Zombies versus Cavemen

Zombies Versus Cavemen

Thrag lived for the hunt. He saw himself as predator, and could lead his tribe to take down even the largest mastodon. But this…this was beyond what he knew. The dead rising from their graves, wearing the moldered faces of family, faces of the tribe? This was madness. Even old Turlock, the shaman, was no help.

Indeed, he had been one of the first devoured.

Thrag and a handful of the tribe had sealed themselves up in a cave. Most felt comforted that the dead weren’t getting inside. But not Thrag. He was too much of a hunter to play at being prey.

Thrag did not understand why the dead walked, and why they hungered for the flesh of other tribesmen. He understood two things: the strength of his arms, and the strength of his stone ax. Trusting in those, Thrag moved aside the barricade, his mighty arms complained at the effort of moving the boulder single-handedly. None of the other surviving tribesmen felt the desire to move out into the mass of risen flesh. They all seemed to believe that it was the will of the gods that the dead rise again as punishment for past transgressions. But Turlock was dead and now his mutilated body moved among the dead masses as it shambled about mindlessly. Without their shaman most of the tribe seemed to feel there was no way to appease the gods. Ruination and damnation were all that remained for the survivors.

Unlike the others, Thrag did not subscribe to this belief. The gods in which he believed honored bravery, strength, and the hunt. He would sooner die in battle than be hunted or cornered and left to starve.

Much to his surprise the risen were not at the mouth of the cave in which he and his tribe had sealed themselves. They were more than a stone’s throw down the hill except for two who had wandered up the hill away from the risen masses and one that did not have legs and was dragging its way up the hill toward the cave using only its arms. Thrag moved down the hill toward the injured risen without much thought to stealth. If he was to find the weakness of these unholy creatures then it would be best to attack the injured. When he got near the creature his step faltered and his breath caught. It was his own father. He had been dead for more seasons than Thrag could remember and his desire to test these risen creatures waned. “Father?” Thrag whispered hoarsely, but the only response from the risen was a low groan. It changed its coarse toward Thrag instead of directly toward the cave at the sound of his voice. “Father, what has happened?”

Thrag could see that the creature’s flesh had rotted and decomposed to such an extent that more bone was visible on the once meaty arms than flesh. He circled the creature and approached from behind, yet it did not turn to face him. Thrag then realized that the creature’s eyes had long since been eaten away and it paused momentarily after each difficult stroke to move itself to listen and sniff at the air. “Forgive me father,” he whispered and set his jaw as he raised his stone axe above his head before bringing the weapon down in a mighty arc and hacked through the risen’s left arm just above the elbow.

The creature did not cry out in pain. It did not even seem to recognize that it had been attacked other than it stopped and frantically turned its head from side to side as it tried to determine what had happened. It sniffed the air in short, rapid intakes and cocked its head to the side like a wolf as it listened. Thrag deftly stepped around the creature and brought his axe down again, this time he severed the risen’s right arm at the shoulder. Again the creature sniffed wildly at the air and cocked its head to listen. When it tried to move the stubs of its arms wiggled. When it was unable to make any progress it began to wriggle and snake its body, but only rolled from side to side and found it was nearly incapacitated.

“Evil beast, just die,” Thrag growled as he raised his axe a final time. This time he brought the axe down and severed the creature’s head. Its body wiggled for a few seconds before it ceased all movement. Its head had rolled a few feet back down the hill and Thrag poked at the severed head to turn it so he could look at the rotten face and was finally satisfied that the risen could be slain. He gripped the severed head by its crown, his massive, powerful hand dug into the soft flesh and weakened skull as he carried it back to the cave where his still living tribesmen hid. Thrag strode with purpose and confidence when he entered the cave and tossed the head down before the survivors. “The risen creatures can be killed,” he called out to his tribesmen. “Now grab your weapons and make your ancestors proud. We will wipe this scourge from the face of this land and give our dead the honored rest they deserve!” A cry rose up from the cave in support. The roar of the surviving tribesmen echoed through the cave like rolling thunder and Thrag smiled broadly. Perhaps they would survive this night after all.

The men gathered at the mouth of the cave with their stone axes in hand and their clubs rested on their shoulders. The women and children remained in the cave, no longer did they huddle in the shadows, but they did not emerge to watch the remaining men march to battle. “Take the heads of these risen creatures,” Thrag growled. The men watched as the creatures slowly shambled up the hill toward the sound of the cry that had erupted from the cave. Thrag raised his axe above his head and let out a mighty cry that was followed immediately by the other hunters of the tribe. There were only fifteen of them now, but if the rest of the risen creatures were as fragile as his own father then they just might be able to put their ancestors to rest once and for all. The tribesmen rushed down the hill at the unholy army before them; their own bloodlust matched that of the risen dead. Thrag led the charge into their enemies, lost in his own rage he tore through anything that stood in his path.

As the hunters fought their way through the risen masses they lost track of how many destroyed creatures they left in their wake. It was as if all their burial grounds had risen from the grave. There were so many creatures to fight through. Thrag, along with his tribesmen, noticed that as they tore through their enemies the creatures became quicker. It was as if the more recent dead possessed a quickness and strength the first risen did not. Thrag noticed too late that four of the creatures had moved to flank the band of hunters. They did not move like the shambling, slow moving creatures. These four moved on all fours, their powerful arms and legs driving them forward at speeds that would rival that of the tribe’s hunting wolves. He called out a warning to his tribesmen, but it was too late and two of the creatures leapt over two of the slower risen and drug two hunters to the ground with them.

The slower creatures fell onto one of the men. Their mouths worked frantically as they bit and gnawed on the leg of the nearest hunter to them. Thrag rushed to aid the fallen hunter, Shamafu. His friend struggled to wield his club while on his back. Shamafu brought the weapon up in both hands and managed to block an attack from the faster creature as it tried to bring both its club-like fists down on his chest. Thrag ignored the slower risen for the moment, span around and swung his axe through the top of the creature’s head. It stood there for a second, then turned its head slowly to look at Thrag before it fell to the ground. Shamafu kicked his legs as he tried to free them from the creatures, but they had both fallen across his legs and were gnawing on his left leg. Thrag kicked one of the creatures in the side, knocking it off the hunter, then swung the axe in an upward motion and ripped the head from the risen that remained on his friend. Another hunter broke from the group and brought his club down on the second creature’s head as it rose to its hand and knees. The dark blood and gore exploded from its skull to cover the man’s legs below his knees and he smiled grimly back at Thrag. The other fast moving creature lay in a butchered heap among the hunters, but it had not been dispatched before it was able to kill a tribesman. Thrag turned to his slain comrade and with no satisfaction used his axe to cut off the man’s head before he suffered the same fate as the other risen dead.

There was a brief respite from the onslaught. The creatures waited about twenty feet away from the band of hunters uncertain as to what to do after the faster creatures had been dispatched. Thrag looked about quickly to locate the other two threats he had seen flanking them moments before and noted with some satisfaction they had circled back around behind the slower mass of creatures. He looked down at Shamafu and tears welled in his eyes. The two of them had been friends since birth and now he watched in despair as his friend struggled to his feet. The other hunters stood more than an arm’s length away, uncertain as to what they should do now. Thrag gripped his axe tightly in his sweaty hand, the muscles in his powerful arms flexed as he gripped and re-gripped his weapon trying to decide what should be done.

“I can still fight,” Shamafu growled and reached his left hand up to his friend. Thrag paused for only a moment before he gripped his friend’s wrist and pulled him to his feet. That was all he needed to know. It was still his friend before him and not one of the creatures. “It will take more than that for those risen beasts to kill me.” Thrag smiled at his friend’s grim determination and clapped him on his meaty shoulder, then turned to face the horrors that awaited them.

The creatures that had showed caution just minutes earlier now moved toward the hunting party with more confidence. Again Thrag raised his axe, now covered in dark, sludge-like blood, and the hunters bellowed another war cry. This time the creatures roared back at them, drowning out all thought, then rushed the remaining hunters. The group of hunters were an unbreakable wall as the initial rush came upon, but as the fight continued their attacks carried less power and precision. Swings that had earlier felled the risen creatures in one mighty attack now missed their target and left the creatures either maimed or merely knocked them back for a moment before they attacked again with renewed vigor.

The cries of his tribesmen fueled Thrag’s rage as he heard them call out in pain or saw them fall under the risen horde. Shamafu continued to fight along beside him, his injured leg slowed his attacks, but even with the injury he continued to fight back the sea of risen creatures before them.

There was no end in sight. The hunting party’s numbers had been reduced to nine, but then three of the fast, dangerous creatures rushed out mass of rotten flesh and threw their bodies into the hunter to Thrag’s right and Shamafu’s left. When the hunters farther out on the line turned to face the new threat they were overwhelmed by other risen creatures and they were dragged down. The feeding frenzy that followed reminded Thrag of ants when they swarmed over a fallen piece of food that had been left out over night. He reached down and grabbed a club to wield in his left hand and continued to battle. At this point he realized he would not survive the night, but he would not stop. He would never stop.

What seemed like an eternity later Shamafu staggered to a halt. His massive club drug the ground and for a brief moment the creatures backed away just out of reach. Shamafu swung the club in a slow, lazy arc, and the effort caused him to fall to his knees. He cried out in pain at the sudden pressure and jolt to his injured leg. Thrag stepped back to his friend as he tried to stay between Shamafu and the horde they faced. It was then that he realized they were the only two left. One of the fast moving creatures burst out of the wall of enemies with a roar to Thrag’s left. He pivoted quickly and swung his mace low expecting the creature to try to stay below an attack that would normally strike a man in the chest. His anticipation was rewarded and he caught the creature near its waist. Its momentum caused it to flip forward and land on its back at Thrag’s feet. He had already started to swing his axe in a mighty overhand arc and brought it down severing the creatures head.

“I am finished my friend,” Shamafu said hoarsely, barely above a whisper as he looked up at his friend. Thrag turned to face his friend and nodded to him. Shamafu closed his eyes for a moment then lifted his chin and opened his eyes, “Thank you, my friend.”

Thrag yelled with the force of his swing, wanting to ensure that his friend’s death would be as quick and as painless as possible. The stone axe tore through Shamafu’s thick neck, his red blood sprayed across Thrag’s stomach to contrast the black sludge that was already smeared and splattered on him. In that moment Thrag would have let the horde take him. He was utterly alone. His hunting party was dead. His close friend was dead by his own hand. Surely the death of the tribe was certain now as well. But the creatures did not attack. They encircled him, but did not charge. There were still untold numbers of them. As far as Thrag could see the night writhed with their movement. He dropped his weapons and knelt at his friend’s corpse and wringed his hands in the blood that pooled that Shamafu’s headless corpse. He spread his fingers across his own face and smeared the blood from his forehead to his chin. He looked up and smiled at the horrors around him.

Thrag gripped his friend’s mace as he stood. He had never noticed how large, how heavy the weapon truly was. It was no wonder Shamafu had exhausted himself wielding it. He realized at this moment his own weakness. Thrag raised the weapon above his head as he had many times before and let out one last war cry. His voice carried the anger and pain at having failed his tribe. He knew now that none would survive this night. All he could do was send as many of the risen back to the grave as possible. One creature staggered toward him and he swung the mace down into its shoulder, crushing it to the ground. He gripped the weapon with both hands and span around catching another risen as it approached from behind, knocking it’s head over the few creatures who had gathered behind him. Then the onslaught came. He wasn’t even able to swing the weapon again as the risen fell upon him, dragging him to the ground. He struggled as the creatures tore at his flesh, but there was nothing he could.

The last thing Thrag saw was two of the fast moving creatures and several slower risen as they rushed up the hill toward the open cave.