Lori raised the machete over her right shoulder, preparing to strike. Her problem was that the zombie’s head was thrashing around violently as he tried to tear through my tactical jacket. Lori was too afraid of hitting me to take the swing. I couldn’t believe the power of the zombie on top of me. He was an average guy, size-wise, but his strength and speed were far superior to any zombie I’d ever faced before.
“Hold him still, Dale!” Lori shouted at me in frustration.
“I’m trying!” I replied as I reached up with my other hand and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. That’s when I noticed that his clothes were clean. You didn’t see that very often in a zombie since they usually had to dig themselves out of a grave. Letting the thought go, I used both hands to try and slow down the movement of its head. “Take your shot, Lori, that’s the best I can do.”.
Lori’s a consummate professional, and she keeps her blade razor sharp. So sharp in fact that the creature’s skull did little to slow it down as it carved its way through the upper palate and jaw of the monster before coming to a stop where the head and throat met. It probably would’ve traveled further, but it ran into an obstruction, my forearm. I watched with a dawning horror as I saw the zombie’s disease-ridden blood gush over Lori’s machete and directly into the wound it had caused on my arm.
One single thought kept pounding in my head. “I’m a dead man, I’m a dead man, I’m a dead man.”