Seeing the disgusting thing drag itself so far up the mountain with only one arm reminded me just how dangerous it is to underestimate the undead.

 

Gabe was about ten yards behind me checking the nearby the tree line for movement. I heard rustling in the evergreens to my right and turned around. Two walking maggot farms were stumbling in my direction. They must have heard the other one moan, and set off in the direction of the sound. I decided to deal with the crawler first, before it made too much more noise. The dead don’t usually start crowing until they actually see you.

 

I drew my small sword from its sheath on my back as I approached the crawler. The small sword is a descendant of the rapier style swords that were popular in Europe a few centuries ago. Unlike the rapier, a small sword does not have sharp edges, but it does have a very sharp tip. Due to the triangular shape of the blade, the small sword is narrow, but very strong and durable. In spite of its name, a small sword is actually twenty-seven inches from cross guard to tip. It is the perfect weapon for skewering undead eyeballs and rotten brain matter.

 

I kicked the crawler over onto its back and planted my right boot on its withered neck. I lined the small sword up with its left eye and plunged the wickedly sharp point of the blade downward into the cadaver’s brain, giving the ornate handle a little twist as it went down. The crawler shuddered once and went limp. I was just about to turn around and deal with the two walkers when I heard the familiar thump-clang of Gabriel’s P90 and the distinctive thup-thup sound of bullets passing by close to my head. Two bodies crumpled to the dirt a few feet behind me.  I looked up and gave Gabriel an irritated glance.

 

“Cut that one close enough, asshole?”

 

Gabe shrugged, “They were about to make dinner out of you, bud. I did you a favor.”

 

“I knew they were there, Gabe. Next time just say something first.”

 

I have the utmost confidence in Gabe’s marksmanship, but I do not like being downrange of anyone firing a weapon if I can help it. Gabe brought my thoughts back to the present by tapping me on the shoulder and pointing a gloved finger down the mountainside.

 

“More of ‘em coming. Guess they didn’t want their buddies here to have all the fun.”

 

I looked where Gabe was pointing and saw a loose knot of five ghouls staggering their way up the mountain. They looked to be about a hundred yards away.

 

“I wish like hell I could figure out how they keep making their way up here.” I said. “You think they know we’re here somehow?”

 

“I doubt it.” Gabe replied. “Most likely they’re just ranging farther out to find food. Bastards are probably chasing deer and varmints around the countryside.”

 

I had seen the remains of a few animals unlucky enough to be blindsided by the walking meat sacks, and although it was not a pretty sight, it was encouraging to see direct evidence that the Reanimation Phage does not affect animals. Gabe has known for years that the infection only affects humans, and has told me as much many times, but it was still nice to be able to confirm it for myself. I have often wondered why the infection only takes hold in people and not animals, and I pray that it stays that way. Undead people are bad enough; the last thing I want to encounter is an undead mountain lion, or a revenant brown bear.

 

Gabe shifted his P90 around to his back and held out a hand for my hunting rifle.

 

“No way, dude.” I said. “You already got to have some fun this morning. Besides, I need the target practice.” Gabe frowned, but dropped his hand.

 

“Fine, but try not to waste too much ammo. We’ve only got a few hundred rounds left for that thing.” He said.

 

I put one hand on a fence rail and rested the forearm of the rifle between my thumb and forefinger. I tucked the stock firmly into my right shoulder and peered through the scope.