Enjoying the Apocalypse - Tyler

Crack. Another zombie down, flopping to the ground and going still. The other two were upright now, and starting to move in his direction at a quick clip. Shift. Sight. Breathe. Squeeze. Crack. The third one, staggering to the side, a ragged, bleeding wound at its shoulder, its arm almost seperated from its body.

And then, he was out of time. Despite being greviously wounded, the hit zombie, along with its companion, were sprinting for his position. The time for precise headshots was over. Dropping the rifle to hang on its shoulder-strap at his side, he grabbed the revolver out of its holster, drawing it, lifting, firing two shots in rapid succession. Both misses. He sprinted out of his cover, running toward his shelter. An odd decision, it might seem, but being closer gave him a better chance of hitting with his pistol, and allowed the traps he'd rigged around his hideout to come into play. He ran at full tilt toward the pair, lifting his gun as he did. Two more shots, boom, boom, from the heavy .45, and the wounded zombie went down.

Swinging the gun to the remaining target, he pulled the trigger. Miss. One shot left, and Tyler fired his last shell. The bullet clipped the zombie in the shoulder, causing it to stagger back, momentarily hindered, just in time for Tyler to sprint past it, toward the entry hatch to his shelter. A long jump allowed him to clear the rotted wood planks of his pit trap, and as he sprinted, he heard a popping, cracking sound behind him as his trap gave way under the weight of his pursuer.

A low roar told him that the spikes in his pit had found their mark. He spun around, dropping his revolver to the ground, grabbing his rifle and bringing it up to his shoulder, ready to fire - and relaxed a little when he saw no sign of the last hunter. He slowly approached the pit, his rifle aimed down into the hole, wincing inwardly as he saw the mess the spikes in the pit had made of things. A single shot to the head made the impaled creature go still, and Tyler sighed softly, shaking his head.

A loud whirring sound made him dive to the ground and go still. He looked around, and saw his track-dummy whirring around the metal guide, triggered by another zombie that was now in pursuit at high speed. Remaining on the ground, Tyler tried to stay as still as he possibly could - the zombies weren't smart, but they were sometimes just clever enough to realize that they'd been duped and distracted, and would change targets.

It was almost funny, really, watching the mannequin whiz around the track with its unthinking predator in hot pursuit. He had made the dummy as realistic as he could, bringing it down into the shelter every few days to sleep with it, cuddled up around the thing to make sure that his scent was all over it, to make it a more tempting target for a hunter that relied partly on smell. It was clothed, painted with realistic looking makeup, to give it the best chance of fooling a hungry attacker.

And it worked. Twice before now, he'd watched the mannequin fool zombies, leading them on a merry chase around the yard, until they just dropped, their energy reserves abruptly exhausted. Each time, though he had been watching from the safety of his bunker, observing through the homemade periscope. Never had he been this close to watch the rolling mannequin's effectiveness.

It was one of the longest fifteen or so minutes of his life. The zombie never slowed, never faltered, never seemed to tire, until the moment where it just pitched forward onto its face, its momentum making it roll several times until it came to a stop, face-up in the grass. He got to his feet quickly, his rifle at the ready, scanning the area for any other threats. He saw none, continuing over to where the creature lie unmoving on its back, only the occasional twitch hinting that it might not be inert.

He approached slowly, his rifle tucked against his shoulder, aiming down the sight right at the zombie's head. Through the scope, he saw...it was a girl. A rather pretty girl, actually. Its face was blotchy, veins standing out beneath its skin, but it had been a stunner when it was still...human.

It lay there, almost entirely still, its chest rising and falling as it breathed, its breasts quivering slightly under the ragged tank top it still wore.

Its breasts quivering under the ragged tank top...

Her breasts quivering.

He slowly crouched down next to the creature, swallowing against a dry throat, his mouth feeling like someone had forced him to eat sand. Its eyes were open, but blank, seeming to see nothing, flicking about as if in REM sleep with its eyelids open. Licking his lips, he lowered his rifle, letting it hang at its side by its strap. He'd been alone for months - no one to talk to. No one to touch. No one to be with.

He reached out, his hand open, fingers splayed, and rested his hand on one of those round, shivering breasts. It had been...she had been young. In her late teens, maybe early 20s, although probably not. The word 'nubile' came to mind, as he felt the softness, the firm pliability of the flesh in his grip. He groaned quietly under his breath, a little surprised when he felt the nipple under his palm go stiff and tight as his palm brushed over it. His pulse was pounding in his head, thudding in his chest as he explored the creature, licking his dry lips..

Then she twitched.