"Hey, dumb ass!" Arron yelled at his old enemy.

The zombie began moving Arron's way. Slow, steady steps across the ground beneath him at a laborious but consistent pace.

Arron ran, hurrying around the bend and up the slope to the boulder he selected. He scrambled to get himself set up for his ambush, prepared, and dare he say a tad excited to see his cleverness come to fruition.

Several minutes passed, but the zombie didn't appear.

The minutes ticked by like hours, grinding on his already chafed nerves. After waiting as long as he could force himself, Arron went down to see what the holdup was.

The zombie had returned to its normal place, acting like nothing of any importance happened.

"Maybe dumbass was a better name than I thought," Arron mumbled.

Did the last of its brain finally get eaten away by the creepy crawlies living under its decaying skin, or was it growing bored of ripping him to pieces? There was no mistaking it saw him before.

"Hey, dumbass! You forget what you're supposed to do here?" Arron yelled, spurring the zombie into movement. Smiling, he waited just long enough to have no doubt that it started to chase after him before running off to take his position.

Again, the zombie did not appear.

Arron cursed, throwing the stick he was going to use as a lever on the boulder and went to check on the zombie.

Unbelievable. It'd gone back to its standard place.

"What the hell, dude!" Arron stormed closer and it started advancing.

Frustrated and tempted to sucker punch the jerk, Arron took off with a sigh. On a hunch, he stopped before rounding the corner to glance back. The zombie was walking away from him.

"Hello? Do you love lamp? Did you see a squirrel? Seriously dude..." Arron called, running up closer to the zombie.

The zombie once again contorted itself around and made for Arron. But not until he was relatively close. Around ten feet or so. Could that be the issue here? If he got too far ahead it would get discouraged?

He hadn't thought them smart enough to have feelings.

Trial and error proved Arron's suspicions that if he got too far ahead, it would cease tailing him. If he was able to stay just far enough ahead that it couldn't reach him, but almost could, it would continue to follow.

A strange game of keep-away ensued, with Arron using his body as bait to lure the zombie into his trap.

All that toe tapping, frog hopping, and insult slinging paid off. Arron shoved his weight into his branch, grunting against the boulder, with the zombie positioned perfectly as it struggled up the stony slope.

What he hadn't considered during the blueprint phase of this plan, was the possibility of missing his target.

The boulder bounced wide of the shambler, cracked into another boulder, and with a plop, disappeared into a darkened pool.

The zombie did not so much as pause in its awkward assent.

He needed another one at the right angle and fast—there! Though it was quite a bit larger than the one he'd just thrown a gutterball with. Ultimately, desperation made the decision for him. Rushing over, he shoved his branch under the exposed side and strained against its massive weight. The boulder moved slightly, to the side, enough that he could see the zombie getting closer. Frightened but encouraged, he used his whole weight to pry at the boulder.

He bounced on his makeshift crowbar, trying to get the blasted hunk of rock to dislodge. Death was close enough he could see the bugs crawling along its skin.

"Come on, goddamnit! Move, you stupid rock!" Arron pulled on the branch with all his strength, and even planted a foot against the boulder to push.

With a crack, the branch snapped.

Arron crashed into the ground, bits of wood falling on his head, his breath temporarily leaving him.

The zombie was only a few feet away, and his heart sank. Not enough time. His genius plan wasn't going to work either. Bella would have to wait just a little longer.

With a rushing feeling of renewed determination, he got up.

"To hell with that!"

Arron laid his shoulder to the boulder and pressed with every ounce of strength he had left.

His jaw ached from clenching it so tight, his legs beginning to buckle as he strained against the slab of stone. Sweat dripped off his brow and pain sprouted in his joints. Something tore in his back, followed by a fiery pop in his foot. He didn't stop. He used the pain as fuel to push all the harder.

This rock was all that existed in the world. It alone stood in the way of freeing his Bella from her own living nightmare.

With a gravely groan, the boulder shifted. His opponent was starting to give in and Arron dug deep, refusing to relinquish the upper hand. Blood vessels burst in his eyes, his vision blurred red, and his shoulder dislocated from the strain.

It didn't stop him. Nothing would stop him. The cursed zombie could reach around and rip him to literal pieces and he would remain pressed against this damned rock until he hit respawn.

With a scream, the boulder came free and he collapsed, nearly sobbing when the rock tumbled directly into the zombie. Stone and carcass crashed down the slope together, end over end, landing at the bottom with the stone firmly on the zombie's chest. A thrill shot through his veins, only to be replaced by a heart dropping gut punch.

His violent opponent still moved. Like all the other wild blows he'd delivered, it didn't even behave as if it'd been damaged, its arms swinging back and forth, jaws clacking together as it moaned.

Despair battled for a foothold in Arron's mind. All that and it survived? How could he kill something that could stand up to a freaking herculean globe of stone? He ignored the dark thoughts when it became apparent the zombie wasn't trying to escape.

A few seconds of intense observation confirmed it. The zombie was stuck!

Hope surged through Arron and he charged down the slope, hammer in hand.

He clambered onto a boulder near the base, jumped, and flew a screaming fifteen feet through the air, landing his hammer with a massive, two-handed overhead swing square in the center of the zombie's forehead.

For all his vigor, only a small dent formed. And the creature continued to reach for Arron, as if nothing were wrong with being trapped under a rock with a dent in its head.

Dumbfounded, Arron checked again. Yup, the zombies head was dented... barely.

Red began to color the sides of his vision. Not the bloody, spotted crimson he knew all too well from his many deaths. But a deep red. A barely perceptible fog creating a vignette around the subject of his ire. His breathing began to quicken.

The zombie came into crystal focus and time seemed to slow for the slightest moment. In an instant, he could see in incredible detail. From the zombie's greyed skin accented with spots of green where the mold was working its way through, to the black holes in its teeth, cavities in life dug out by rot or insect until they became burrows in death. The worm crawling out of its ear canal, and the beetle on the outside of its esophagus, visible through a rip in its shredded skin.

And fire licked through his veins. Burning fire, like good whisky poured on molten gold. It coursed through him, pushing his fury, stoking it as a blacksmith with a bellows.

Time snapped forward again.

Guttural screams ripped from his throat, spittle flying in his disregard for decorum.

He rained blows down on the zombie's skull. Blow after blow after blow. This hot rage gave his body strength beyond its build, taking his mind from the moment. The blows faded into each other in one long continuous action.

He could no more stop swinging than he could stop mid-step while walking. This wasn't over until the zombie was no more.

Arron crushed the zombie's skull into paste and at some point the head flew off his hammer. He didn't even pause, he just switched to stomping with his feet.

It was an ugly, brutal kill, and Arron loved it.

Sometime later, as he sat on another boulder catching his breath, he watched the zombie and boulder fade away. In their place was a small bag. Curious, Arron approached the bag, reaching out to touch it. The moment his fingers brushed it however, the bag disappeared.

Arron cursed, shaking his head and mumbling about "dumb games" and set off down the path again.

He smiled at the surge of victory, walking past where the zombie usually stood, where he'd died so many times.

He was in now and nothing could stand in his way.

"Bella, I'm coming," he said under his breath, picking up his pace.

He ran for almost ten seconds before he ran into the next mob. This time two zombies... and not a boulder to be seen.

"Fu—" he started, before one reached over and ripped his jaw off.