/lit/ - Literature

>>21059595
I had a cool zombie dream the other night .

I was standing on the battlements of some fort made out of scrap in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. In this scenario the species of zombie was those "fast mover" swarming, rager types, the worst kind as seen in World War Z or 28 Days later, rather than the shambling, disorganized easily dispatchable rotting types . They rushed along the perimeter of the fort almost like a fluid, a single school of screaming, roaring, bloodthirsty undead once-human piranhas .

I looked down on the horde in adrenaline-infused awe. I was accompanied by a fit, grizzled middle aged man with a graying beard and cowboy hat and duster coat. He looked a lot like Jeff Bridges in the western film True Grit.

He had more of a leadership role and I was his subordinate. Our goal was to do something about the attacking zombies. Jeff Bridges had a wild plan that I was fearful of and arguing against as crazy. He wanted to open the gates and let the zombies . The reason why, I soon found out, is that letting them through the gate led them to a kill zone filled with boobytraps, landmines, and intersecting machine gunfire. Jeff Bridges reasoned that the zombies would overwhelm us if we did not mount this gambit, so our only hope of survival was this audacious stratagem . At worst, at least we'd take more of the fuckers with us.

My protests went unheeded and eventually the zombies started pouring through the opened gate in a thrashing, hateful throng. Regrettably that's when I woke up and the dream was annihilated. Probably because it spooked me enough to wake me up.