Chapter 3: The Swordsman in Black

Not normal. She scrambles back on her hands and feet, getting as much distance between them as she can. When it's no longer able to reach her, she jumps to her feet and runs in the opposite direction of where more of those things are coming from.

The sound of gurgling and growls become louder, and she urges her feet to go faster. Just how many are there?

She comes to a skidding halt when she sees a group of them ahead of her. Heart pounding, she turns only to see them scattered through the trees. They come from every direction, limping and crawling towards her. They stumble over rocks and branches, only slowing them down for so long.

Breath coming in fast pants, she scans for an opening. Taking the chance, she runs towards them. She weaves around an outstretched hand, noting the protruding bone knuckle. The stench of decay fills her nose, and she holds in her gag. She can throw up all she likes after she gets away.

She doesn't look back, she knows they're following her, if they are anything like the first one, desperate in an attempt to catch her.

Faster, she thinks. She has to go faster. But her shoulder burns, and she's lost too much blood. Her hand aches from the hot metal of the chamber, and her head pounds from the hard hit to the ground.

But she can't give up. She has to keep going.

More figures appear ahead of her, and she curses under her breath.

"Where are they coming from?" She hisses. They clump together, causing her to slow her pace so she isn't rushing into a hoard. They clutch at her suit, grips strong despite the damage to their muscle tissue. "It doesn't make any sense."

She pushes and shoves, her muscles screaming for a break. She rams in to another and the body slams to the ground. The fall does little to stop her, or what used to be a girl. She grabs her ankle, dull nails pressing into the back of her calf. Trying to yank her leg out of the girls hold, she twists and falls.

"No!" She shouts, her ankle throbs in tune with the back of her skull.

Is this really it for her?

"Get off me!" She screeches, her voice echoing in the woods. She kicks at the grip on her leg, but too many hands grab at her arms.

Time slows down when out of nowhere, a silver blade slashes through a rotting neck.

For a moment the monster is still, and then the head slides off and falls to the floor. Dark blood spurts from the open wound, splashing against her face. The smell of it surrounds her, but she ignores it as best she can.

A dark hooded figure appears, except he isn't gurgling and limping like the others. He doesn't snap his jaws or claw at any part of her he can grab onto. His face is hidden under the hood, and she can only hope his skin is intact.

He grips a long thin sword in his fingerless gloved hands and works his way through the rotting monsters attempting to bite her.

With his help, a new found strength fills her. She pushes and kicks, ignoring the searing pain that floods her body. The hooded man twists and turns with a skill she wishes she had.

He makes it look easy, weaving in and out from between them with a stab in the head and a slice of the neck. It is easier for him because he has a weapon, where as she's been bare handed.

Yet, despite how easy it seems at first, there is too many of them. Soon they are both surrounded.

Struggling to keep them away, she finds him caught with their grotesque hands pulling him every which way to get a bite.

Breathing through her pain, she searches for something, anything to use as a make shift weapon. As she kicks the dead between the legs, she finds a large branch laying in the dirt a few feet away. She braces her right shoulder and charges past them, crying out when a hand scrapes against her open wound.

She ducks under outstretched arms and grabs the end of the stick. It's heavy, makes her muscles scream in protest, but she won't give up now. Panting, she swings the stick back and forward, landing hits against severed torsos.

She isn't able to kill them, but they fall down enough for her to make her way towards the man helping her.

"Their heads!" He shouts, his deep voice echoing between the trees. "Aim for their heads!"

She sucks in a breath, lungs fighting for air. She swings the branch at the nearest head, it barely hanging on by the spine as the muscle is eaten by parasites. With a sickening crack, the neck snaps, shards of bones flying away as the head drops to the floor.

Her weapon may not be sharp and sleek, but with brute force it can be effective.

Her peripheral vision begins to darken, the world blurring around her. Her blood lose is taking its toll, her body shutting down from too much pain and not enough rest.

"Oh no," She whispers. She stumbles back, blinking hard to clear her vision, but it doesn't work. Falling down from the tilting world, she lays her head down. "Sorry, I can't help anymore." She whispers into the dark. She doubts he can hear her over the growling and slicing of muscle and bones.

She doesn't feel the pull and pinches of the rotten figures. Willing herself to stay conscious, she thinks she sees the hooded man standing at her side.

"Damn it, One." His hoarse voice is the last thing she hears before everything goes dark.

A groan escapes her lips as she blinks up at a blue sky. The sound of birds and rushing water meets her ears. Her head aches, the wound on her shoulder is on fire, and her ankle throbs.

Why does she keep waking up like this?

Memories of what happened before she passed out comes back to her, and she shoots into a sitting position.

"Ow, ow," She hisses, raising a hand to press against her temple.

"You're awake,"

Her head snaps to the left, and she takes in the man in black that stands by the river. Smoke billows into the sky in the far distance and she wonders if that's the direction they escaped from.

She takes in his hooded black sweater. The lower half is torn, revealing a black shirt. His hood is pushed onto his shoulders, revealing black hair that tousles around his ears. His back is to her, so she can't see his face. His jeans are stained with dirt, and his boots have small metal spikes lining the bottom.

"Who-" Her voice cracks, and she licks her dry lips. She clears her throat, wincing at the soreness and tries again, "Who are you?"

Finally, he turns to face her. She stares up into light brown eyes. Dark thick lashes frame them, his brows neatly trimmed. He has high cheekbones, and full lips. His sharp jaw clenches, and she returns her gaze back to his.

"My name is zero." He answers.

She climbs up to her feet wincing when her ankle burns. She lessens the weight on it and stretches. The skin around her left shoulder pulls, making her wound burn. She looks down at it, and is surprised to see it wrapped up in black cloth.

"How did we get away?" Is her next question, eyes darting back to him. She eyes his ripped sweater, did he use it to bandage her up? "There were so many of them."

"I've encountered more," He says with a shrug.

"What were they?" She asks, nose twitching as sue remembers the awful way they smelled. "They didn't look normal."

He stares at her for a moment before answering, "They're dead."

"Dead?" Her brows furrow, "But, they were moving."

His smile is sad, and he lowers his head to pick at a loose thread of his torn sweater, "I think a better term i should use is un-dead. We call them zombies."

"Zombies?" She speaks the foreign words.

"Yeah. The feed off the living." He shrugs. "What's your name?"

She takes a moment to process his words before she opens her mouth to answer, only to have no sound come out.

Her name? She thinks, tries to remember a time where anyone had called her something, but comes up empty.

"I-" She frowns and scratches her head, "I don't know."

"You don't know?" The man frowns at her. He crouches down at the river bank and wets his bare hands. His fingerless gloves are nowhere in sight.

"No." She murmurs. She comes up beside him and stares down at the clear water. For the first time, she catches a distorted image of herself.

She stares at the black mass around her head, and lifts her hand to touch her hair. She brings a black lock up so she can look at it. It has a slight wave to it, the strands stick up in different directions. No doubt it's messy from the fight struggle. Turning her gaze back to the water, she isn't able to make out the rest of her features.

What does she look like? And why can't she remember anything?

"Well, what do you want to be called? I can't go around calling you girl, can I?" The man draws her attention back to him. She watches as he cups his hands and scoops water into it. He brings it to his lips to drink.

She crouches down and mimics him.

The cool water soothes her sore throat, and she drinks as much as she can. She didn't realize how thirsty she was.

"I don't know," She finally answers.

The guy hums and shakes the water from his hands. He stands back up and stares down at her. He tilts his head, his foot tapping against the sandy bank.

"How about Mary?" He suggests. Her nose wrinkles and she shakes her head. "No?" He chuckles.

She stands up and surveys her surroundings. Smoke emits from a small fire pit to the side. A makeshift tent of sticks and leaves lean against a hollow log. He must have done all this while she was unconscious.