(Chapter 4)

Billy stepped into the forest. Like always, it was dead-silent. Not a bird chirped in the trees. The wind did not stir in the least. Most of the trees in the Arklay were evergreen, so leaves did not fall. The only thing that seemed to even be alive was Billy himself. It was ominous, eerie, and somewhat depressing.

He decided, today, to hunt on foot. Yesterday's "Tarzan jump" ordeal did not really work too well, and he didn't want to risk an injury. He moved slowly and silently, listening for the movement of an undead. His eyes peered into the somewhat dark forest, searching for the terrifying eyes of the infected. He sniffed the air, hoping to catch a waft of rotten stench in the air.

Billy moved on, sliding gracefully among the forest bottom. He passed trees and bushes, and kept searching for his prey. He came upon a bloodstained tree. It was covered in the shiny red liquid, and Billy grinned to himself. This was a sign of zombies. Whether it had just tripped onto the trunk, or if it had eaten something, or somebody, it was definitely a sign of action. Billy looked around the trunk to find another drop of blood. Not but three feet was another small pool of blood. Three of four feet from that was another little droplet. Billy followed this, listening for wet footsteps, or the moaning of undead humans. He checked around trees quickly, but silently. If he was attacked, and crippled out in this forestry, nobody would even attempt to get him. Way out here, health or death were your only two options. It was extremely risky business, but he knew he had to risk everything in order to eat.

Billy followed the trail of blood for about a quarter mile, when he stumbled across a snuffed fire. He quickly spun around, checking the area for any more signs of life. This was a device used commonly by zombie hunters. Because undead have no instinct or thought except to find food, they are not afraid of fire. They seem to be drawn to it, even. Hunters will light a fire, and usually wait around to take out anything that comes toward the fire. Coen spun, looking for the Zombie Hunter, if he was still here. Something red shined in his eye. Immediately, he dove to his right as a shotgun slug smacked the ground next to him. He was quickly on his feet again. "Don't shoot! I'm human, where are you!?" He yelled. He looked around, and heard some one swear violently.

"Sorry, man. I didn't realize... My bad..." Somebody jumped out of a tree and landed behind him. Billy turned to face him. The man wore blue jeans, and a hunting-camouflage hooded sweater. His hands were bloody, and his shotgun was still smoking. On the end was a laser pointer, which Billy supposed caused the red flash. "Shoot, man, I thought you were game."

Billy spat in some bushes off a ways. "Almost polished me off. Name's Billy Coen," he said, grimly. "Been out here for the last hour, and haven't seen even one of the..." he swore, and saw the blood on the man's hands. "Was that you on the tree over there?" The man looked at where Billy pointed.

"Yeah, I killed one of 'em, and smeared 'em on the tree to lead some more o'er here. I'm Freddy Moore, by the way. Did they take the body?" he asked.

"I didn't see anything," Billy replied. "They must be near, then." He gazed into the trees. They were in a clearing, but around it was thick vegetation. All of a sudden, a zombie, arms caked with blood, dashed out from next to them. It's skin was slightly reddish, as if sunburned, and inch long nails protruded from his fingers. Freddy turned to shoot at it, but was clawed in the neck. He fell to the ground, on his back, and gasped for air.

The creature dove for him, with impressive agility and speed. However, he was met with a roundhouse kick to the side of the head from Billy, and was flung 4 feet to the side. Freddie clutched his throat, chocking on blood. The monster pulled himself up, and charged at Coen, who took out his knife. The monster leaped at Billy, but was stabbed in the shoulder upon impact. It growled demoniacally, and tried to shred Billy's chest. It succeeded in making 4 small, parallel scratches. Groaning, Billy shoved the zombie off, retracting the knife from it, as they rolled. Now, Billy was on top, and dodged a quick slash at the face.

It reached for Billy's neck, but had a hand sliced to the bone, instead. It pulled it back, and Coen saw his chance to stab at the eye. It sunk into the blue eye like butter, and the whole zombie shuddered as the brain was pierced. It stopped and lay on the ground. Billy's chest stung, as the wound was infected, but he shrugged and ran toward Freddie who was still struggling to breathe. Short choking breaths were all he could gather, as he arched his back and writhed in torment.

"Freddy..." Billy stared at him. His eyes darted back and forth. The man grabbed for Billy, and coughed blood as he tried to say something. Billy knew what he wanted. He drew his pistol, and pressed his against the man's forehead. Freddy jolted as the shot entered, cracking the skull and left a large mess. Freddy's eyes were shut, still flinching, though dead. Billy closed his eyes, and wished for the apartment he had back in the modern world. He wanted his soft bed and to see his dog again, instead of this horrendous mess.

Eventually, he managed to stand, and inspected the monster. It looked like a normal zombie, except for the claws, and the red skin. He wiped at his chest, and saw that the blood was coagulating rather quickly. Wondering why this was, Billy pulled the knife out of the zombie's eye socket. He then proceeded to cut the head off of the monster, and stuffed it in the sack.

The sack idea was a good idea, in hiding the bounty from possible thieves. However, the head was bleeding, and leaving a large red spot in the bottom. He figured he could probably hide just that spot, however.

He left the body where it lie, and returned to Freddy. He grimly looked upon the sight, and bent down toward it. He began to cut around the neck. It was inhumane, he knew, and he couldn't believe he was severing the head of the only acquaintance he'd met in the last few years. However, he needed the money, badly. He circled the skin around the fragmented head, slicing the skin to the bone. Blood was all over his hands and boots, and finally, he snapped the neck, and put the remains of the head into the sack. He felt dirty and low for what he was about to do, but he shrugged it off.

After wiping his hands on the dirt, he continued toward home.