The guy’s eyes are fixed on the nearest zombie with the intensity of a lion tamer who just stepped into the cage. He shifts his weight from side to side, muttering to himself: “Come on, you. Come on.”
As soon as the zombie comes within reaching distance, the guy steps forward and swings the spade. The blade connects squarely with dead guy’s temple and sends him to the ground. Underneath the loud sound of the blow, Iver picks up a more subtle, crunchy noise, like someone put a coconut inside a pillowcase then steps on it.
That was its skull cracking open, a thought in Iver’s head informs him.
Even as nausea rises up in his throat, the man takes a swing at the second zombie, repeating the motion perfectly and producing a similarly bone-chilling sound as the zombie sinks to the ground.
That guy is a beast. He just knocks them dead with one shot.
Iver can’t help but stare as the guy goes on to the third zombie. This time, his timing is thrown off a little bit, and the blade dips too low, hitting the jaw of the zombie instead. The crunch is there nonetheless, as most of the zombie’s teeth are knocked from its mouth and go spraying into the air. The jawbone is also visibly shattered and relocated to the side of the face, where it dangles from a very painful-looking position, like a pouch full of gravel.
“Damnit,” the guy growls, stepping back and raising the spade for another try.
“Oh, Jesus,” Iver mutters and finally manages to look away just as another crunching blow rings out.
“Leif!” a woman’s voice calls out, a note of panic in it. “Look out! There’s one coming from behind!”
Iver looks to the car and sees the woman shouting from the backseat window while pointing frantically.
Another woman—obviously dead—is waddling past the headlights and goes right for the man, who’s busy knocking down a young guy. He then spins around and goes for the woman just as she reaches out her arms to grab him.
“Damnit,” he growls, audibly panting with exertion now. “They just keep coming …”
The woman shouts again to warn him, as three more zombies approach him from different angles.
The guy goes to work. By now, he’s already standing in a circle of bodies. Just as he’s about to take a swing at the next zombie, the woman he just put down grabs him by the ankle and tries to pull his leg to her mouth. The guy cries out and kicks her under the chin, causing her head to snap back with a vicious crack. Amazingly, though, it doesn’t kill her, and as her head swings forward again—the neck obviously broken—she’s still holding on and trying to bite the man. He rips his leg free and spins around just in time to use the spade to shove away the other zombie. Then he turns back and stomps the lady zombie’s head five inches into the ground, affectively squashing her brain and stopping her from moving further.
The woman in the car screams again, warning the guy about a zombie coming from behind. But neither the woman nor the man notices the kid coming around the corner. It’s a boy, not much older than six or seven, and he moves quickly, walking along the wall, headed for the guy.
“Look out!” Iver shouts, but his voice is drowned out in another crushing blow from the spade.
The boy is within reach of the man now, and there’s no time to warn him, so Iver simply throws the bag of ammo. It connects with the back of the head of the boy and sends him sprawling.
The man spins around, notices the danger and with a brutally decisive stab of the spade, he separates the boy’s head from his body just as he’s about to get back up.
The guy darts a glance up at Iver, and Iver can tell how his face is red and shining with sweat. “You might want to jump when you get the chance, buddy!” he pants, then rounds on the next zombie, swinging the spade.
Iver realizes he’s just been standing there, glaring at the scene below for what—twenty seconds? It feels like twenty minutes. He goes to the far end of the garage and looks down. No zombies here. He crouches down, jumps and lands on the ground.
Immediately, there’s a growl from behind, and Iver turns his head to see two undeads coming around the corner of the garage. He doesn’t waste time engaging in a fight with them, but simply runs for the bag. An old lady is coming right at him, and Iver instinctively thrusts the butt end of the rifle in her chest, knocking her back. He then grabs the bag as another zombie lunges at him from the right, grabbing for his arm and missing it by mere inches.
“Let’s go!” the man shouts, knocking over one more zombie before heading for the car.
Iver needs no further invitation, but runs after the guy, dodging two more zombies grabbing for him.
Where are they all coming from? Did we attract every dead person on the entire island?
The man gets in behind the wheel, and the back door opens just as Iver reaches it. He throws in the bag and the rifle, then jumps in himself and slams the door.
“Holy hell,” the guy heaves from the front seat. “That was too close …”
“Thank you,” Iver says, swallowing. “I can’t tell you how grateful—”
He cuts himself short as he turns his head to look at the woman next to him and sees the blade she’s pointing at his throat. She’s younger than he thought, although judging from her face, she’s aged considerably these past days. Her skin is pale and freckly and her hair is flaming red, pulled back in a tight ponytail. Her eyes are icy blue.
“What … what are you doing?” Iver asks.
“You got any wounds?” she asks in return.
Iver shakes his head. “No, I’m fine.”
“Sure about that? All it takes is one little
