He couldn’t be stopped. The flesh of the undead seemed to bend to his will. Or his baseball bat per say. The children everywhere screamed continuously for mercy from the soulless beasts. And they wouldn’t get it. If not for Walker Michaels.
The monsters surrounding the children had yet to notice him or the fact that he’d taken out hundreds of their comrades already. Was it now his chance? Should he take them all at once from the back? Or was it just time to wait? Life doesn’t often give second chances. So he went for it. Screaming and yelling, running as loudly as possible through the piles of trash. Anything he could do to get their attention. In an eerie synchronized manner, they all seemed to turn to him at once. Instantly they were salivating. What was a child compared to this feast known as Walker Michaels? A few seconds after, the mob of the undead started lumbering towards him, he realized he might’ve bitten of more than he can chew. But hey, what’s life without a little challenge? He thought, as their casual lumber turned slowly into a full sprint. He realized he had about ten seconds to make a move, or be devoured along with the children.
What would he do… what could he do? But then, he remembered. The stories his grandfather had told him of an ancient minefield not far from here. So many variables. Would the mines still be active? Would he be blown to bits? It is a chance he would have to take. He turned and sprinted in the opposite direction. Hoping the tales told by his father’s father were more than