Bob The ZombieSlayer

He shouldn't be alive. Not like this. Even before everything turned to shit, his world was a living hell. Buying that motorcycle, even when everybody in his family advised against it, was the biggest mistake he had made. He still had two wheels though, only to be connected to a goddamn chair.
It did not matter though. Everybody he knew was dead. His family, his friends, probably that piss-drunk texting son of a bitch that rear-ended him too. If there was a god, it was a cruel one.

How Bob survived the initial days of this undead mayhem, he did not know for sure. Of course, living in Anytown America and having a respectable stock of 2nd Amendment goodness while having all the time in the world to practice his aim sure did help. Looking down, what he saw lying in his lap made him smile, despite his hardships. A custom HK MP-5N with a SD3 silencer and red dot sight. Great single-shot accuracy thanks to its closed bolt action, perfect to take these fuckers out. It was almost a shame he did not had the chance to use it tonight, he thought as he was rolling along the makeshift perimeter that was thrown down to keep the walking dead out.

Finishing his round, Bob decided it was time for a well earned beer. Only until after the world ends do people realize in what kind of luxury they all had lived. Gas, electricity, warm water, cigarettes. Goddamn, how Bob missed those cancer sticks. Luckily, one of the members of his group of survivors had found a case of 'delicious' Bud Light, scavenging a nearby mall. You can't be picky when you don't know if you will survive to see the sun come up, Bob thought, turning his wheelchair around. 

All of a sudden, his wheel got stuck behind a piece of debris, blocking his movement. When he reached down to remove the pest, he heard a faint moaning coming from behind the barricade. Startled, he readied his weapon, and turned in the direction he thought the sound was coming from.

Nothing.

Breathing heavily, Bob waited for the sound to return.

There it was again. Longer and louder this time. He checked his weapon to see if single fire was selected, and shouldered it. Looking through the visor, he scanned his surroundings, making sure to not miss a spot. From the corner of his eye, he spotted movement.

From out of the darkness came four walkers, limping in a swift, awkward motion towards Bob. One of the dead bag of bones had half his jaw missing, dripping blood and guts from a gaping hole in his neck. The others also missed limbs, but each one of them had a pair of glowing red eyes, all locked on the hapless person in his wheelchair. Shocked at how fast these fuckers where coming towards him, even though the rigor mortis had obviously kicked in, Bob quickly tried to reach the piece of debris that was still blocking his wheel, but his arm just could not reach it. The first one was almost over the blockade, as the others where scaling it at an alarming pace. Horrified at the decaying state of this once person, Bob managed to put a bullet just shy of the walkers right eye, taking out the whole ear in a shower of gore and bits of bone fragment. His second shot did not miss. The body sagged to the ground, only to be walked over by the next piece of rotten undead, followed by his undead brother. They were closing in at an alarming pace now, and Bob was glad he practiced on moving targets, back home. Taking control of his breathing, he took them both out with well placed shots between the eyes, as they stumbled to the ground, just inches away of his wheelchair.

Panting heavily, Bob remembered dropping three bodies, not four, as he saw earlier. He looked around frantically, but to no avail. The last one managed to sneak up to him in the darkness with his jaw wide open, arms outstredged, and with a low, menacing moan the thing reached for him. With a scream, Bob managed to throw his arm up, trying to fend off the walker. In a flash, he saw two rows of yellow teeth, pieces of meat still between them, sink in his forearm, ripping out huge pieces of flesh and sinew.

 Almost out of instinct, Bob switched to full auto on his HK with his free hand, jammed the gun on the temple of the zombie, and let loose with a roaring salvo. It's upper skull exploded in a rain of gore, pieces of brain flying everywhere. With a thump, the body collapsed back, parts of Bob's forearm still hanging from the lower half of this beasts head, clenched between grinning teeth.

I will NOT turn into one of them. Not this far in. I WILL survive, Bob thought while checking the remaining ammo in the clip. More than enough. Without waiting another heartbeat, he aimed at the elbow joint of his maimed hand and squeezed the trigger, until he was out of ammo.  Glowing red hot, he pressed the barrel against the gaping wound at the end of his stump, before passing out from the pain.