"You know how to take down one, right?" asked Ares.
"I've done it once already," confessed Oscar, swallowing the lump in his throat. He could still feel the pressure of Ricky's temple giving way.
Ares gave the moment space, seeing a chill run across Oscar's shoulders. He had seen combat years before, in the war that put him in this wheelchair, and he know PTSD when he saw it. Even with all his training, he had dealt with his fair share of emotional scarring. He knew the feeling, but he also knew the war zone was not the place to buckle. The best he could do for now was give the soldier a minute to breathe, and then push him further.
"I'm guessing you went for the head," he said finally.
"Yeah," answered Oscar, clearing his throat.
"Yeah," confirmed Ares. "That's about all you can do. Their bodies are pretty much--"
Just then, a rotting body fell from a tree branch overhead and landed right in front Oscar. He nearly flipped his chair over it, but swerved off the curb and skidded to a stop. Ares retrieved a shotgun from his pack and leaned in to examine the twisted corpse. Suddenly, the thing stretched up its head and chewed the air for hunger. Ares pumped the gun and made ready his aim, but Oscar spoke up.
"There's no point," he said in pity. "He's too mangled to hurt anyone, and it'd be a waste of a good bullet."
Ares took this into consideration and lowered his weapon. But as he turned to affirm Oscar, he raised the gun again and took a shot. The bullet grazed passed Oscar's shoulder and caught a skull just behind him. The startled Oscar turned to see a lifeless body lying behind him, foam dripping from its mouth, blood dripping from its eye socket.
"Zombies," Ares murmured. "They've found us."
As he said this, the two watched a hoard of the dilapidated undead come in from all sides. They were surrounded. Oscar raised his sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. Ares steadied his shotgun and took aim. The creatures were slow, but there were so many and there was no way around them.
And, would you believe it? Oscar took the first shot.
Ares gave the moment space, seeing a chill run across Oscar's shoulders. He had seen combat years before, in the war that put him in this wheelchair, and he know PTSD when he saw it. Even with all his training, he had dealt with his fair share of emotional scarring. He knew the feeling, but he also knew the war zone was not the place to buckle. The best he could do for now was give the soldier a minute to breathe, and then push him further.
"I'm guessing you went for the head," he said finally.
"Yeah," answered Oscar, clearing his throat.
"Yeah," confirmed Ares. "That's about all you can do. Their bodies are pretty much--"
Just then, a rotting body fell from a tree branch overhead and landed right in front Oscar. He nearly flipped his chair over it, but swerved off the curb and skidded to a stop. Ares retrieved a shotgun from his pack and leaned in to examine the twisted corpse. Suddenly, the thing stretched up its head and chewed the air for hunger. Ares pumped the gun and made ready his aim, but Oscar spoke up.
"There's no point," he said in pity. "He's too mangled to hurt anyone, and it'd be a waste of a good bullet."
Ares took this into consideration and lowered his weapon. But as he turned to affirm Oscar, he raised the gun again and took a shot. The bullet grazed passed Oscar's shoulder and caught a skull just behind him. The startled Oscar turned to see a lifeless body lying behind him, foam dripping from its mouth, blood dripping from its eye socket.
"Zombies," Ares murmured. "They've found us."
As he said this, the two watched a hoard of the dilapidated undead come in from all sides. They were surrounded. Oscar raised his sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. Ares steadied his shotgun and took aim. The creatures were slow, but there were so many and there was no way around them.
And, would you believe it? Oscar took the first shot.