Jason stood, waiting, watching and planning; planning which one to take out first. He tightened his grip around the handle of his chosen weapon; a sword he had spend hours sharpening and cleaning that it shone like a diamond. Standing alone, he blocked out all sounds and focused.
He heard them first. The rasping, gurgling and moaning. The dragging of heavy feet across the fine sand. Then he saw them. Slowly, a group of about fifteen headed his way on the prowl for food. A rotting stench filled Jason’s nostrils but he knew that would pass once you got used to it and he was. He edged closer towards the group of moving rags. And then they smelt him; the thin layer of sweat covering his body, the pure blood pumping through his body, the meaty flesh of a young active brain.
Filled with a burning hunger, each zombie now moved with purpose towards the food. They were fast but Jason was ready. Instead of holding back, he moved forwards, his sword raised and he swiped. One Zombie was down; a fallen heap as the head rolled. The only way to kill a zombie was either blowing its head off or decapitation; Jason preferred the latter as he was trained to fight hand to hand combat. Another zombie fell, another and another. It was just too easy. But zombies were stupid; walking dead driven by hunger with no sense of anything other than smell for food. As long as Jason knew where they all were, there would be no surprises. And he knew exactly where they were as his sword danced through dead flesh, fountains of blood covered him but still he marched forward. Blood soaked sand covered his boots as he stepped over limbs, heads and torsos. Only three left. With a single wipe, he felled two. Now it was one on one. Taking time to clean his sword, Jason surveyed the carnage as the final zombie stumbled blindly towards him. Time to toy. Jason stood, his sword by his side. Closer the zombie came, snarling, spitting blood and staring with dead, unseeing eyes. A bloodied hand reached out, so close as it tried to grasp at the living flesh. With a flash of metal, the zombie head was on the floor as the body fell in a puddle of blood. Lifting the head up high by the scalp, Jason held it up for all to see.
The stadium erupted into loud cheers and flag waving. Flowers were falling at his feet. It was never ending as the sound vibrated right through him. But he was used to this celebrity status; Britain’s top sportsman, the world’s best in the new sport of Gladiators verses Zombies.
The Zombie Apocalypse hadn’t turned out to be as apocalyptic as feared. Thanks to Super Soldiers and the tenacity of the human race, it fizzled out before the Zombies could take control. And a new sport and hero was born.