The only passageway into and out of the village meandered through Tanglewood Thicket. A zombie horde however, had invaded the thicket and rendered it impassable. The one exception was the hour when the sun reached its apex, and the zombies retreated to the impenetrable forest canopy’s darkness.
After all attempts to destroy them failed, the residents became prisoners in their own town. After discussing their options, the council decided to summon Granger, the monster hunter.
“Do you really think he’ll come knowing the undead lurking along the trail greatly outnumber him?” a villager asked.
“Probably not,” the Constable interjected, “but who says he has to know? Lie to him and tell him there are but a few. Besides, if he’s as good as his reputation claims, he won’t refuse the gold we will offer him.”
The letter read, “Granger, you’re a man of great courage and respect. Any mortal capable of driving werewolves from the moors, hunt down vampires lurking the forests of Gaul, and capturing Banshees in Venice, can surely kill a few zombies haunting Tanglewood thicket. We ask for your help and shall reward you with your weight in gold.”
The following day, a brave messenger set out on horseback to deliver the letter. Nostrils flared as rider and horse caught the putrid stench of the undead wafting across the trail. Both sensed the milky-white eyes peering out from the shadows, anxiously awaiting the trail to again turn dark.
After delivering the letter, the messenger refused to accompany Granger on the return trip. He rode off toward the village alone, and at midday a week later, reigned in his horse at the thicket entrance. Granger dismounted, and removed a crossbow from his knapsack.
The bow’s quick loading lever fired ten arrows in rapid succession from a cylinder that rotated around the handle. He slung several arrow cylinders across his back, and left his horse grazing free at the edge of the thicket.
He strode down the path, knowing somewhere in the darkness, the undead wandered about hungry for the taste of brains, his brains. The sun passed overhead, and the guttural groans of the undead grew louder with each step deeper into the thicket.
A zombie stumbled from behind a bush several meters ahead. Jagged fingernails jutted from rotted fingers as it reached for Granger.
“Hungry, must eat!”It groaned.
Granger raised the bow and fired. The arrow pierced the zombie’s forehead. It fell to the ground, and exploded in flames.
Another stepped from the shadows. Granger swung around and fired, hitting the creature in the chest. It grunted, and pulled the arrow from its body as though removing a thorn.
Granger fired again, and it too collapsed in a ball of fire.
He broke into a trot, killing zombie after zombie, leaving a trail of smoldering fires in his wake. Suddenly, two came at him at once.
He nailed the first one easily, but the second lunged before he could shoot, and bit a chunk out of his shoulder. Granger grabbed his dagger from his waist band, and drove it through the bottom of the zombie’s mouth and through the palate.
The zombie burned up in a flash of firelight. Granger ignored his still-bleeding shoulder, and reloaded. Then, he continued on knowing the scent of blood would bring more.
Granger reached a clearing, illuminated by the full moon as though it was dusk. He hurried to the middle and scanned the surrounding trees. Zombies peered out at him, moaning and wary of the moonlight.
Then, from the shadows came a guttural scream and they attacked from all sides. One by one, Zombies exploded in flames. Upon exhausting his supply of arrows, Granger ran from pile to pile, retrieving arrows from the ashes.
He barreled his way through the zombies, bowling them over and avoiding their outstretched arms. Zombie pyres lit up the clearing like fireflies, yet the creatures kept coming.
Granger dropped one who’d staggered too close for comfort. Another grabbed him from behind, but he fired the crossbow over his shoulder, feeling the heat as the zombie exploded in flames.
Quiet suddenly filled the clearing and Granger stood alone surrounded by piles of smoldering zombie ashes and embers. Retrieving as many arrows as he could find, he prepared for another attack. But, no more came.
Granger’s chest heaved as he plodded up the trail and his gut twisted from the pain in his festering shoulder. Deep shadows nestled in the hollow of his eye sockets, and his complexion paled from exhaustion and loss of blood
His horse still grazed in the meadow at the outskirts of the thicket. It turned skittish as he approached, and started to bolt. Granger grabbed the reins, and struggling into the saddle, rode head bowed toward the village.
As he entered, he bellowed at the people staring and whispering, “I am Granger! Tell your council I have come for my reward.”
“Mr. Granger,” the constable asked, when the monster hunter stepped into the chambers. “Did you succeed?”
“Of course!” Granger growled. “I’m here aren’t I? They didn’t eat me.”
“It, it’s just that you have been wounded,” a councilman said.
“You let me worry about that.”
“But, you look like death warmed over.”
“What did you expect? I just wiped out a forest full of zombies.”
Granger snatched the sack of gold from their hands, and galloped out of town. He felt no regrets about killing the zombie horde; it was killed or be killed. Always had been and always would be.
By the time he reached Tanglewood, his energy waned and movements turned sluggish. After dismounting he dropped the reins. His horse broke away, and disappeared down the trail.
Granger noticed the sticky ooze of decomposition setting in between his fingers, and sighed. A ravenous appetite would soon follow and demand to be sated. He spread a handful of gold coins across the trail, and settled into the shadows to await a rider venturing into the now safe thicket.
__________________
©2010 Hal Kempka
Harold ‘Hal’ Kempka is a former Marine, and Vietnam Veteran. His poetry has appeared in Leatherneck Magazine and The Shine Journal, and short stories published in 69 Flavors of Paranoia, Ascent Aspirations, Black Petals, Dark and Dreary, 52 Stitches, Microhorror, Flashes in the Dark, Flashshot, Long Story Short, The Shine Journal, and the Fiction Flyer, among others. He is a member of the FlashXer flash fiction workshop, and lives in Southern California with his wife and son. His email address is: rvnvet6667@yahoo.com
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