That was too close.

Blood dripped off the edge of Lem's sword. Not the bright red crimson from the recently deceased. But the putrid off-color, black and red mix of the undead, with bits of infected flesh, splotched here and there on the weapons' sharp edges. He brought a fraying red rag to the blade wiping it clean of the gore before tossing the cloth to the side.

There had been so many of them, he and his traveling partner Red, had run out of bullets, forcing them both to use swords. He could hear her panting, in short bursts behind him as they both stood frozen in place, ears piqued for the sound of the shuffling footsteps of the undead.

The silence was beautiful.

In the distance, a bird chirped. Lem's arms tensed at the sound, his grip on the sword tightened painfully, a sensation he ignored. Drops of sweat beaded over his chocolate skin. The bird's song was followed by another, and then another until finally, the macabre scene of mangled corpses was serenaded by beautiful song.

"We should go." Her voice was faint, too low, but he heard the unmistakable urgency. Soon there would be more, the rotten stench would bring more eager for fresh meat so long denied to their decadent limbs. Lem and Red still had many miles to go.

Lem nodded sheathing his blade across his back. Bright gold bullet casings littered the ground around them forming a tight circle where they'd almost made their last stand. Just beyond that, the mangled pieces of the corpses who'd sought to make them one of their own. He chanced a glance at Red, her normally tightly braided faded blue hair had tufts sticking out from where she'd been fighting. Other than the .38 special she carried jammed into a belt at her hip, Red wore a black tank top which contrasted starkly with her pale freckled skin, and ripped jeans, over black steel-toed boots. Wherever she'd found steel-toed boots in ladies size 4 was anyone's guess. She stood unmoving behind him, her gaze caught by a half beheaded corpse on the ground.

The woman, or what was left of her was tall, at least 5'10" by Lem's estimation. She was wearing a black sweater with a red stripe on it, with a name tag embedded on the right side. Dried blood splashed the tag. Lem made out the name "Asha" in the midst of the lettering. Red kept staring.

"I think I knew her," she whispered.

"I'm sorry," Lem said. He could count the number of times he'd had to put someone down he'd known. Even family. He consoled himself with the fact that they were already dead.

"I'm trying to be," Red replied. "She tortured me every day in high school. She hated zombies, too. Wouldn't let her boyfriend watch any of the new zombie movies that came out. I mean who doesn't like Sean of the Dead?"

"Oh." Lem didn't know what to say. He rolled his eyes and turned away.

"It's just ironic," she finished before turning back to him. Lem reached over and pulled the end of a finger out of one of her braids, watching her fake gag as he tossed it to the side.

"Cutting it close, aren't you?"

"Ha, ha," she whispered, inspecting her other braid. Lem snickered. He couldn't help it. As disgusting as it was, it would make one hell of a story to tell some of the others when they got back home. He should have let her carry it all the way back unbeknownst to her. By the time they got back, she would have a yarn spun a mile long about the finger and the friend who hated zombies only to turn into one. She was right, it was ironic. He laughed in spite of himself. The world was a cruel mistress. One misstep and they were done for.

Too close, Lem thought again. It was always this way when they rode out for supplies. The world had turned upside down, the only way to survive was to grow hard, coarse, and never stop moving.

Lem took a deep breath before turning to check on his partner. There was a gentle breeze blowing with a hint of moisture on it. It was going to rain soon. They needed cover.

"Let's hit that Wal-Mart just in case it rains," Lem whispered as he turned to head towards their motorcycles, they'd left parked on top of the hill. They hadn't quite made it back to them.

Red groaned as she tucked her sword across her back, pushing her .38 back into a side holster. "There is always a dead guy, there."

"Yeah, one or two," Lem shrugged as they moved upwind. At least the smell was heading in the opposite direction. "But after this, won't be nothing."

Red shrugged, following him up the embankment. She still had a backpack full of diapers and formula strapped to her back. It was a good find, and one she wasn't going to let go of without a fight. The child back at the camp wasn't hers. The little girl belonged to no one, but everyone took care of her. Babies were rare and precious, and worth every ounce of energy Red put into finding baby Leah supplies.

When she stumbled as she climbed up, Lem's hand was already there catching her and yanking her upright. She wasn't tall, barely topping 5'1" at the most to Lem's 6 feet. But she was handy with her swords and guns, and there wasn't anyone else he'd rather have guarding his back, especially when they hit a group of fifty zombs and run out of ammo.

"Thanks," she muttered, topping the rise with him. He dropped her hand to shield his eyes. The sun was in their face as they headed back. A definite disadvantage. The ground was mostly flat highway unless they encountered something unwelcoming.

The smell hit them first, a vomit-inducing wave of putrified dead flesh, that invaded the nostrils so badly you could taste it on your tongue. If that wasn't bad enough, the thick black wave of flies billowing in the wind should have given them a clue. This was no man's land. No living man anyway. Only the dead trod here. The living fled in their wake, leaving walking corpses to follow ever after.

"Fuck," Red whispered. "That is one hell of a horde."

"It's between us and home." Lem felt his heart sink in that one moment. Between us and home could mean anything. Home could be overrun, gone, etc. For the smell to be that strong, it would have to be hundreds of zombs.

They had a couple of magazines left in their saddlebags at most. 

"We could go around, or through--" Lem started. He chanced a glance at Red, catching her expression. She was already drawing her sword, one eyebrow drawn up as she regarded him with a mocking expression.

"Let's burn them."

There was a restaurant between here and there, an old Shogun. Red had often lamented the fact that it was abandoned. It was also the biggest building in the vicinity, an open facility where they'd been stockpiling gas for later use. If it could burn or run in a vehicle Red had stored it there. 

"Are you sure?" Even as he asked, Lem could hear it. The silence of fleeing animals, except for vultures, who followed lockstep with the horde from the sky. This time the shuffling was so loud it had it's own strange and terrible rhythm.

"Why not?" Red was already swinging a leg over her motorcycle. Tucking her sword back onto her back she regarded him. "These will hang out for weeks on that pile back there."

"They would eventually move on, " Lem argued.

"And eat everything we need in sight," Red countered. "And everyone..."

"It's our reserves." Lem held up both hands, he knew it was a losing argument.

"Never a better time to use them." Red was looking in the distance. She pointed one pale finger to the west. The horde was there, shuffling in time. It wasn't the fact that they were superior hunters or fast, or anything. They simply had so many, such numbers. You could kill them, and keep on killing them until they overtook you. They never stopped, they were never tired. There were always more. 

Lem shuddered as he watched the group move closer. It was a good plan, just had to trap them all inside. Which was easy. Zombs were like lemmings in that regard.  He swung his leg over the side and sat down, not sure what was crazier; what they were about to do, or the fact that they might actually pull it off.

"Ride--" he started. Without looking he held his hand out to the right, and Red without looking at him gave him a fist bump in return.

"--or die," she finished. "Let those motherfuckers burn."