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Dead People Shouldn't Move

"I'm a fairly attractive woman. I'm younger than half the police in UpDome City. I got my whole life ahead of me. So why do I always have to kill zombies?! Can't one of the old, fat, bald guys do it? I have so many dreams to fulfill!"

"Like what?"

"Like getting a dream! Besides, there are five things I promised myself, I'd never do again: sing karaoke, dance in public, eat oysters, shove crayons up my nose, and kill zombies! See, I have it on a very nice sheet of paper. Please, Chief, can't you just send me out to patrol the streets? I won't get sued again, I promise!"

"Look, Tam. You are assigned zombie duty. So go get a big gun, go to quarantine, and shoot things!"

"You're just doing this because of the frog incident, aren't you?"

"GO!"

"Fine…"

I hate zombies. Dead things are bad enough, but moving dead things are worst. When the disease first surfaced in DownDome City, the entire dome was cut off from the outside world. There were a few rescue attempts for the civilians down there, but what with half the 12 million people jammed down there turned into the walking dead, most of our attempts failed. Now the Gov is going for a more subtle response. They send down search teams. The search team explores specific areas, looking for survivors. If they find any, search team gets them out of there and if they don't anyone, then they shot some zombies and call it a day. And let me tell you, it is the highpoint of everyone's week. I mean, who wouldn't want to spend their day chopping, slashing, and shooting their way through an army of corpses and then you come back and get paid what it costs to buy half of a fourth of the food you need. It rocks. I hate those stupid rage infected monkeys.

"So, Tam, I hear you got zombie duty. Chief must not have forgotten the frog incident." My partner, Zack, appeared from nowhere and started walking beside me, chatting away. He's a Field Mech, which means in combat a fixes guns and armor. Zack used to be a regular cop, but he's terrible with using weapons. I've never actually seen him hit anything he ever aimed for. Zack's tall and lanky, with hair that looks like he just got electrocuted (not that unlikely, knowing him). He never knows when to shut up either. He can talk for hours and not notice no one's listening.

He continued. "I really hate you Tam.'Cause I'm your partner, I also get to go down to the land of dead things. You know, if you didn't make it your life's mission to annoy your superiors, our lives wouldn't suck nearly so much."

He kept on talking all the way down to the armory. This is the single coolest room ever. It's packed to the ceiling with armor, guns, swords, and many things that go boom. One of the only perks of zombie duty is that you can take whatever weapons you want with you. Nothing like firing a grenade at a mass of dead people.

"Tam, you love this room way too much," I heard Zack say from behind me. He kept talking as he started examining a blaster on the wall. I ignored his statements about how badly damaged I must be psychologically and started testing out machetes.

Zack picked up the blaster and tried to hit a target on the other side of the room. His shot hit the ceiling behind him. He looked at me and asked, "I'm going to get killed, aren't I?"

"Probable not. You're awful hard to kill. Kinda like a cockroach. Besides, I'm the one who's supposed to be doing the shooting. Don't worry so much."

"Well, the idea of having my brains eaten…did you just compare me to a cockroach?"

"It's all about your attitude, Zack. I hate zombie duty a lot. But since we have to do this stupid task, let's just focus on the positive."

"Like how you get to blow stuff up?"

"Exactly!" I smiled at him. "Besides, what could go wrong?"

Twenty Hours Later

"Zombie chickens?! There are zombie chickens?!" I screamed at Zack. I hate chickens. They scare me. When I see one, it's all I can do to keep from running away as fast as I can. I figure that I must have had some traumatic chicken incident in my youth. I just can't remember it or find any evidence that it actually exists. Whatever. The point is I don't want to be killed by dead chickens. Besides my emotional issues, it's just kinda embarrassing.

Zack shouted back, "How did we get cornered by chickens? We're smarter than this!"

"Apparently we're not." My body seemed frozen, and I could just watch as the fowl beasts drew closer and closer (pun completely intended).

"Uhhh, Tam? I know you have some weird issues with chickens, but would you mind killing them? I've been shooting at them, but I…ummmm…I've been missing them."

I looked over at him. "You can't even hit a slow moving chicken? You have a grenade launcher!"

"Shut up! At least I don't have an irrational fear of them! And what happened to killing the zombies?"

"That was before I knew there were chickens involved! By the way, how do you miss with a grenade launcher?!"

All the time we bickered the chickens drew closer. Their eyes, so cruel and empty, seemed to peer into my very soul. I cursed these beasts to the irritable bowels of Hell. I stared as they waddled forward and something inside of me snapped. I let loose a battle cry and charged at the chickens like a mad woman, barely remembering to grab my sword. I swung my mighty sword and, one by one, each chicken's head parted company with its neck. Their beaks shall peck no more!

I held my sword aloft and shouted, "I FEAR NO CHICKEN!!!!!!!!!!!!" so everyone could know that I had smote these terrible beasts. I am Tam Wavelet, Chicken Slayer!

"Tam? Are you okay? Because you just shouted 'I fear no chicken' and I can't think of any circumstance where that's not weird." I ignored Zack and looked at my fallen enemies. They were…running around?

While backing away from the headless chickens, I asked Zack, "Why are they still moving?"

"Didn't you know? Chickens always run around after their heads been chopped off."

"Oh. Let's go home now."

"I thought you feared no chicken?"

"Shut up, Zack. Let's go."

"Okay, but you clearly have some issues with chickens. Did you have some traumatic chicken incident in your youth?"

Note to self: update this of things I'll never do again. I'll never sing karaoke, dance in public, eat oysters, shove crayons up my nose, kill zombies, and, in the future, I'll try not to scream any chicken related things at the top of my lungs.

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Well, it is my first story. Pleaase tell me what you think. If you don't I will sick the mighty llamas of doom on you!

By the way, if you could offer ideas on how to make the ending better I'd really like that. I'm not satisfied with mine, but I am terrible at endings. Thanks!