"Sweetheart, I'm sorry. I don't think I got you're name."
"Because I didn't tell ya my name,"
When survival is no longer living its time to take back their world from the dead. Can they do it together or is being so similar to each other more toxic...
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Standing at five foot ten inches tall. I never would have considered myself tall 'til I ran into a cabinet door in high school. Now I realize my height ain't something to be proud of when tryin' to sneak behind two foot tall barricades. A pack of skin walkers crowd my nineteen ninety seven TJ jeep. Conveniently parked in the middle of the highway.
I toss a rock, watching it bounce harshly against the tarmac. Only two skin walkers turn their attention to the noise. The others blindly stumble 'round my jeep. This is a damn waste of time.
I should've been back at camp hours ago. With a batch of supplies. Only the supplies weren't where they had been stored. Found a large squadron of vehicles, loading said supplies, then ran out of gas. Now I'm stranded in the middle of no where with no intentions of abandoning my truck.
The other group is still where I last saw them. I've been keepin' an eye on 'em. It's a large group. Almost all men. One man stands 'round watchin' the others trot around him. It's hard to tell what the object he's swinging 'round is but it ain't a gun. Pipe or stick maybe, but it ain't a gun.
I tighten my grip on the small jug of gas I managed to syphon from the nearest car. Shoved off the highway almost a mile back. This highway is shockingly Empty. Like the fields back home.
Pulling one machete from my hip I slide over the barrier. Staying low as I watch their dead eyed gazes and keen noses. Blood hounds in human form. The king of the food chain.
I grab the arm of the first skin walker, whipping it 'round while kicking out it's knees. The skin walker stumbles into the next corpse. They collapse, groans and moans calling the attention of unwanted hunters.
I draw my second blade, kick the small can of gas behind the tire of my truck and bury my blades into the skulls of the next two. I stomp on fingers to keep them from scratching my legs as I do.
With a little theatrical spin, I decapitate the final skin walker standing. Finally I drive the heel of my boot into the head of the one I knocked down.
Shovin' my hair out of my face I sigh deeply.
An applause echoes through the emptiness.
"Now that! Was some grade 'A' badass shit!"
My blade comes level with a mans throat. A grin creates crows feet around his eyes, a humored but wicked smile.
His cheeks are peppered with graying wisps of a beard and a sharp dark mustache. His black hair is slicked back, a confident style. His chestnut eyes burn amber in the sun. His nose is straight but a small bump close to his skull suggests it's been broken before.
His tight leather jacket seems easy for moving, well warn while still looking new. He takes 'is time worrying bout his look. The white of his shirt poking out from beneath his jacket is crisp. He cares a lot 'bout appearances.
His weapon is a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire, it's also clean with flecks of stained blood. An up close and person type weapon. It's tucked into a loop of his pants within reach but he is relaxed. I haven't made a good enough impression.
"I'm not gonna hurt you sweetheart," He pokes the bloody blade with a finger but I don't budge. Only adjust my earlier judgement. He's confident.
"unless you don't take this away from my face." He taps the blade again. I drop it, only to his waist. Ain't gonna let my guard down that much. Decapitating him wasn't threatening enough, I'll revoke his ability to pro create. Not that it would be a wise idea for him to do so anyway.
"What'd ya want?" I challenge. He looks genuinely surprised for a moment. Then the man smirks, running a gloved hand through his perfectly styled hair. Who spends time worrying about appearance anymore?
"Right to the point," he marvels. "Where is your group?"
I stuff both machetes back into their leather cases. Then cross my arms, letting out a near breathless dry laugh. My hard exterior cracks and I begin to cackle.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Shouldn't be laughin," I clutch my stomach doubling over to catch my breath. Rising again I stomp my boot. "That li'l demand, do ya think I'm threatened by you, Danny Zuco? You're 'bout as threatenin' to me as a shower would be right about now."
The man is rattled. Perhaps no one has joked about his appearance? Or it the authority in his presence, the smotherin' look of control he tries to inflict upon me.
Now it's his turn to break into a dashing grin. He slaps his leg pointing a shaky finger at me as he begins to laugh too.
"You have got to be the most badass woman I have ever had the pleasure of meeting... but I wasn't kidding around. Take me to your camp or I'm going to beat the holy hell out of you until you do. Then I will drag you back to use as an example for your people." The grin vanishes, the bat takes its perch across his shoulder behind his head. Cold, sinister, unhinged anger rolls in his burning eyes. Its a coin toss, doctor Jekle and Mr. Hyde.
"So ya beat me to a pulp, have those men down there drag me back in a dirty trailer? Whatcha gonna do 'bout ma brothers? They all served in the marines, ma oldest brothers wife served. Ma nephew was gonna serve. Screw with 'em you'll start a war, I'm damn sure they'll finish it too." I turn my chin up, crossing my arms I wait for 'is response.
He shakes his head. He holds his semi open palms up in surrender. "Alright. Alright. I can see that causing problems. Tell you what? You leave, I'm going to pretend I never saw you." He turns away, and begins to whistle as he moseys across the three lanes of highway and hops over the median.
when the top of 'is head disappears beneath the earth and broken metal I quickly turn back to my original task. Headin' home.
I pour the gas into my gas tank. Circle my truck, watchin' the bushes hugging the crumbling curb. Finally i climb into ma jeep, snatchin' the CB radio off the roll bar.
.:: DJ to base camp ::.
.:: base camp, what's your status auntie D ::.
.:: Call lockdown. Clear up, fan out, head for the markers. Got a group causin' problems, tell everyone to pack quick. I'm on ma way ::.
.:: copy that, lock down is in effect, see you soon ::.
I toss the small mic back up on its cradle then crank the ignition and throw the truck into first gear. I have to get home.
