We Were Lucky

We were lucky. These were the slow kind. Of zombies, that is. They shuffled their feet as they trudged over the baseball diamond; some of them were missing their lower jaws, so their tongues swayed as they moved. I found it better if they missed appendages rather than walking around without any skin.

I was with my best friend, Tegan, who was reclining on the bleachers. There was no wind; her blonde hair fell in a sheet. She blew a big, pink bubble with her gum and then popped it. The snapping sound was harsh. "You ready to do this?" She asked me, reaching up and touching the brim of her baseball cap as she stared out at the approaching horde through a chainlink fence.

I hefted my trusty baseball bat, Big Sal, onto my shoulder. "Let's do this. Shake and bake, baby."

"Yeah. Shake and bake."

I waited for Tegan as she climbed down from her seat, and she lead the way through the unlocked gate by the home team's dugout.

"Bbbbrraaaiiiinnnnssss."

"No today, colonel."

The first hit is the best. The first time you hear that crack of metal and rotted flesh, you're hook. And the best part is that every time felt like the first time.

It was scorchingly hot, even for July's spicy standards set in the state of Oklahoma. If not for the bloodbath below on the field (although I wouldn't call it a bloodbath so much as a big walking version of Whack-a-mole, but with dead (sort of) people), it would've been a beautiful sight to see.

The diamond had been on the "wrong side of the tracks"--or what used to be. The town that once sprawled about where they were swinging wasn't much of one anymore. It was more of a village now, a hamlet, even. But the point is that this field hadn't been tended to in quite a while--there were wildflowers stained red in the outfield.