DEAD: Confrontation by TW Brown

refusing to linger a second longer on the pattern of red that had created an obscene halo around the body of my latest victim.
    Now that I was no longer engrossed in the task of killing, I could take in a bit of what was happening below. I could see zombies spreading out in the various pathways. I could see a few bodies sprawled in red speckled snow. There was a pillar of black smoke rising from the woods just beyond the entrance to the campground area.
    I never heard a thing until the low wheeze sounded almost directly behind me. I spun just as hands clutched at my leg. It was a creeper and it was crusted in snow. It could have been up here for weeks inching along. I did not have time to look too closely as I brought the butt of my rifle down on its skull. It took four more solid strikes to end that thing.
    At some point in the struggle I had scooted back to the edge of the hill’s face. My attempt to sit up was the catalyst to send me over the edge when I attempted to plant my hands behind me. They plunged into the snow and sent a sheet of it cascading down the hill in a mini avalanche.
    I fell backwards and rolled ass-over-tea kettle until I grazed a small pine tree. That was enough to slow my momentum and I slid—head still pointed down, unfortunately—until I made contact with a large rock.
    When I opened my eyes, I was staring up at the canopy of pines that managed against all odds to find a purchase in the side of this hill. The ringing died down, but was replaced by gunfire and shouting. It seemed that the battle had continued and gotten more heated during however long I was knocked out.
    I tried to sit up and was rewarded with a wave of nausea that made me roll sideways as I puked. Most of it missed me…most of it. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and tried not to look at the steaming pile of sick that decorated the snow.
    Rolling the other direction, I struggled to my feet. Under the trees, the snow was only a couple of feet deep. I did my best to try and regain my bearings. I had slid down far enough that the trees blocked me from being able to see Death Alley or our cabin.
    Tryi ng to orient yourself in a snow-covered landscape is bad enough. Trying to do it while your brain feels like it is vibrating is another thing entirely.
    I was able to locate where I had been perched once I thought to visually follow the trail of my slide down the hill. (I told you my brain was rattled.) I had to concentrate real hard to try and picture the view from where I had been in order to get what I hoped was a general direction back to where Jon and the others were making life difficult for the would-be raiders.
    I started making my way down. I knew that Jon wanted me up on the ridge, but there really was no way that I would be able to make it back up from here. It was hard enough following the trail. Plus, I would be a big dark spot in a sea of white for anybody to take a shot at.
    Once I reached the bottom and could hear the sounds of the creek, I had a pretty good idea where I was and made for the footbridge. The picnic grounds at the bottom of the hill would allow me to come in from the back of the cabin. I would have to move through the paths we dug out which meant that I was probably going to encounter more zombies than I would like. The other problem was that none of my people would know it was me.
    I considered staying put and seeing if anybody came my way, but as I climbed up onto one of the picnic tables, I saw something that made my mind up for me.
    I’d had no idea where Jon put everybody exactly. I knew that he had us all on the perimeter so that when the raiders came, they would be in a sort of crossfire. Apparently he had put Fiona in this area.
    From up o n the picnic table, all I could see was where the snow was torn up by what had to have been some sort of chase and scuffle. Fiona was pinned to a tree, the hilt of a sword jutting from her chest. A few feet away, a figure was on its back, a group of