Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Tuesday is not here to make friends

Tuesday flicked her Samurai sword to clean it of the zombie blood and slowly and ceremonially returned it to its saya. Seven zombies fell around her and their heads rolled down the near-by staircase thudding loudly as they tumbled to whatever hell awaited them.  She slowly moved through the dark corridors of the old factory, looking for her sister, Wednesday.

She moved with a super natural speed and silence, a gift from her father she assumed. He had moved stealthily through the weeks without ever really being noticed and she was lucky enough to inherit such a valuable trait. She paused at the end of the hallway and calmed her beating heart. She slowed her breathing as she was taught and used her ears to listen to the darkness around her.

She could hear more damn zombies shuffling clumsily in the next room. All the damn zombies roaming the Earth, a curse of science and man trying to play God; a god gone mad. Tuesday took a deep breath and reached for the Tsuka of her Katana and felt the woven cord wrap of the Tsuka Ito. She felt the pulse in her hand, as if her sword was truly a part of her.  Tuesday stepped from the around the dark hallway corner and into the zombie filled former office area of the factory.

The zombies could smell her living flesh and they turned to her and snarled. She unleashed her sword in a flash and the first two zombie heads went flying and crashing into an old bookcase, their bodies dropped to the floor squirting black dead blood into the air. Three other zombies lunged at Tuesday, but she stepped up onto an old desk and flipped into the air, swinging her blade back over her shoulder, slicing the zombie heads in half. She landed soundlessly in a cloud of dust behind the remaining four zombies. They growled and stumbled over the bodies of their zombie brethren toward Tuesday. She stood and held the sword in front of her, poised to strike with a controlled fury.

Her sister was lost here in this old pharmaceutical factory and she would do anything to save her from a hell of undead existence. The zombies closed in on Tuesday, trying to surround her. She lowered the blade and with a practiced skill sliced the nearing hands and arms from her attackers. The lifeless limbs fell to the floor, stunning the zombies for only a fraction of a second. It was all Tuesday needed to adjust her footing and swing again, slicing all four heads cleanly from their rotting necks.

The bodies fell, the heads rolled; it was becoming to routine for Tuesday. This zombie killing business was too easy, no challenge for a warrior like her.  She sheathed her katana and turned her attention to the next room. It was a storage room where Wednesday was supposed to be gathering supplies for the other survivors back at the camp. There were boxes piled above head level on both sides, a lot of them were toppled, as if the last people in the factory we scrambling to find some cure, some protection.

Tuesday closed her eyes to adjust to the darkness and listened. Water was dripping from a pipe somewhere, a broken window was letting in a nighttime breeze, but there wasn’t any other noise, it was classically too quiet and that was a bad thing. It was this part in all the horror movies when something terrible would burst out from all the boxes and Tuesday would be crushed and eaten. But this wasn’t a movie and she was a far better warrior than any of those Hollywood fakers.

She stepped as deftly as she could through the maze of boxes and broken prescription bottles. Her hand was holding the Tsuka as she moved, it was comforting and reassuring. She had practiced with her grandfather and father for many years to attain a swift unsheathing of the blade. She could remove it faster than you could blink.

A noise caught Tuesday’s attention. Something in the air changed, it became acrid and heavy. The clouds moved outside and the full moon shined in through the broken factory windows. In the moonlight she saw, the crumbled bodies of the factory workers on the floor, partially eaten or rotting. She saw Wednesday’s back pack just as the clouds covered the moon again. A growl rose from behind her.

Tuesday didn’t wait. She unleashed her blade and spun around, beheading the foul creature in one fluid movement. She re-sheathed the sword and turned back to her kill, the head had rolled toward her feet. She looked down and it was as she feared. It was Wednesday; or at least the thing that had become Wednesday.

A tear started in Tuesday’s eye but she knew it was far honorable to die at the blade of one’s sister than suffer the injustice of living death. She heard another rattle from behind the boxes and Tuesday refocused. She wasn’t out yet.