WHO: Cato and OPEN WHAT: Hunting Zombies WHEN: Tuesday morning WHERE: In Zombieland WARNINGS: Violence, language. Will update if necessary
Cato had needed to get off the train, zombies or not. He wasn't sure exactly what zombies were, to be honest, but he needed to get away the cramped quarters, get some fresh air, and even better, kill something. Maryanne's departure had left a hole in him - she had been one of the few people on the train who had actually liked him. She'd always defended him, always stood up for him...and now she was gone. And all the fucking rage in him over that made him want to kill shit.
So this morning, he had gotten up early, while Glimmer was still sleeping, gotten dressed and stepped off the train, into the cool early-morning air. And it felt wonderful. He could almost feel the tension in the air, of course, but that was nothing he wasn't already used to. After all, he'd been raised to be prepared for all matter of things trying to kill him. It almost felt normal.
He had taken only a few steps when he heard steps nearby, and he drew his longsword, his eyes flickering from the bushes to the shadows of the trees. He took a few steps forward, aggressively.
"Come out, you bastards," he hissed, fear not even crossing his mind. When the creature stepped out of the trees, he looked it only for a moment - in some horror - before attacking it head-on - and much to his surprise finding himself flung to the ground like a ragdoll.
Okay...so the things were strong. That just made it better. Recalculating his moves for a stronger enemy than he had first considered, he made another pass, this time cutting it severely in the middle - a blow that would have been fatal to humans. It kept coming, grabbing him by the arm and flinging him once more to the ground with such force that he heard a sickening crack and felt a wave of pain engulf him, nearly enough to make him lose the small breakfast he'd had.
But it didn't stop him.
With a cry, he stood, and charged the creature, this time, going for the head, and separating its head from its shoulders quite neatly. It collapsed to the ground, and stopped moving. He grinned at its lifeless body, feeling rather triumphant, despite his rather obviously broken arm. A fight without injuries was rarely as satisfying, although why that was, he couldn't say.
Holding his arm so that it hurt less (it was impossible to hold it so that it didn't hurt at all), he wandered further away from the train, with a broken arm, and splattered in the blood of his enemies.