We Hate Zombies

Scenario:
To help you train for the great zombie apocalypse, you decide to enter into a half-marathon because you’ve calculated that it takes approximately 13 miles for you to escape the city by a safe route on foot.  So, as it usually goes, you need some competition to boost your quest for the long distance run and you pay a little bit to be lured into a dangerous place full of people with only the hope of food and beer at the end.  Of course it would be the tenth mile when the zombies strike, and all around you are people half-dead from the run or completely dead but moving no slower.  Also, you’re tired as shit.  What do you do?

What you should do:
Obviously the first step is to get off the path.  The zombies will be quickly attracted to the sweat and stink of the runners, so there will quickly be a swarm of zombies all over the damn place.  You need to get off as soon as possible, then search for other means of escape.  Your plan to run out of the city has backfired and now you’re too tired to even swing a bat hard enough to crack an egg.

Of course, you can always try to find a car, and depending on what part of the run it is you might get lucky, but around here the cars tend to be cleared out a bit so runners don’t suffer from the exhaust poisoning.  However, one secret few realize is that there are golf carts used by race officials to haul off those too weak to move themselves.  Find one of those and you’re practically home free, assuming you can keep zombies off your grille long enough to get out of the area.  Good luck with that.

What I would do:
There’s no point starting something you’re not going to finish, and after having come 10 miles there’s no way in hell I wouldn’t finish that race.  The first thing I would do is keep on running, and through this strategy the zombies behind me won’t be able to catch up.  Then, when zombies come up in front of me, I’ll jump kick them in the chest and knock them down, or at least until I find some sort of club or blunt weapon or what not.

That will be a good day, running and jump kicking for 2 miles, enough to kill a man.  And you know what I would find at the end?  Not beer and hot dogs but more fucking zombies, just to say hello and congratulations and pat me on the back like Judas and Brute.  You’re probably thinking to yourself, Brute?  No, not Brute, but you have to imagine that little thing on the “e”, as in “et tu Brute.”  Dammit, leave me alone, I’m too busy to post twice a week let alone find out how to make that damn “e.”  Whatever.

At the end there’s nothing left to do but use the detonator on my watch to explode the bombs I hid along the route and particularly at the end.  I would get far enough away, of course, but I’d still like to see the explosion.  Sucks for everyone else that didn’t die yet, but atleast I won’t have to worry about them coming  back to nibble on my calf.  Which would be cramping.

Good day to you sir!