dauntless
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The enemy was endless. Unceasing tides of cold flesh that moved in chaotic waves. The people huddled behind the large, thick stone walls that protected them. All knew that it was a temporary measure. The swarms would break down the walls eventually through sheer weight of numbers. They needed someone to rally them. To restore their courage and will to live, and maybe even fight back.
Terry just wished it was not him that had to do it. He did not want to be the leader. He should not be the leader. And until very recently, he was not the leader. Unfortunately, the person who people had actually been counting on to save them had died. At least it was a reasonably good death. Terry heard the guy took down almost two dozen of them down with him.
It was a drop in the ocean, but damn did it sound good. Of course, that did nothing to help their situation. And now Terry had to play the part of the fearless leader. He had no idea how to do that. He was neither fearless, nor a leader. He got scared when a fly buzzed passed him, and the only thing he had lead was a crude song number with his cousins.
And yet, for some reason his predecessor had left him in charge. He still had no idea why. There were so many better people for the job than him. And yet, there he was, standing on top of the wall trying to look brave. Trying to keep his knees from giving out. Trying not to think about what would happen when he inevitably failed.
He looked out over the hoard, and then to the people who were looking up at him. Most had no idea who he was. He had always kept to himself. He liked it that way. When nobody knows who you are, nobody expects anything from you. So how had the least leader even known who he was? It made no sense. None of the situation made sense.
He looked at his advisors. People who actually knew how to lead. People who could be brave. People who people could count on. Why were none of them standing there? They could give a great speech to rally to people. With one of them at the helm, they might actually have a chance to survive.
But, he had been chosen. Out of all the people that could have been picked, it had been him. For some reason that not even the advisors seemed to know. And now the people were expecting him to give some kind of rousing speech. Something to lift their spirits and given them hope that they would survive another day.
But Terry had never been good with words. He had never really used them to do much of anything. That was not how he could do what his predecessors thought he could. He needed to do something else. He looked around and saw something. A bow and a quiver of arrows, resting inside the door. One of many lined up for defenders, now that guns were no longer usable.
Terry sighed. He had never used one of those before, but he did not have to be a crack shot to hit something now. So, he silently went and retrieved the weapon and knocked an arrow. It was awkward and he had trouble keeping it where it needed to go. Pulling the string back was harder than he thought as well. All in all, it took a few minutes before he could actually successfully fire the weapon. And when he did, the arrow struck an enemy in the arm. Not even a crippling shot.
But it was enough. Another person, one of his advisors, took up the bow and wordlessly joined him, shooting at the unending hoard. Another advisor came out. And another. Soon, normal people were climbing the wall, weapons at the ready.
They began fighting in silence. Shooting, throwing, whatever they could use. Nobody said a word. Nobody complained. Nobody ran. They simply picked off as many as they could.
Maybe Terry could do this job after all, in his own way.
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Ah, zombie stories. Is there anything quite like them?
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