"One look back," he thought. "One look back and my mind will subside."
He knew damn well that this wouldn't calm his conscious, but did that stop him? No.
He looked over his shoulder. Fear struck his eyes. He knew it would be bad, but not in his wildest dreams would he dream it to be this bad.
He stumbled, not paying attention to the ground beneath him.
"A rock..." he thought. "The ground is opening up to the deepest pits of HELL, and I trip on a fucking rock? That's so like me..."
He shot a quick glance down to his leg.
"FUCK ME!"
Streams of red stained the better parts of his ankle.
"This is NOT happening." The hoard that followed a couple hundred feet behind was now ten feet away.
"No no no no no!"
He attempted to run, which quickly turned to a hobble.
"SHIT," he yelled.
He ran into the woodland; fell beneath a tree to catch his breath and attempt a moment of clarity in his mind.
"I said I would fight this..." He started sobbing.
As he looked to the heavens above for some sign of hope, his eyes focussed on one thing: the cracked tree branch that now hung loosely above his head.
"That's it!"
He stood up, not caring about the injury he possessed. Trying to gain balance, he leaned against the trunk of the tree. He took a deep breath, jumped, and monkied his way onto the branch.
"Come on!"
As he stomped on the branch for the forth time, they fell to the ground with a thud.
"About time! That should do 'er."
The creatures sauntered nearer and nearer. He picked up his newly fashioned club with anger and pride.
"Let's do this," he whispered to himself.
He swung the branch baseball-style into the crowd of the living dead.