Bat

The nail bit into the ash as Martin brought his hammer down. He hit again and the nail was driven further. The cracking sound the nail made in the wood was dull. The crack of this bat used to be crisp and loud. It was the sound of Winter’s end. The beginning of Spring. It was the sound of children congregating. The sound of school’s out. The sound of freedom. 

Martin had had this bat for as long as he could remember. His father had given it to him the day he made the high school team. He’d taken it through JV, varsity, and even a small stint in the minors. Martin was thankful it had never broken or cracked. But here he was ruining it himself. Driving nails through it. Wood cracked by nails instead of homers. 

It would be worth it if this thing could keep him alive. Ever since that creature had shone up undead had started roaming the streets. They attacked anything and everything. And what’s worse. Everything they killed just stood back up and started the march with them. If Martin could take out the creature that controlled them then maybe it would end. 

With one final hammer blow Martin had driven the last nail through his bat. He hefted it and walked out of his garage. Undead wandered aimlessly around the street. Martin sighed and charged at the nearest one without any further delay. The nails bit into the rotting flesh and the Ash cracked the skull. One down. Many more to go. 

Martin was pretty sure that the creature was held up in the cemetery. That was the typical place that voodoo priests or necromancers or liches or whatever it was haunted. At least according to the stories and video games. The undead weren’t too much of a problem for him. They were slow, and easily defeated by a baseball bat to the head. If they could be defeated. Martin never looked back. He heard the moaning and cracking of bone as the undead stood back up. No matter how many he knocked down, the same number of undead surrounded him.

The cemetery was just over the hill that the creature causing this mayhem stood on top of. So predictable. Martin ignored the horde around him and charged the creature. He swung for the fences and scored a direct hit on the thing’s temple. Its head jerked to the side. It grabbed Martin by the throat. 

The crack was crisp and loud. It was the sound of Martin’s end. The beginning of another undead. The sound of joining a congregation. The sound of light’s out. The sound of servitude.