Zombie Flash Fiction

“Ding. Ding. Ding.”

The bell rung as Michael Wescott slapped himself back into reality. The crowd cheered as a hot blonde with a great body walked around the side of the ring with a “Round 3” card. She smiled and waved to the crowd before disappearing behind the scenes. Michael was cut, bleeding, and disoriented. The bite mark on his arm was bleeding heavily now, steady streams of red liquid slid down his skin and dripped off his white-tipped knuckles. Michael ignored the pain, he knew what he had to do, and he knew what was coming for him.

He was in the last round of the game, one more kill and he’d be able to pay for his freedom from the city. He had already slaughtered two men in one-on-one combat to make it this far. The sliding wooden door opened 10-feeet in front of Michael. He watched as a worker with a dog-catcher collar another one towards him. The weight of the crowbar in his hand reminded Michael of why he was there, and what he had to do. His eyes focused on a pair of a shuffling feet moving towards him. He watched as the worker released the leather collar from the man’s neck. Michael stood up and gripped the tool tight. He stared in the eyes of the man coming for him. This was no man, not anymore at least, his pupils were gone, his flesh was pale, and his limbs were stiff and unable to bend. This wasn’t a fresh zombie.

Michael smiled.

Raising the crowbar, Michael charged at his attacker. He moved in a serpentine pattern to confuse the zombie, and keep him at a distance. His opponent snarled and snapped his jaw open and shut while trying to get a grip on Michael. It was no use, Michael maneuvered around his back, gripped a tear in his shirt with the crowbar and used the momentum to bring the zombie crashing to the ground. Like a turtle, the zombie thrashed its limbs around wildly. It moaned loudly and reached for Michael’s leg in order to feed. Michael put his foot down on the wrist of the zombie, positioned his crowbar over its head, and struck.

The zombie’s head caved in with the blow of the crowbar. His blood and brains leaked through the shattered cranium. The rigor mortis immediately set in, and his right arm hung in the air.

The crowd cheered so loud that it was deafening to Michael’s ears. He allowed his adrenaline to subside and to revel in his victory. He was free, he could leave this place, and he could live life on his own now.

He took towards the exit, and he felt the lash of the leather collar being tightened around his neck. Michael struggled to get free from the collar, but two more workers surrounded him, and bound his arms and legs together. Michael fell on his back, and was dragged away screaming out of the arena.

Brian's Here - Chapter 1 (Flash Fiction Fridays)

Brian's goes to the Hotel Central to have a drink or two, a simple break from his daily stress. What he discovers there is more than he--or anyone there--could bargain for.