The Drunk

The loud bang was like ringing a bell within the silence. Instantly attracting zombies as they ran towards Ryver

With the strength and dexterity of seven men combined along with his sharply honed instructs and intuition with lightning fast reflexes, dealing with the zombie proved easy, perhaps a little too easy.

His axes were no different from a blending machine, cutting through the horde of zombies like their body were made of grass. Blood, brain matter, fluid and bones splattered over the ground of the garage as Ryver spun his blade in his hands. He was like a legendary war god, cutting down hundreds of foes before they could even think to blink.

Boom!

A zombie's head flew, crashing against a car's wind shield, turning into bloody meat paste, it's eye dangling off the edge.