The streets were quiet, but that was to be expected.
In this part of the city, all the pristine white-picketed yards were starting to overgrow. It wasn’t the same as it was after vampires had been outed; people could still come out during the day. They could mow their lawns, they could check their mail, they could wander down to the corner store or to the nearby café to catch up for coffee with friends. Zombies weren’t confined to the night-time hours, however; rather than stick around, people had evacuated. Parents had whisked their children away to cities that didn’t stink of the apocalypse.
Fair enough, too.
Still, it was sad to see those bikes abandoned in the yards, the bright yellow of tennis balls peeking out from between the lush overgrown greenery of grass allowed to grow wild. Harrison had his hands shoved into his pockets as he contemplated the landscape; it was both terrifying and wonderful how quickly nature would reclaim the space that had been stolen from it.
The spirits wandered, much like Harrison did. He could see them, the way they kicked at dirt that they could not shift, the way they, too, contemplated the neighbourhood they may once have inhabited. Now they were dead, destined to haunt somewhere that was abandoned, no longer able to haunt those they had spent their days with. Harrison helped as many as he could; sometimes it couldn’t be done in one night. Sometimes he had to come back, over and over again, to console those whose lives had been taken too early.
It was as he rounded the corner that he saw it; the yard that remained immaculate. There were still a few who remained, a few who refused to leave the city – though Harrison assumed that whoever was behind those doors might soon follow the rest. On their doorstep was a hulking, slathering, mismatched and discordant Mooncalf. Its fleshy shoulders barged at the front door, wanting to get inside. Someone screamed.
Harrison wasted no time leaping the fence. The gun was in his hands before his feet hit the ground again; bullets flew at the target, distracting the beast from the door and the living bodies beyond. Before it could fully amble down the steps, Harrison shouted; the creature was hit with Rigor Mortis, its body stiffening and stumbling, falling to the ground as it twitched. Harrison shot bullet after bullet into its flesh until there were no bullets left. The Rigor eased, the creature regaining its strength – it lashed out at Harrison, claw-like hands catching his torso as he reached for the sword he had sheathed between his shoulder blades. He barely felt the pain of the gash as he plunged the blade up through what he assumed was the Mooncalf’s chin, penetrating shadow and flesh right up through the head, through would could be the brain.
Finally, the Mooncalf collapsed, dead.
In this part of the city, all the pristine white-picketed yards were starting to overgrow. It wasn’t the same as it was after vampires had been outed; people could still come out during the day. They could mow their lawns, they could check their mail, they could wander down to the corner store or to the nearby café to catch up for coffee with friends. Zombies weren’t confined to the night-time hours, however; rather than stick around, people had evacuated. Parents had whisked their children away to cities that didn’t stink of the apocalypse.
Fair enough, too.
Still, it was sad to see those bikes abandoned in the yards, the bright yellow of tennis balls peeking out from between the lush overgrown greenery of grass allowed to grow wild. Harrison had his hands shoved into his pockets as he contemplated the landscape; it was both terrifying and wonderful how quickly nature would reclaim the space that had been stolen from it.
The spirits wandered, much like Harrison did. He could see them, the way they kicked at dirt that they could not shift, the way they, too, contemplated the neighbourhood they may once have inhabited. Now they were dead, destined to haunt somewhere that was abandoned, no longer able to haunt those they had spent their days with. Harrison helped as many as he could; sometimes it couldn’t be done in one night. Sometimes he had to come back, over and over again, to console those whose lives had been taken too early.
It was as he rounded the corner that he saw it; the yard that remained immaculate. There were still a few who remained, a few who refused to leave the city – though Harrison assumed that whoever was behind those doors might soon follow the rest. On their doorstep was a hulking, slathering, mismatched and discordant Mooncalf. Its fleshy shoulders barged at the front door, wanting to get inside. Someone screamed.
Harrison wasted no time leaping the fence. The gun was in his hands before his feet hit the ground again; bullets flew at the target, distracting the beast from the door and the living bodies beyond. Before it could fully amble down the steps, Harrison shouted; the creature was hit with Rigor Mortis, its body stiffening and stumbling, falling to the ground as it twitched. Harrison shot bullet after bullet into its flesh until there were no bullets left. The Rigor eased, the creature regaining its strength – it lashed out at Harrison, claw-like hands catching his torso as he reached for the sword he had sheathed between his shoulder blades. He barely felt the pain of the gash as he plunged the blade up through what he assumed was the Mooncalf’s chin, penetrating shadow and flesh right up through the head, through would could be the brain.
Finally, the Mooncalf collapsed, dead.
