Zimba Zombie's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Zimba followed his grandmother's map to the edge of the cursed wood. A green haze hung between the trees. He smelled it before he saw it, sour and thick. The map showed one path through, past the trees to the distant tower. But the haze crept low along that path, and something stirred inside it. A shape lurched out of the fog. It was a toad, but huge, swollen to the size of a cart. Vapor curled from its mouth and nose. Its glossy skin twitched. The fumes had swelled it, and now hunger drove it. Its black eyes fixed on Zimba. It opened its wide mouth and dragged its bulk onto the path, blocking the only way forward. Zimba backed into a lean-to beside the first trees. His gray hand found a tool left there, half-buried in dirt. A grave-digger's shovel, long handle worn smooth, blade dark with old earth. He pulled it free and turned to face the toad. The creature lunged. Its tongue shot out, fast and wet. Zimba swung the shovel and knocked the tongue aside. The toad hissed and crawled closer. More vapor poured from its throat. Zimba's eyes stung, but a dead boy needs no breath. He held the shovel in both hands and waited. The toad gathered itself and jumped. Zimba dropped flat. The huge body sailed over him and crashed into the lean-to. Boards snapped. Zimba rolled up and ran at it before it could turn. He drove the shovel's blade down hard across its leg. The toad screamed and thrashed. It twisted away from the path and dragged itself into the trees, leaving a trail of crushed brush. Zimba stood on the path, shovel shaking in his hands. The way forward was open. Above the wood, the haze thinned, and he saw three white clouds drifting in a clear patch of sky, one large and two small. For a moment the sight felt peaceful, far from the rot around him. Then the ground trembled. Zimba looked back. Where the toad had fled, the trees shook. Deeper in the fog, other shapes moved. The fumes had woken more than one creature. His shovel had driven this one off, but his strike had made it howl, and the howl had called the rest. Zimba gripped the worn handle tighter. The path to the witch lay straight ahead. Behind him, the wood came alive with hunger. He could not go back. He stepped onto the open trail and walked deeper into the fog, the shovel ready, the tower somewhere past the trees.