Zombies should not be able to use shovels. This one can. He fights pretty well with it, too, which is both terrifying and impressive.

I duck to the side to avoid getting decapitated, and he makes an odd noise between a growl and a whine. Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Zombie, are you mad that I'm not sitting still and letting you kill me? Boo hoo.

Normally, I'd be able to take care of him and then get back to camp, but I'm bruised and hurting from yesterday's mission, and my movements are sluggish. I mean, obviously something's wrong with my brain right now. I thought taking a shortcut through the old construction site was a good idea. That wasn't a good idea before the apocalypse, let alone now.

I slash at him with my pocket knife and miss, losing my balance as the rest of my body tries to follow the momentum of my arm. I try to recover, but then... there's a crack. My head hurts, and... I'm lying on a pile of wood? The zombie has me pinned, the wood of the shovel pressing down painfully over the base of my throat. I could have sworn I was only fighting one zombie, but... now it looks like there's four. They're all swimming around in the air and look the exact same. Hm. That's... odd.

My head can now slide around on the plank of wood beneath me. I can tell, because it's slick with some liquid that wasn't there before. Shampoo? My hair is long enough, and when I turn my head a little I can see the streaks of red shampoo smearing into the pale straw yellow. Mmm, that crack from earlier was probably the shampoo bottle opening. That might explain all of the funky stuff my eyes are doing right now.

I try to shift my position, but I'm stuck. It's like something is rooting me in place. I glance down at my stomach and see a jagged wood plank sticking out of it. That's probably why. Guess I'm not moving from here for a while. Ah, well, I have a more pressing issue to deal with anyway.

The zombie snarls in my face, his mouth snapping inches away from my nose. Shouldn't this dude have like, I dunno, eaten me or something by now? Which is incredibly unfriendly, I know, but I mean. That's kinda what they do. But he's not. He keeps lunging forward and coming up short. From so close to his face, I can see his messed up excuse for a face and all the broken chunks of what might have been teeth in his mouth. I've never smelled breath so bad in my life. Bad dental hygiene is like the number one cause of death in the apocalypse, in my opinion. This guy apparently didn't get the memo.

I can imagine doing it for him, like I used to do for my baby brother. Get that toothpaste on the brushes, some water over it. Open wide, scrub, scrub, scrub the teeth on this side. Scrub, scrub, scrub the teeth on that side. Keep your tongue still, dude, I'm trying to clean your mouth. What's with all this red stuff, did you get into the wine again? What have you been eating? Aww, man, I lost your toothbrush. I guess I can just use my finger.

I'm pretty tired right now, and I'm getting a headache, so this has gotta be quick. Get that tooth cleaner on the bristles, some water over it. You're already opening wide, great job, little dude, though I think you need some cough drops or something when we're done here 'cause your voice is doing some gnarly growling right now. Scrub, scrub, scrub the teeth on this side... jeez. You're not supposed to eat the toothbrush, little dude, that kinda hurts. We'll try again tomorrow, I guess, I think I'll just get ready for a nap now. I have my anatomy class in the morning, so.... good night.