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It's a flash fiction I wrote out of boredom and fun. I would like to expand on it a little more, but I want to see the reaction first.
They originally said it would be easy. They said it would be fun. 'Join the Militia' the sign said.
We should have never done it.
It was me, Jimmy, Wussy Dave, and Sammy the Snatch Hunter, all out in the middle of the desert. We'd found a large group of them roaming around what appeared to be one of our camps, and judging by the numbers of them, there were no survivors. We pulled out our ammo. All we had left was a box of 9mm rounds, a hunting knife, a katana, homemade rounds for Dave's rifle, and a cigarette case. After much arguing, we split up the supplies.
Dave covered the rest of us while we charged into the camp, popping heads around us one by one, blood and brain matter everyone as they shuffled, but they soon caught out scent. They started charging back, and we fought. Jimmy started firing rounds into them, popping them in the ear with the knife when they got close enough, so as to conserve ammo. I'm swinging the sword, taking heads one by one, and flinging them as a distraction for Jimmy. After a bit, with the zombies starting to ignore us again, we began to worry about Sammy.
We found him in one of the tents, where, while looking for medical supplies, he came upon a nurse, and had started beating her brain in with the cigarette case in order to subdue her. He was still on top of her, bashing, which wouldn't have been too disconcerting on its own. However, he somehow had lost his pants, and, while looking at us with what seemed to be both disgrace and enjoyment, we backed out of the tent, and lit up a couple smokes, while I commented on our situation.
"At least we know our asses are safe."