I wasn't sure how long I stared into the festering mass of zombies below before I snapped out of my disbelief. More of them had arrived in the meantime, clustering beneath my perch. Eight feet didn't feel like safety anymore. All it would take is one former basketball player or a pileup for them to grab me and pull me into their slavering maws.
Thankfully none of them were able to climb, but a few were trying. Given enough time it looked like they might get the hang of it. 'Time…' Time was against me in more ways than one. While I could escape to higher branches, the zombies weren't going away and so long as I was in the tree I had no access to food or water. Something had to be done.
It was unlikely any friendly parties would stumble upon me this deep in the woods. Even if I called for help and someone besides zombies heard me, I risked luring them into the same gauntlet I'd narrowly escaped. No, I'd have to take care of myself.
My new body felt light, spry, but I was still no chipmunk. Jumping from tree to tree was out, but the forest was fairly dense. If I were to fashion some sort of bridge, tied together with green branches and strips of my t-shirt? Sap siphoned from the trees might sustain me for a time. Some of the species I was seeing suggested I was fairly far south, making it difficult to guess the season, but there might be some arboreal bounty to be found. Apples if I was truly lucky, though even acorns might suffice. I was pretty sure acorns were edible if cooked and if I was careful I could likely start a small fire in the crook of a hardwood tree without setting the whole forest ablaze. With time I could even build snares for squirrels and other tree-living creatures, then use their bones to carve hollows in the trees to collect rainwater.
It sounded… oddly viable. This body even felt young enough to adapt to the stresses of tree-climbing and less than sterile food. But it all depended on being able to move from tree to tree without ever losing my balance or falling through a rotten branch; of the zombies not learning to climb or piling up high enough to reach me; on living up here long enough for them all to rot away. But there was a simpler way. Perhaps even a better way.
In my youth I'd been something of a pacifist. There was so much violence in the world already that it felt wrong to add to it. But over time I'd come to accept that while turning the other cheek was the right thing to do when faced with rational men, there were some beings that could not be reasoned with or appealed to with emotion. Rabid animals, fanatics, rapists… They were a blight that had to be contained. And while in civilized society it was enough to quarantine them, lock them up and perhaps even treat them, I wasn't sheltered by civilization any more.
With a heavy heart I took to my task. Finding a makeshift spear was the first thing, though it wasn't easy. I climbed higher in the tree in search of a suitable branch but none yielded to me. While limber, this body lacked greatly in brute physical strength. By the width of the wrists it had either never experienced upper-body exercise or it wasn't even ten years old yet. Eventually I found the solution thanks to Archimedes.
With a little help from the rough bark I tore my shirt into long strips, the ridiculously cutesy rainbow on the front ripped to shreds. Tying each strip together into a crude rope I attached one end to as far out on a dead branch as I could reach. Pulling on the rope created a reverse lever, channeling force into the pivot point. When the branch finally snapped I wasn't quite able to get out of the way, the heavy end slamming painfully against my upper arm. The delicate white skin was bruising already but thankfully wasn't bleeding.
Weapon acquired, I resumed my perch on the lowest branch. The rope took on a new role now, reaching in a loop around the thick branch. A loop at the top gave me a secure handhold in case something went awry. I doubted the repurposed t-shirt would hold my full weight, but it was better than trying to grip the thick, rough-barked branch without it. The thicker material of my pants might work better but that would leave the bark free to cut my skin to ribbons. There was no point going through all this if I just died to infection later. That in mind, I shortened the loop to gather fabric for a face mask. It wouldn't be worth much, I couldn't even douse it in vinegar as they'd done in plague times, but at least it would keep blood out of my mouth.
I stalled for a few minutes, braiding my long hair out of the way with an odd fluency. Muscle memory from this body, I supposed. But eventually I couldn't put it off any longer, I was losing the sun. My eyes blurred, a tear dripping down my cheek. It was a surprise since it had been years since I'd actually shed a tear. I hadn't even been sure I was capable of such naked emotion anymore. But while the tears now escaping me made me feel better in an odd way, it wouldn't change the outcome. Wiping away the tears in my eyes I hardened my heart and struck.
It was easier than I expected. The man - the zombie - didn't dodge in the slightest, didn't even flinch. The branch-spear sank into his skull with no more resistance than a block of foam. I'd thought I might need to strike through an eye to be effective, but it appeared their skulls were so decalcified than even a solid strike from an simple stick was sufficient to pierce them.
With a slurping sound he slid off the end of my spear, eyes dead and slavering maw ceasing its motion at last. With a sickening thump he fell to the ground, his spot swiftly replaced with another zombie. With a start I pulled back my spear before they could grab it. This one was better preserved, and a woman. Was it possible she could still be saved?
'No.' I wasn't sure if it was my heart, my reason, or my pessimism that spoke, but I only had one choice. I stabbed her through the head as well, her better-preserved skull slanting off my attack only slightly. She fell to the ground, still snarling but seemingly with too much brain damage to move her body. The horror of the sight made the rest easier. I developed a fatal rhythm as I struck each zombie in turn. Eventually the pile beneath me became so high that the taller ones could nearly reach me. With dread purpose I switched branches and began my task anew, until the last of the horde lay dead or writhing below.
My head felt fuzzy, lungs sucking in and out furiously as my heart thumped in my throat. A stray thought led me to take off my face mask, fresh air flooding my lungs. The chill of the approaching evening brought me back to sanity, a touch of wind driving away some of the stench of death. 'It is done.'
"Sophia? Is that you? Who killed all the walkers?"
I nearly fell off the branch when I heard him. Lifting off the branch to a sitting position my eyes ravenously examined the newcomer. I could hardly believe he was alive, whoever he was. I'd begun to worry I was the only living human in this strange world, so the barest hint of conversation and companionship was a great boon. He was perhaps thirty years younger than me, early 40's would be my guess. A rough cut character, ill-trimmed hair and beard with a crossbow slung across his back. I didn't judge him ill for it. Not only had I looked not so different in my youth, this was the sort of man I'd expect to survive a zombie apocalypse.
If he was alive, it stood to reason others were as well. The zombies were neither smart nor particularly powerful. With luck it was a localized outbreak. If a child (admittedly one with decades of experience) could take out a small horde, a squad of navy SEALs could probably take out at least a few hundred every day if properly supplied, a few score if they were reduced to slingshots, knives, and spike traps.
"What happened to your shirt?" he asked. It was such an unexpected question that I said nothing. My mind still churned with questions about the state of this world, about this man that seemed to know me, or know this body at least. Confusion rose as he took off his vest, holding it up towards me with his eyes averted as he walked into the killing field. "Here, you can wear this."
Too late, I responded, "Wait! Get back, they're not all-"
"Ahhhghaghahgahh!" He fell as teeth bit viciously into his achilles tendon. Unable to stand he fell into the pile, clawed hands of the undead swiftly cutting off his scream. I couldn't understand his stupidity. Hadn't he heard their teeth gnashing? Seen their limbs quiver? I'd struck them until none were standing, but it was obvious that some still clung to their perverse form of life. What could have possibly compelled him to do it?
His mistake did at least provide an important lesson: Don't go stepping where you're not looking. In my case, the growing night would replace stupidity. As uncomfortable as it would be, it was still best to stay in the tree until morning. Resigning myself to misery I stowed my spear and found a fresh stick to dig at the bark. The sap that eventually welled forth was welcomely wet and faintly sweet on my tongue. It was too small an amount to truly satisfy, but it was a start. Vague memories of native american studies suggested the inner bark was edible as well but I was pretty sure it had to be cooked first.
Clawed fingers beating on the trunk interrupted my musing. My would-be savior was alive again, after a fashion. With his severed tendon he couldn't stand but other than that he was quite lively, death-maddened eyes glowering at me. He was too low to reach with the spear, skull likely still too thick to pierce even if I could reach him. One more moaning zombie to try and sleep through.
Untying the rope I spread out the remnants of my t-shirt across the widest branch to shield my torso and face from the bark. Praying that my time in a bunk bed at college would be enough to stop me from rolling off I laid down to sleep. The moans and groans from below made it difficult, but eventually my tired body fell into a nightmare-tormented slumber.
Author notes:
Plot-armor and Idiot-protection removed.