Snippet #1916648

She was right - of course she was right; for there to be a sheer volume of malignant people infected in favor of people who were just Joe and Jane everybody was just pure fantasy; but it was how he coped, like so many others. His method was just a little more grim and maybe even a bit altruistic. Besides, like he'd mentioned before: they were typical everyday anybodies. Now, they were nightmarish, unliving beasts, and at the end of the day, that fact made it infinitely easier to pull the trigger, survival aside.
Barely breaking stride when they reached the opposite alley, he only slowed to a meager trot so she could catch up, "Keep going," He replied simply, slipping his machete out of its glossed leather scabbard, "It's not far, just up the alley," Up the alley, and around the corner, with only a few Walkers milling aimlessly about between them and their freedom - Walkers that had already turned their milky unblinking eyes on them and had begun their awkward shuffle in their direction. Picking up the pace a little to take point, he stuck to his side of the broad alleyway, and snatched the closest one by its outstretched wrist. Using its own momentum against the clumsy shambler, he flung it backwards to let her take care of the stumbling disoriented corpse, and with a sharp grunt and a sickening 'splot,' slammed his machete into the scalp of the Walker behind it.
Still in motion, he just pressed on, quickly building momentum, "Home stretch, c'mon!" He snarled internally to his aching body, forcibly willing his limbs to keep right on pumping despite how they screamed at him to stop. Stiff-arming another set of out-stretched rasping hands, he hurled the Walker to the concrete and leapt right over it, slicing the one that had just worked itself to its feet a few meager meters down the alley through the neck as he sprinted past, toppling its head from its shoulders with a dull wet thud on the concrete. Almost there!
Confident she was still right on his tail, he only paused for a brief glance at the mouth of the alley before he booked it straight across the street and into the narrow driveway of the household across from it. Well-concealed between the white picket fences of the two homes, he finally stopped, and immediately slung his bag off his shoulder, using the momentum to hurl it up and over with a strained grunt.
"Thank fucking Christ," He thought to himself a bit breathlessly, double-checking over his shoulder and then back toward the street again, sinking down to one knee. Hands cupped, fingers laced, all he had to do was wait, now. He'd be her step-stool for this one; up and over!

S'okay, this reply isn't that great anyway. :|