazine ran empty. He reloaded, fired again. It ran empty. He had put most of them down, but others still came up, some with holes riddling their bodies from missed shots, others yet unscathed. The first one was about to reach him and he threw the pistol, it was knocked back and into those behind it, sending them all falling the steps.
He swung the axe at the next one, and the one after, and the one after that. One by one he swung, jabbed, stabbed, and bludgeoned them to a more permanent death. At last he reached the bottom. He listened for the sounds of others but heard nothing from inside. His first task complete, he stepped through the main doors, the barricades having been long destroyed.
As he stepped outside his belief had been reinforced. It truly was the apocalypse, the city before him burned, fire and smoke filled the skies, and ash fell like snow. Blood and bodies littered the ground as far as he could see. He heard moans, growls, other primal sounds that the creatures emanated. They came in from every direction, and he was ready. He swung as he had before, and one by one the monsters fell to him. Each kill invigorated him, soon he was shouting praise to God as he did the Lord's work. Judgement day had come, and it would be rendered by his hands.
But even he could accomplish only so much. They came from all directions, surrounded him, for everyone one he struck down more took their place. They grabbed at him, bit him, tore his flesh away. He didn't feel it, he felt only the light that filled him, the divine essence that lent him strength. Another one fell, then he joined it. They poured all over, tearing, biting, and feasting.