Undead In a Box

I was boxed in
At the dead end of a prototypical Western box canyon
With only two spare clips for my AK-47 on my belt
Plus the fresh one in the rifle
And a knife

The zombies were closing in steadily
Relentlessly

There must be at least one hundred of them
One for each of my ninety rounds plus ten
Thank gods they weren't the fast moving kind of zombies
They were the plodders
The walkers
Moving as fast as those people who walk around malls for exercise
At the most

With my back almost at the canyon wall
I waited until the first of them were thirty yards away
And I started picking them off one by one

BAM!
A grotesque formerly older man zombie's head explodes
His still shiny bald head disappearing for all time
Bits scattered on the sandy rock ground

BLAMMO!
One that looked like it had been a school teacher in a past life
Got it right in the eye socket
Down she goes

I hesitate on the next one
Because it's a child
Or it used to be

Now the eyes in the small featured face stared out hungrily
Bone showing through the tattered skin in places
Bloody drool falling from it's mouth

CRACKA!
That particular abomination is no more either

And so it went as the mob grew steadily closer
Step my wobbly step
All the hungry eyes on me
As I did my best to decimate them

My first clip ran out

Without looking down
I yanked it out and tossed it aside
Ripping the next from my belt
Pulling back the bolt
And resuming the extermination process

The piles of immobilized undead were creating obstacles for the rest now
Which cheered my considerably
For I had missed a couple times
Or went through an unimportant part of their dead heads

I was running 47 for 60 as I swapped in my last clip
Mechanically snapping the bolt back to load in the first new round
Seeing how close the bastards were now
Sliding the mechanical selector to Full Auto position

I aimed about head high and squeezed the trigger
Sweeping the barrel back and forth across the figures in front of me
The noiseless figures who made no hesitation in their steps as I did so
Unless I scored a kill shot

Then I was out
With almost twenty zombies left
All within six feet of me now

I threw my rifle at them hoping vainly to slow a couple down
And drew my long hunting knife
Lunging forward at the closest pale greenish tinged face
Stabbing deeply into it's face
Feeling the satisfactory pull as the form crumpled for good

But they were all around me
I panicked
Wondering if I should try to kill myself
Or go down swinging

And suddenly this ends like every good zombie story should
You never find out how it all started
And nobody survives