He was jolted awake by a piercing shriek, one loud enough to wake the dead, in the literal sense. He didn't question the whys and hows and whos even after the 'falling to his death' part but was instead grateful to past-him for having the insight to secure his SMG with a sling for added security.
Within a second, he was crouched on one knee with the nozzle of his gun pointed at the source, pupils dilated and eyes narrowed as he tried to adjust to the dimness of the cavern he had fallen into. His shoulders stung and his back ached like no tomorrow from the movement, but survival instincts honed by two decades worth of zombie attacks made it clear that hesitation and sluggishness only led to premature death.
The sight of an unmasked (did they have a death wish?), cowering child gave him a pause, his finger on the trigger faltering. It has been a long time since he has last seen a human child in that age bracket (eight? ten?). The apocalypse hasn't been kind to children with their low immunity and lower instincts for survival, and it was only after two decades worth of zombie apocalypse experience did humanity learn to overcome their common enemy and start to reproduce again. At most, he has seen a handful of toddlers at bases with adequate military strength and quality air-filtering systems in the past two, maybe three years, and all the kids there knew to keep their silence even in the face of death.
This child, on the other hand, seemed to have no concept of volume control. Rather than keep their silence for a tactical escape, they continued to whimper ever so often whilst on the verge of hyperventilation. He had to shake his head at whoever their parents were for their lack of survival education.
They had on an expression of horror; eyes wide open with blown pupils as they continued to huddle against the wall furthest from him. Their mouth opened and closed akin to a fish out of water, though thankfully, they didn't continue to scream. He wasn't one to put children down, but age didn't matter if one was a liability to his continual survival. Loud sounds attracted the wrong sort of attention–
He suddenly had to muffle a pained filled keen at the surprising feel of blunt teeth on his left shin, gnawing on his flesh like a dog with a bone. His distraction and poor spatial awareness proved fatal to his future mobility. With a grunt, he bodily twisted, dagger in hand, having abandoned his P90 in favour of a silent kill, and didn't hesitate to drop on his ass to kick his right feet at where he perceived the zombie's head to be. He was unhesitant as he dived his dagger straight through the crawling zombie's skull as soon as the kick landed, relishing in its dying struggles, before flicking the brain matter off his blade whilst clinically scanning his surroundings. Better late than never.
Whilst his eyes strained to see through the dimmed sunlight that somehow managed to penetrate through this veiled underground darkness, there were enough sun rays for him to notice the numerous lumps of unmoving zombies littered all around his feet... which were, surprisingly enough, atop a patch of yellow flowers.
He swiftly shoved aside the astonishment he felt at the healthy-looking flowers since he knew better than to trust those undead bastards to remain still for even a minute longer. He tentatively put weight on his left foot, hissing when a jolt of pain ran up his spine, but nonetheless continued to apply pressure on it until he stood to his full height of 6'. He gritted his teeth and endured the pain, knowing to compartmentalize and prioritize.
Determined to quickly finish his task, he reached for the freshly killed zombie and dragged it to one section of the cave(?) by its tattered clothes, away from the still cowering child. Once done, he sauntered to the nearest unmoving zombie and made a mash out of its brain, before dragging it to accompany the first. Rinse and repeat until all of them undead bastards were double dead and piled at a corner, never to be visited again.
Patting his fingerless tactical gloved hands together as if the action alone could rid the dirt and blood off the material, he sighed in relief at a job well done. Weighing his options, he decided to leave his backpack and duffel alone for now; the contents could be checked later (and his shoulders throbbed unpleasantly at the idea of carrying the heavy packages).
First and foremost, he turned to regard the child whilst making his way over, unwavering despite the child's attempt at escaping. They weren't going anywhere, at least not with the way their body trembled ceaselessly – they were weak-kneed even with the support of the rocky wall behind them.
"Yo, kid." His muffled voice was raspy from disuse, which wasn't a surprise. He crouched – just so he wouldn't be towering over the frightened child – at a certain distance; far enough to dodge any attempts of an attack yet still close enough to appear friendly. "You need a mask?"
Whilst he wouldn't have hesitated to butcher his fellow humans even on a good day (human greed was scarier than any kind of zombie), he did know to refrain from unnecessary killings – especially if humanity wanted to survive past the apocalypse. Children needed to be protected and nurtured since they were humanity's future.
The more humans survive, the more they could potentially take back their world from them undead bastards. It would be a slow step towards a brighter future, more so because of the heavily contaminated environment, but baby steps were better than nothing. This mentality applied more to him than the average folk, seeing that he was a mage and mages have a longer lifespan. He didn't know if it was a curse or a blessing in this apocalyptic world.
For one, he didn't have to worry about growing weak with old age since his body grew at a rate of 1 every 10 years since puberty hit. Due to his kind's longevity, they tended to be loners or nomads to avoid mundane humans, to avoid unnecessary attention and drama. There were so few of them left even before the apocalypse happened, and he hadn't encountered another of his kind in decades, his parents included after he had flown the coop, so to speak. On the other hand, unless he took the coward's way out, zombies were going to be his long-life companions since it might take a century to return the world to its origin.
The zombie apocalypse happened twenty years ago. It took humanity ten years to stop killing each other and form communities. Another ten to live tentatively amongst themselves. It might take another ten for bases to stop warring with each other for resources, and another ten for the first generation to lead humanity past the apocalyptic stage. By then, half a century would have passed and the most humanity would accomplish was a form of alliances that people from the pre-apocalyptic era would laugh at. Following that it might take yet another decade or two to learn that everyone needed to work together towards building a legit economy (countries) rather than this farce they currently have.
He had to hold back a sigh; he wasn't looking forward to going through all those stages in mankind's history again. And here he thought having lived through the two World Wars was bad enough... What a bleak future to look forward to. If psychiatrists still existed, he would be their wet dream with all the accumulated PTSD longevity had cursed him with.
But he digressed.
He tuned back to the present, only to discover that the child has gone deathly pale whilst trying to hold back their waterworks. Their lower lip was trembling, and tears were rolling down their cherubic cheeks. Their eyes didn't stray from the pile of corpses behind him and there was a puddle of vomitus near their feet.
He tilted his head. After an entire minute of silence, a lightbulb seemed to click inside his head. "They won't be getting up again." His reassurances seemed to jolt them into remembering that he was still present. They whimpered, which caused his eyebrows to wrinkle behind the visor of his gasmask. Was the child still afraid of the zombies? That wouldn't do. "I made sure to be thorough when mashing their brains. But a second time won't hurt. One can never be too cautious with them."
Without waiting for their response, he carefully stood up and made his way back to the pile of corpses. The zombie bite on his shin stung with every step he took and his shoulder injuries were burning, but he persevered. He unsheathed his well-used tanto from the holster on his lower back hidden underneath his parka and started hacking at the zombies' corpses, careful to avoid any blood splatters, viscera, and brain matter. After all the decapitated corpses had their limbs messily amputated, he turned to the child with a reassuring smile on his lips. Their fear should be dispelled by now.
Thump.
He blinked when the child flopped abruptly forward and landed face first onto the dirty floor, akin to a marionette with its strings cut.
… Did they just faint from overwhelming fear? No, that was probably the wrong assumption. In all likelihood, the child had a blackout due to the toxins in the air. He had to shake his head in apparent despair at that; what kind of imbecile set foot outside their base without adequate protection such as filters, weapons, and gas masks, anyway? Apparently this one.