Collision of Creatures

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Collision of Creatures

Pukasu and Perilous Waters


The Collision of Creatures all started in the village of Zombies rumbled around the hills. Almost a “Hills Have Eyes” feeling.

No one went up there and no one came down. They stuck to themselves…wandering. Looking for anyone to eat. Brains obviously were their favorite, but any animal would do. Zombies are vile creatures. Once human, turned into aimless living dead. Always looking for their next feed. The next victim. Their colony (if you could call it that) spanned over two square miles of hills. They had no leaders, no families, no friends. Just a thirst for blood.

The Werewolves prowled the same hills as the Zombies. They had been planning an attack for years. The right moment never presented itself. The Werewolves were outnumbered ten to one. Odds that made it seem hard to comprehend, while waging a war. It wouldn’t be a hard battle to win, but it would be a battle nonetheless. The pack of Werewolves had fifty at best. That means there were five hundred Zombies looming around. The wolves clearly had the advantage; they could move and attack much faster. They still had their brains and human instincts. There was no doubt that they were going to lose friends, family and warriors in this war.

Two days away from the battle, the Werewolves crept up in the evening and made a perimeter around the Zombies. Stalking them, they searched for patterns. They were looking for signs of weakness and vulnerability amongst the Zombies. As usual, the Zombies were anything but repetitive, showing no common themes. Everything was at random and nothing happened twice. A few hours in, the Werewolves were stunned, the Zombies looked as though they had a conscious. This couldn’t be possible though…Zombies were dead and had no emotions. None of this made sense.

Maine Maiden


Back at the Zombie colony they began noticing things. Rustling in the hills, hearing what they thought were whispers, tree branches in the woods snapping. Hearing growls and seeing yellow eyes, the Zombies began to realize they weren’t alone. They began to realize they were regaining human functions. But why? It had been years since they had turned, and even longer since they had any recollection of having human experience. Whatever the reason was, they were going to capitalize on it.

The Werewolves made their last rounds for the evening and headed back home. There wasn’t much more they could do besides wait and plan. They couldn’t be in human form and attack. If they got bit by a Zombie they’d be ten times more likely to turn into one, then if they were in wolf form. They also knew there would be zero silver involved. The Zombies were much too dumb to think up anything quite that clever. The wolves gathered together and thought out their plan of attack. They had about a day and a half left to come up with something. A day and a half left to eradicate the Zombies forever and make sure their kind were the only ones that lived on.

The Werewolves were what had driven the Zombies into the hills to begin with.

Hoping to trap them in a holding ground. Keeping the Zombies at their fingertips, or claw tips in this case. This wasn’t the first encounter the two species had. Saying species and yet they are of the same home…human. A battle had happened years ago and the Zombies retreated. It would actually be less retreatment and more herding. The Werewolves wanted to get the Zombies into their own territory, somewhere they felt comfortable to control them and use them as they needed. They wanted the upper advantage on them. The wolves could avoid confrontation with the humans and feed on the Zombies when they needed to.

Over the course of years the wolves had taken out hundreds of Zombies. Lashing out in the night and slowly dwindling them down. The Werewolves had thought of letting them out among the humans, not in creating a terror but in turning a small number into Zombies and forcing them back into the hills.

America Fork Canyon

(images:carmonium23/flickr) America Fork Canyon

The Zombies began to gather closer to one another. Forming a family, colony, or what seemed to be, an army. A Zombie army to fight against the Werewolves. They had the Werewolves beat in numbers. Beginning to realize this, they began to form a plan.

Using numbers and size to their advantage. The undead gathered together for a showdown among the giants. Before this change in their brains they never noticed each other. Walking around aimlessly with no goals except to kill others. All they noticed were the living or blood. Blood of any creature. Time was of the essence in this case of war. The Zombies needed to form a pack stronger than anything they’d known since they turned. If they were to annihilate the Werewolves and spread terror to the world there must be a plan.

The Zombies split up into three groups. The first group was made up of the smaller Zombies. They were positioned at the top of the hill overlooking the valley. The idea was to be fast and small targets for the Werewolves. The wolves would hit them first and work their way down, knowing the wolves wanted to avoid contact with humans as much as possible. They all were beginning to understand that a giant portion of them

weren’t coming back. The undead were heading to the afterlife. The second group of Zombies were going to be settled in the middle of the hill. This group was made up of the more average ones, not too big and not too small. They would act almost like a wall for the final group, a wall to wear down the Werewolves, hoping to give them the least amount of energy and hunger as possible. The third and final group was the largest. The biggest in size, strongest and toughest. These were the fighters, the jailbaits of Zombieville. Blood was always dripping from their mouths and they fed off the destruction and terror of others. If the Werewolves were to be stopped…this would be their burial ground.

The Werewolves began to see there was something different about the Zombies. They weren’t scattered everywhere. Not walking around without any reason or purpose. They slowly, over the past few hours, began to form into groups. The undead seemed to become half living. Aware of their surroundings and justifying things they couldn’t explain before. Maybe even gaining a conscience.

Black Hills

(image: Elena/flickr)

This worried every Werewolf in the pack. They thought how could this be happening. The Zombies are suppose to be undead. The border line between life and death. They weren’t suppose to be moving back towards life. If life is even what they could call it.

The Werewolves began to form into packs. Three different packs to be specific. Noticing the Zombies were going high, middle and low the Werewolves decided to do the same. It was abundantly clear the Zombies were up to something. Something the Werewolves had never seen. The Zombies were making real thoughts and had ideas of what to do and how to attack. The wolves knew a war was coming.

The Werewolves gathered. They decided instead of a high, middle and low strategy they would do a north, south, east and west. Covering all four corners and knowing they had the upper hand. If all four sides were guarded how could the Zombies have an upper hand? They couldn’t and that was point. The Werewolves could attack and eradicate the Zombie race. Living peacefully in the hills, scouting nothing but animals, knowing they were the superior. Top of the food chain and feeling every ounce of confidence they could consume.

Dead Woman Crossing

(images:pandjt/flickr) Dead Woman Crossing

The Werewolves were almost majestic animals. Transforming between human and wolf. Having super powers and being able to show everyone just what they were. They weren’t a thing from the books you’ve read. Much more terrifying than that. They were at the root of all…nightmares. Ripping flesh from bone and knowing where and just how fast to do it. Leaving no trace of what could have been. Vile creatures is what they were. Vile is what they had to be in order to destroy every last Zombie that roamed this earth.

It was the final day. Werewolves gathered around the Zombie camp. Scouting, smelling and imagining every detail that was about to erupt. A flood of horror filled up everywhere. This might be the last the Werewolves saw of each other. This might be the final confrontation they would ever have. If that was the case…they wanted it to be one for record books. Not something to be forgotten down the lines of history. This was the night the Werewolves slayed the Zombies. Howling at the full moon. Growling at the midnight air. Every Werewolf lined up and looked directly into the zombies eyes. Red eye versus yellow eyes…the fight was on.

Moonlit nightThe full moon reached the top of the sky. Every Werewolf let out a howl, stood on their hind legs and raced towards the Zombies. The Zombies bolted towards the Werewolves, doing something the wolves weren’t expecting, the Zombies split and started jumping on trees. Flying tree to tree like Tarzan the Zombies suddenly had the high ground. Little did the wolves know this was only the first batch of Zombies.

The Werewolves clashed with the Zombies. Tearing each other apart. Zombies hurling against trees and Werewolves being attacked three to one. The wolves were noticing they were smashing through the Zombies rather quickly. The Werewolves decided to pull back some of their troops. They knew the few they had up their fighting against the Zombies could finish them off with no problem. No sense in wasting energy or time of the others. The last Zombie put up on hell of a fight. He threw up one punch against the wolf and hit him with a head butt. The Werewolf put his claws into the Zombies neck and threw up him off the hill. The Zombies head rolled off and right up to the second group of Zombies below.

Collision of CreaturesThey were trying to be quiet down below and make it a surprise attack when the Werewolves thought the fight was over. Once they saw a fellow undead roll into their site…their eyes lit up red and they all screamed. Echoing through the hills and vibrating into the wolves chests. The Werewolves looked over the edge down below and saw one hundred, red hungry eyes, staring back up at them. They had killed three hundred zombies in the first attack and only lost five wolves. It hadn’t crossed the Werewolves mind’s quite yet but where were the other hundred Zombies at? The Werewolves howled at the moon, jumped off the ledge, claws forward and heading directly toward the second wave.

Rushing through the air, the wolves collided with the Zombies with such force, they smashed each Zombie they hit into the ground. A strategy they hadn’t planned to use but worked out incredibly well. Bashing and slashing just like the first wave. Claws in the undead flesh. Zombies ganging up on wolves and tearing them apart. Howling at the moon in pain and even death. Both sides were losing warriors left and right. Werewolves were being thrown over cliffs and Zombies were being torn limb from limb. The last bit of Zombies rushed against the Werewolves. They each had sticks and rocks they had carved into weapons to use. The Zombies stabbed the wolves in the arms or any part they could reach. Knowing in their heads this second wave had lost also. If their was going to be any hope for the third group they had to maximize as much damage as possible.

The last Zombie fell to his knees and just as before…the wolf sunk his claws into the Zombies neck. Threw him off the cliff, down the hill, and his head came rolling up to the third group. This group of Zombies didn’t make a sound. They broke apart into two groups and hid underneath the trees. Hiding their eyes. Hoping the Werewolves thought they had won.

Pukasu and Perilous Waters


The Werewolves searched around for any remaining Zombies. They found nothing. All of a sudden they heard the snap of branch. They looked over the ledge and saw nothing down below. Wondering what to do they decided to go down and scout. The twenty remaining wolves came down to the base of the hill, searching through the trees and the shrubs. They were looking for any sign of a Zombie. They continued another hundred yards and came to an opening in the trees. The moon was shining down brighter than they had ever witnessed before. They looked around and one hundred red, blood thirsty, Zombies were beaming at them.

The Zombies stepped out from behind the shadows. They were the biggest undead creatures the Werewolves had ever seen. They were surrounded by a hundred vile and lifeless Zombies. The Werewolves stood up and split into two groups. Ten on each side. This meant twenty wolves had to kill one hundred Zombies. Not an impossible task, but an unrealistic one at best. The wolves growled at the Zombies with saliva dripping from their fangs. If they were going out, they were taking every last undead creature with them.

When the two groups collided with each other it sounded as if a sonic boom happened, a noise so loud it knocked trees down and rolled over the hills for miles on end. The Zombies were so strong they were tearing the wolves limb from limb this time. The Werewolves clawed and ripped at everything they could get ahold of, fighting with everything they had to get the upper hand on the Zombies. For a brief moment the wolves thought they had managed to gain some ground, but then a new swarm of Zombies rushed the wolves. They were attacking the wolves from every angle, there was no way the Werewolves could win this war. They kept falling all over the battle ground. Death seems like it shouldn’t be a natural thing but the wolves seemed to have accepted it.

Howling Woof

There were two Werewolves left, twenty Zombies circled around them. They took one Werewolf and began beating him. They stabbed him with a stick and threw him into a river that was rushing by their base camp. The last Werewolf watched as his brother was carried away. The Zombies gathered closely. One stepped forward and looked at the wolf. He looked up, his red eyes lit up the sky, looked back at the wolf and bit him in the neck. Blood gushing everywhere, they threw the wolf on the ground. The Zombies backed up from around him looked at each other, hoping an ancient dark art had worked. As the wolf lay on the ground he started to shake. It looked as though he was about to shape shift back into human form and that would be his final resting place. Finally the shaking stopped. The wolf laid there for seconds and finally his eyes opened up. What once were yellow eyes turned blood red. The Werewolf became….undead.

The End

Keenan Angel
Keenan Angel
My name is Keenan Angel. I'm a photographer, writer and all things art related. I have my own style of writing which hopefully one day I can be known for. I enjoying inserting some of my pictures I take into my stories to bring everything to life. I feel if I can write a story and photograph the general idea of what I'm thinking it helps seal everything into a nice artistic package. I hope everyone enjoys my stories, my thoughts and art.

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