YCH from the talented  furayob!

I huddled with the small party of survivors remaining in the desolate town in the shadows of a derelict little shack. The horde of roaming undead was, thankfully, rather thin here. A few of them shambled through the gravel streets. Some prowled in and out of abandoned buildings, looking for gods knew what. One of them, further down the road, had pounced on some unfortunate critter that had been rummaging through the debris, eager to tear into the fresh meat.

“Okay,” I said as I turned to the group. “The city gates are just a few blocks down. Stay as group, and we’ll be out before you know it.”

Murmurs of worry and discontent arose from the group in response. I couldn’t blame them for it. After being huddled up in the safety of a shelter, they would now have to throw themselves into the open, into the grasp of the undead horde, if they wanted to make it to safety.

“Shhh, shhh,” I said, hushing them with a wave of my hand. “We’ll be fine. We got this. Long as we all stick to the shadows, stay quiet, and most importantly--“ I reached out to fasten the bandage around the arm of the nearest survivor—"don’t bleed.”

I held up a hand to motion the small group to stay put before I scurried across the streets to the next building, the ruin of the old smithy. It held plenty of places to hide and take cover – the place was huge. Before the attack, it must have been manned by a giant of a fellow, if not an actual giant, judging by the size of the anvil, the hammer, the doorway. I ducked behind the forge that had long since gone cold and peered out at the streets. The dirt roads were flattened by the tracks of the wandering undead, heedless to the living blood so nearby. I waved the rest of the survivors over, only hoping the horde would remain oblivious to us until we could get close to the gate.

I kept on my path, always just ahead of the little band of survivors. We could see the gates to the city now, freedom beckoning us just beyond. But the streets were no longer empty, like they were back at our little shelter shack. No, the mass of ghouls grew thicker the closer we came to freedom, almost as if they were guarding the city gates. To keep us in, or something more out?

“What now?” one of the small band, an elderly elven man, whispered.
“How do we get past them?” asked a dark-haired human.
I held up my hand to silence them, and beckoned the young boy with the bandaged arm to come closer. He did so without hesitation. Cautiously, I poked a claw at the bandage. The boy made no reaction, not so much as a slight flinch. Nodding, I laid a claw on the boy’s shoulder.
“Easy, now. One, two…” and I ripped the bandage off.

The wound underneath had healed nicely, leaving little more than a faintly discoloured scar. The bandage itself, though, bore a patch of dried blood where it had been pressed against the boy’s skin. It wasn’t much, and certainly not fresh, but it may have been just enough.
“Run on my signal,” I said, then dashed towards the few undead that hobbled back and forth in our way.

I waved the bandage over my head, swinging it in a circle. Most of the undead didn’t seem to notice, or care. The blood was too old for them, it seemed. They needed something newer, something fresher. Still, the closer I drew to the horde, the more started to look up from their rote tasks – whatever ‘tasks’ whispered in their minds. The stronger the scent of the old bandage.

“Go, go!” I called, as the horde turned more and more of their attention to me. I ran away from the gates, back towards the denser streets. The survivors needed no further encouragement, and as one, they made a mad dash to freedom.

But the little dried blood on the bandage, it seemed, was not enough for the horde. They could hear heartbeats, smell living flesh. And with the ragged party in the open, the horde’s attention turned away from me once more.

“Hey!” I called out, holding the bandage higher. “This way! Come on!” I ran back to the old smithy, threw the bandage in the air, and unleashed a wave of fire onto it. Burning blood – the scent would drive the undead mad!

Nothing.

The horde enclosed around the group, blocking off the path to freedom. There was no way I could stop them in time.

So, I would have to draw them towards me instead.

I grabbed the gigantic forge-hammer in one hand, raised the other to my mouth, and bit down. Closing my eyes, I clamped my jaws deep around my hand. Fang sank past scale and flesh, and a repulsive metallic taste filled my mouth. Fresh, living blood.

I raised my hand to the sky, and as one, the horde stopped. All their eyes, their empty, glowing eyes, turned towards me.

And a horrible shriek filled the air, dozens of ghastly voices joining into one endless, piercing dirge. Their prey forgotten, the undead scrambled over one another, clawing each other back, reaching out for their new target. The irresistible scent of living blood.

I couldn’t see the little band of survivors any more. The horde had closed into an impenetrable wall of undead, blocking my vision of anything else.

I smiled and hefted up the massive hammer.

“See you all on the other side,” I said with a grin.