An observer’s report:

Four strangers met on the road. It was an uneasy alliance. Sarah decided that the only way they’d survive was through trust. She let everyone know that she was short on food but was willing to fight. The others weren’t so forthcoming. Michael hid his weapons from the others; Francis and Angela remained silent.

The first time a zombie approached, the weak link in their team became evident. While Sarah, Michael and Angela attacked willingly, Francis fled. Sarah was injured but the zombie was dispatched. They group searched for supplies, but there was nothing much of value: one useless shoe, a broken radio, one bullet. Ever the negotiator, Sarah suggested that they distribute these items randomly. She took the radio, Angela the shoe. Michael pocketed the bullet. Francis returned, sheepishly. The others decided to forgive him: four weapons are better than one, Sarah said.

Bad move. In the night, Francis took his axe and struck the sleeping Sarah. A zombie attacked, causing more injury to all but Francis: yet again, he ran away. In the morning, more zombies appeared, injuring Angela and Sarah. Francis watched from a distance, waiting for the group to die, hoping to salvage whatever food they had. Michael saw her. He pulled out a gun: he’d hoped to keep the possession of this a personal secret, but he’d seen where selfishness leads. He shot Francis. Francis fought on. Sarah rushed towards him, wielding her cleaver. Francis, mortally wounded, staggered away into the scrub. The others searched for him, but his body was not to be found. Even in death, Francis remained selfish: they couldn’t even use his body for sustenance. There was very little food left. Michael ate his last tin of beans. Angela shared her canned meat with the weakening Sarah.

In the distance they saw an army camp. The group was momentarily enticed by the possibility of gathering more food, but they were afraid that the base would also be swarming with zombies. And who knows how the soldiers would treat them? The base is a honey trap, Sarah said. The group continued down the highway. They tried to avoid zombies, but it’s hard to move stealthily when you’re limping and exhausted. This time, Michael was the target. Now everyone was injured, and Michael only had one bullet left. The next day, Angela gave her last tin of beans to Michael.

They saw two signs: one to a graveyard; the other to the hospital. Despite their weak position, Michael pushed for the graveyard: he figured that this could be the centre of the zombie’s power. Going there might decrease the threat later on. Sarah indicated her body, falling apart. She was no use in battle like this: she needed the hospital. The group advanced towards the hospital. Four zombies greeted them. Michael fired his last bullet. A zombie was defeated but the zombies turned on Angela. There remained four zombies—one of them was a zombie Angela.

Michael and Sarah stood together. A bulletless gun. Only a knife and a cleaver. They knew that whoever attacked would probably die. A heroic moment. Michael attacked.
Sarah now faced five zombies. Zombie Michael approached. Sarah knew that six zombies would emerge from the hospital that day.

Our team was tight. We stayed focused. We did what we had to to survive.

On the first day we arrived at a military base where a battle was in progress between soldiers and zombies. We fought and took the zombies down easily. The soldiers offered us a reward, a paltry amount considering the equipment they had on hand. We fought again, a harder battle but the sniper rifle would be useful later. And we didn’t need to dent our food supplies that night.

The next day we set out for the nearby hospital. We didn’t that far. We were ambushed by would-be road warriors demanding a we pay for passage. We refused. They died. We limped into the hospital a day later and did the best we could to patch up Michael and Francis.

Our luck improved the next day. At an abandoned petrol station we found a ute that was still in working order. What’s more, Michael found a chainsaw in the back. We filled up with as much petrol as we could drain from the pumps and drove away in our new ride. Further down the road we encountered a couple of traveling merchants looking to barter. Michael demonstrated his new chainsaw to them. They were dead impressed.

We abandoned the ute a few days further down the road, preferring to save the fuel for other purposes. Michael recognized a landmark on the map page he had found along the way. The airfield was near. Just as well, our supplies had finally run out and our efforts at ‘living off the land’ had left us worse for wear.

From a distance it seemed the place might be deserted, but we knew not to trust appearances. That morning we spent a long time arming ourselves carefully and discussing strategy. What little fuel we had siphoned from the ute went into Michael’s chainsaw. Knives and bullets were counted and handed out with care.

Our fears were realised as we entered the gates. Undead arose from every direction. We threw everything we had at them. Michael tore into two with the chainsaw. Sarah sniped another while Angela and Francis fought with axe and machete. Michael was close to the end. We’d seen what happens when the zombies turn someone. We couldn’t let that happen. Angela did what had to be done: the the back of her axe she caved in Michael’s skull as he stood and fought. Our friend fell, food for the undead. In his death, he bought us the time we needed.

It was close, but we made it out.

Our team was tight. We stayed focused. We did what we had to to survive.