Stanley Decker hefted the chainsaw, admiring the weight of it in his hands. Such a powerful thing. It was a wonder why few chose the chainsaw as their weapon of choice. It ran on gasoline, a commodity that would run out eventually but not anytime soon. But Stanley knew that most people preferred firearms - guns, over knives or anything bladed.

You had to get close, real close, to use a chainsaw. Close enough for them to have a chance at grabbing and eating you. Most people would rather take potshots from twenty yards that face death willingly at five short feet.

Stanley Decker set the chainsaw, an old but reliable red one, down on his white Formica table and raised the hockey mask to his face, covering it with the thick protective plastic. He glanced around the room from behind the mask; his eyes burning with a fire few have seen and lived. Time to go out for the night, he thought. Time to party till sunrise.

It was an old routine, one he had practiced before the dead had risen, and one that had gained him the nickname the Chainsaw Maniac, taker of nine victims in the Tri-County area in past fourteen months. The newspapers and TV news people were so cute weren't they? Well, most of them are gone and have came back and been put back under for good. What did Stanley Decker care what they called him anymore?

The night air smelled of decay, rotting pumpkins after Halloween. Stanley strode out into the night, shutting and locking the door of his single-wide mobile home behind him in what was called King Arthur's Motor Court and RV Park. When he had walked into the town square, seeing or hearing nothing so far but the howl of a werewolf, he pulled the cord of his chainsaw and relished in the ripping noise in the dark. Almost as if it tore the very blackness that engulfed the world for the last two straight weeks.

The first one came after only a five minute wait. Dead flesh scarcely contained in a three piece business suit. This zombie was like all the others, an easy target but not something to be taken lightly. Stanley stood erect behind his white hockey mask, waiting. The thing shuffled toward him slowly, almost afraid, as if it knew who or what he was.

Several others appeared out of doorways and side streets, lurching forward on rotting limbs, arms outstretched toward a hot meal. Come on folks, plenty o' Decker for everyone, bring the kids! he thought, grinning behind the mask.

In a blur of motion, Stanley lurched forward bringing the chainsaw down in a tight arc, severing the right arm of Mr. Wall Street. The creature staggered but kept coming, bringing to the table what the nine living victims of his couldn't. A fight.

The others were on him now, tearing at him with cold hands formed into claws, but to no avail. The Chainsaw Maniac was too fierce for him to be taken yet. And as he waded deep into a battle no other living person would voluntarily take part in, the few working street lamps illuminated two running figures in the distance, a boy and a girl named Zeke & Julie, fleeing in the opposite direction. Away from the roar of the chainsaw and the giant man in a white hockey mask, someone they have met before and hoped never to again.

As the light of the morning sun shone from between mostly deserted buildings at the center of town, Stanley Decker, exhausted, made his way back to King Arthur’s and home. He unlocked the door and collapsed into his armchair, ready to sleep the day away and begin anew that night.

Life was simple, and life was good.