Riga Woodpecker Ridge
Riga went to see some woodpeckers. She hiked an old World War 2 battle site at Woodpecker Ridge with her friend. Her friend was a skool mate. They bumped into each other in the supermarket. Exchanging numbers, they agreed to hike. The small one knew an old battle site. She’d been there the previous summer. Now the trees had died back it was time to explore.
Riga’s friend was called Tara. Riga was small and curvy. Tara was tall and skinny. She played basketball. They went up the mountain. Both wore cycling shorts and sports vests. Tara had a hiking stick. Riga took a stick from a tree. She cut it with her Rambo knife. Tara asked where that was from. Venezuela was the reply.
The path was steep and treacherous. Wild caribou went this way. There was none now. The gals were careful of their steps. To the right was a small pretty hill. All green full of trees and curvy. Like Riga. Call it Riga Hill! They went up here. Or down a valley, through trees, over a small river then up. With no paths it took time. They rested at the river and ate sandwiches. Put their feet into the cold clear water.
They went up Riga Hill. It was stiff going. They had to make their own paths. Underfoot was grass and hidden danger. Abandoned fox holes from the war. Tara stepped on the grass. She fell a metre down into a hole! Riga had to pull her out. It was a struggle. They were more careful now. Pieces of jagged alloy were littered about. Tara asked. From napalm tanks Riga explained. Dropped by Yankee planes. A place of history.
Atop the small Riga Hill, the view was nice. They saw several other peaks of varied sizes. And the valley they crossed. Both sat down and drank coffee and finished their sandwiches. Suddenly screams came from the other size of the hill. Tara and Riga looked at one another. Loud rabid and un-animal like. Tara shook her head. Dead Japanese soldiers? No, not possible, Riga replied.
A rustling came from the bushes. More screams, so close. Riga took her Rambo knife from its sheaf. Tara held her walking stick. From out of the trees came a zombie! It wore old ripped orange shorts, a dirty white t shirt and a single blue trainer. The zombie beat its chest with both fists and screamed. Spit flew from its mouth and its red eyes were wild. Not of this place. It rushed Tara!
The tall gal pivoted left and kicked with her right foot. Her blow caught zombie. It fell backwards. Tara lashed out with her stick. Again and again she hit it. It grunted. Her blows had no effect! It screamed and got up. Riga was ready. She stuck her combat knife into its chest. Right to the fucking handle! No use! Tara shouted. In its brain. The brain. That’s how you kill a zombie!
Both met zombies. Or just one for now. Riga re-orientated herself. She danced from foot to foot as a boxer did. She stabbed the zombie in the skull. The blade easily went in. the zombie fell down dead. Riga pulled out her knife and wiped the blood on its old white t shirt. An easy kill. Like the bandits in Venez.
What the fuck was that? Tara gawped in disbelief. Those only exist in horror films. Riga nodded. Suddenly more screams and two more zombies faced off the gals. You wanna fucking play? Come on then. Riga was mad now. She nodded and waggled her toes.
The small gal threw her knife into left zombies’ chest. She grabbed her hardwood walking stick and jabbed it in the face. Three times. Tara did the same with her alloy Norwegian walking stick. Both gals beating the shit out of two zombies! If only they had guns.
The zombies screamed and waved their hands. Tried to advance. The gals kept on thumping them. Riga swiftly kicked the legs from under her zombie. She mashed its skull in with the stick. Stinking rancid brains covered the grass. She pulled her knife out and nodded. Then she helped Tara finish off hers. It died rapidly with a guttural scream.
With no time to rest, another zombie burst from the trees. This one didn’t scream. Was it adapting? Tara picked up a piece of corroded but sharp alloy from the napalm tank. She threw this at the zombie. It was hit on the neck. Its head was severed and fell away. Rolling stupidly down the hill to the river. The headless body, stinking blood pumping from its neck walked in circles. Riga and Tara laughed till they cried. Both attacked the zombie sending it sprawling.
This is Riga Hill. And it belongs to Riga and Tara. You don’t fuck with us. No zombies are allowed here. Go here an
d you die. Like your buddies. RIP the dead wartime soldiers. Now we fight a different war…
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