The Secondary Saga

[Mickey Mouse]

The creatures would not let up.

Despite all of Isaac’s efforts to mow them down with his strange but effective blood-whip technique, the undead creatures continued to follow them through the forest relentlessly, trying their best to end the group’s journey before it had even really begun. Clayton was able to occasionally blast a shotgun shell in their direction, but between running and reloading, his chances were few and far between.

The hunter harrumphed a bit as he once again spun around, aiming his shotgun for another mindless zombie creature. Why in the world had he gotten himself into this? Trapped in this group with a bunch of idiots, trying to find another coalition of idiots they’d somehow gotten themselves separated from. Was this what he had been reduced to? The great hunter, Clayton, running through the woods trying to find some scrap of a clue on where to find his next prey, not having any idea where the hell to go and relying on these pathetic excuses for secondaries to show him the way? He felt pathetic.

All of a sudden, he tumbled toward the ground, his boot caught up in some sort of root or something. His ankles twisted and he slammed into the foresty floor of the Tangled Green, his face collecting mud as it sank into the ground just slightly. His shotgun rolled away, and once again he reached for the hilt of his machete as he heard the unfortunate growl of a zombie closing in behind him.

He spun around, taking the machete to the creature’s abdomen and watching as it sliced all too easily through the thing’s decayed skin. “Hmph,” he vocalized, raising an eyebrow as the creature’s upper half slid cleanly off its lower. “Too easy.”

His eyes fell to the thing that had tripped him, and he discovered that it was not, in fact, a root at all, but rather a little bag; tied at the top, Clayton could only see the shape of the item inside: a small, spherical orb, just big enough for him to hold in the palm of one of his hands. Without a second thought, he swept it up and shoved it in his pocket. Even though he didn’t know what it was, his philosophy was always that treasure would be best served in his own hands than in anyone else’s. A quick survey of Klaud, Isaac, Zora, and the unfortunately profusely-bleeding Roger confirmed that none of them had seen him pick up the item, which was for the better; they wouldn’t need to know. Later on, perhaps, he’d try and figure out what it was.

“This way!” the General bellowed, and reluctantly, Clayton followed after picking up his shotgun. He truly hated taking orders—but Klaud had proven herself capable of giving them, so he would continue his ruse begrudgingly for now. One day soon, he would have his chance. Once these people had exhausted their usefulness, he would be done with them for good. Until then, he would use them to get to where he wanted to go, and the General would lead the way. The thought brought a smirk to his face that he quickly stifled.

Clayton sped past Roger as they ran from the zombies, not noticing the fact that the man seemed to fall behind rather dramatically; Klaud spun around to check on them, and her widened eyes alarmed the hunter. He spun around to see Roger on the ground, cowering up against a tree as zombie fought zombie before their very eyes.

Clayton had to laugh a bit.

“More this way!” the elderly tenor of Isaac called, and the gentleman sprung into action, lifting his shotgun and firing a blast toward a zombie that approached the old man. Through the field of undead, Clayton began to notice the familiar forms of some of the people who had originally fled into the temple with them—finally, at long last, they had reached all of the other survivors. Klaud seemed to notice, as well, and began to make for the group. Isaac followed quickly, Zora still trying to help the injured Roger off the ground. The hunter stayed put.

After a few steps, Klaud and Isaac noticed Mr. Clayton’s absence and turned back to see him standing, staring into the horde that stood between them and the rest of the survivors. The zombies closed in on the other secondaries, certainly outnumbering them. Without the help of him and his two most well companions—and undoubtedly the assistance of Zora, Roger, and the “good” zombie would turn the tide—the group of secondaries probably, by Clayton’s estimation, would not last all that long. And that proposition was fine to the hunter. Leave these secondaries to die, and continue on their way to Omni; find that ghost girl again, and get her to lead them where they wanted to go. After all, they had Isaac, and he seemed to know a little bit more about this quest than any of them—did they really need the others?

And then, when they had finally reached the pearly gates of Omni’s fabled home, Clayton would take what was his. He would slay Klaud, and Isaac, and Zora, and Roger if he hadn’t already keeled over by then from his litany of wounds, and he would greet Omni with a smirk and a shotgun shell right in his shiny white teeth.

“Clayton!” Klaud called, breaking him from his thoughts, from his plans.

“Son, come on, we’ve got to help them,” Isaac urged, stepping toward the hunter as if he’d known the man’s thoughts. The older man glanced back at the horde, and then whispered under his breath, “I must find Christa.”

So this was it. The first big decision. To play the hero or not?

Clayton slung his shotgun over his shoulder. Klaud scowled. “What are you doing?!” she yelled, storming toward him.

All too quickly, his machete was out and much too close to the General’s face. His lips curled into his most polite smirk as he lightly pressed the cold metal to Klaud’s neck. Isaac’s face grew just the slightest bit pale. Was the hunter going to turn on them? Now, of all times?

No.

“Just switching weapons, General,” Clayton smiled, removing his blade from Klaud’s neck and brushing past her. “Wouldn’t want any of you lovely people to get caught in my friendly fire.”

Clayton surged into the horde.