A note from Lone

Another fun one to write.

I hope you enjoy.

Daz had decided to quickly set up some half-assed traps since he had estimated that the zombies would take roughly ten minutes to shamble their way to the gate. He thought that this might have been an allowance to compensate for the ridiculous expectations put on him to kill so many monsters by himself, regardless, he was going to take the opportunity to increase his chances as much as possible. 

Daz had quickly run back to the scrap metal skip and returned to the makeshift barricade with several thick steel or iron poles. He began jamming them in between the metal sheets he had fastened to the gate previously. After having done that, he took his shovel, which he had faith in, and tried to slash the tops of these poles at an angle with it at full strength. Thankfully, it worked, but at the cost of chipping his shovel.

Daz seemed unperturbed by this and just quickly returned to the interior of the base. He then ran to the toolbox and fused the few shovels that were remaining in there to fix his chipped one before he once again, ran back to the gate. 

"I still have a minute, I have enough time," Daz whispered before he took a single second to wipe the sweat from his dirt covered brow and ran back into the interior of the base. He made a swift b-line for the cooking oil section. There they had several simple plastic barrels full of nothing but cooking oil. "Damn shame I didn't think of this earlier, although I doubt I'd have had the time."

Daz soon returned to the shabby wall of metal and wood, and he carefully dropped the two barrels of cooking oil he had brought with him. They were very heavy, and Daz had struggled tremendously even to take them back together, but he had managed to do so through the power of his will alone, that and his enhanced body.

He then jumped down the wall and began gently spreading the oil around as well as he could to create the largest surface space he could with it. He was trying to make a tripping trap. Daz was hoping that the zombies would fall over and get crushed to death by their comrades. That was the hope at least.

After having finished that, he returned to the top of the gate and just stood there, watching the horde get closer and closer to his base, to his territory, to his land.

"I wish I smoked. This would be a cool scene if I were smoking a cig right now. Oh well, I think I have thirty seconds to catch my breath, maybe a minute thanks to the oil?" Daz had said to himself before he pulled out a pair of crappy work gloves from his ballistic-padded work trousers.

These gloves were company issued and only offered protection and grip on the palm side and the backside was nothing but cotton. It felt nice, but they were the worst gloves to wear when it was raining, and they got smelly very easily.

"I wonder if I'll die here?" he had lost all hope that he could win. He simply wasn't given enough time to prepare. Time was everything, but it was the one thing Daz lacked.

He sat and waited for the horde to reach him. Thankfully, the oil worked and at least thirty Zombies spilt over, creating a pile-up. Those Zombies were then crushed by the ones shambling behind them.

That took care of a small chunk of the horde, but what did it really matter? Daz's muscles were already relaxing and the adrenaline from earlier had faded. Several shrieking noises startled Daz just before he could fall unconscious. 

It would seem that his spiked poles had also worked. Zombie after Zombie kept piling onto them and impaling themselves. However, after about fifty Zombies had killed themselves like this and another fifty had been crushed, the remaining Zombies began crawling over their dead comrades to reach Daz.

Daz sighed. "Fuck it. Here goes nothing." He had decided to go all out on the remaining forty or so Zombies, despite every inch of his body telling him to rest.

He jumped off the edge of the wooden platform that he had created and landed next to a spike with a loud thud. He then forced his feet to move and avoided the Zombies that tried to grab him. Daz's black steel-toed boots complied as he ran along the ground. He avoided the cooking oil and ran a short distance away.

His eyes were struggling to stay open but he bit his lip and tasted his own blood to keep his attention as heightened as possible. Watching the Zombies shuffle towards him, Daz's grip on his shovel tightened.

"Here goes nothing," he whispered what very well may have been his last words. He then, upon getting to be roughly three feet away from a zombie, slashed his shovel down at it vertically. Daz expected some resistance from the creature's bones, but none was to be found. It would seem that his shovel was far sharper than he gave it credit for.

Thankfully, the Zombies weren't as bunched up as they appeared to be from afar, so Daz moved from Zombie to Zombie and cut them down in the hopes of finishing them off and maybe surviving this impossible attack.

Typically, such a thing as killing what looked like slightly rotten people would phase a person. But Daz had killed many bugs and rodents before so he just envisioned the Zombies as large human-shaped pests while he could deal with the nauseating smell thanks to having worked at the skip site for some time. The non-recyclable skips could get unbelievably foul if the head office delayed emptying them.

The thing that was bothering Daz the most was, in fact, his own body. Despite his incredible willpower, it simply wasn't listening to him at all, and the few remaining zombies were quickly encroaching upon him.

'Another one... another one... oh, I got two with one strike... another one... left... another one... right... oh, three in one...' Daz began thinking rhythmically in hopes that doing so would help distract him from the growing pains his body was experiencing. 

The previously average-looking, tall and brown-haired man looked like nothing more than a puppet soaked in blood now. He was sure that he had consumed some of the zombie blood by mistake, but he didn't care. He was busy killing. Nothing but killing, that was all that Daz's mind was filled with. The thoughts of killing these monsters and maybe surviving.

He was standing in what looked like a sea of corpses. In fact, he had actually managed to kill thirty Zombies by himself now, but his shovel was mere moments away from shattering. Every kill was a struggle now.

'Nearly there Daz, we can do this. One to the left, one right, two behind... huh? I can't feel my left shoulder anymore, huh?' Daz thought in confusion before he turned to look at his left side only to see a middle-aged female zombie enjoying his shoulder like one would dinner.

"Aha... ahahaha... ..AHAHAHAHAHAHA! THIS WAS MY CHANCE! MY REDEMPTION AT LIFE! I WAS SO FUCKING CLOSE!!! ARGGGGG YOU BITCHHHHH!!!!!" Daz screamed in rage before he dropped his shovel and tore into the Zombie's face with his right hand. He was furious. He knew he had ingested some the Zombies' blood over the course of his battle, but that might not have affected him, it depended on the rules of these zombies.

But this one had taken a chunk out of his juicy flesh. There was no going back from that. Chances were, he was going to become one.

"YOU FUCKERS! ALL OF YOU! FUCKING FUCKERS! YOU PUT ME AGAINST TWO HUNDRED ZOMBIES! FUCKING TWO HUNDRED ZOMBIES, AND WHAT HAPPENS?! I NEARLY KILL THEM ALL, THEN BAM! I GET BITTEN! I GET FUCKING BITTEN! FUCK THIS! YOU'RE GONNA EAT ME?! WELL I'LL FUCKING CONSUME YOU, I'LL CONSUME YOU ALL!" Daz had roared in madness before his fist that was currently inside of the female Zombie's head was slowly pulled out with what looked like a red wisp in its clutches.

Daz then moved his hand to eat the wisp, but just before he did so, something inside of him told him to put the wisp into the shovel, not his mouth. It was as if something was begging him to do this.

His rage was still at a peak, but he felt like this was a primal instinct of some sort, so he chose to do as he felt, and shoved the red wisp into the shovel and it immediately glowed with a red shimmer before it fully repaired itself and gained a small symbol on the centre of its wooden handle.

'I guess that was the right choice; I wonder what would have happened to me if I had consumed that like I planned to? Oh well, I'm still going to turn into a Zombie at this rate, so I guess my only chance is to kill the last five and hope the system has some sort of shop that has a cure or something," Daz thought pessimistically before he resumed killing his enemies.

He tried to pull those wisps out of them, but he failed no matter how he tried and he had no idea why. His body and mind were too exhausted to care anyway.

He soon finished killing the last zombie and slumped to the ground next to his base's gate in a pile of blood and guts. Daz didn't care, he was in too much pain and too exhausted right now to care.

Several blue screens immediately flashed in front of his eyes the moment he relaxed his body.

A note from Lone

Point out any grammar mistakes I missed, please.

The 2 most recent chapters can be viewed early for all $1 patrons!

A big thank you to all of my patrons.

Give my other novels a read if you have the time, please.

Main Story (guaranteed 3 chapters per week)

Lone, The Wanderer | Shovels In Spades

Side Stories (no set release schedule)

Hello, You're Through To Hades, How Can I Help You Today? | Paradox

This novel is a participant in The Writer's Pledge.

I hope you enjoyed.

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About the author


  • Scotland
  • The Scottish Slothy Sloth

Bio: Hey there, nice to see you. I'm just an ordinary man who enjoys writing, which is great since it's my full-time job now thanks to the support from you guys over on Patreon! I hope you enjoy my novels if you read them, and if not, I hope you enjoy looking at my profile.

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