Accept the fact that deaders are stronger than you, by a lot. They’re not some cookie cutter monsters thought up by George Romero or M. Night Shyamalan. Every single one of them is different. If they were fast runners when they were alive, they’re fast as a deader. If they were bodybuilders or powerlifters when they were alive, then they’re strong as a deader. If they were six foot eight when they were alive, then they’re still six foot fucking eight as a deader. Get the picture?
But here’s the irony: even if someone was small or frail when they were alive, they’re still probably stronger than you as a deader. To my reckoning, the reason is pretty simple.
The human body is a brilliant machine, and it uses pain as a warning sign. If you were to go to the gym and attempt to lift a weight that your body couldn’t handle, you’d feel pain. In your joints, in your tendons, in your back, in the individual fascia that make up your muscles. It’s not that you can’t get the weight up; it’s that your body is using pain to subliminally tell you that- if you continue- you’re liable to tear a bicep, herniate a disk, or separate a tendon or ligament from the bone. Pain is your body’s way of trying to protect you from harming yourself.
Deaders don’t have that restriction. They don’t feel pain, they can’t recognize the warning signs of their body threatening to rip apart, and can mindlessly push themselves beyond the physical limits that any living person has. They don’t care if they dislocate a shoulder while slamming someone twice their size to the ground; they don’t care if they tear every tendon in their hand while ripping your knee from its socket. They don’t feel it.I guess the moral of the story is this: size matters, and in the land of this broken America, deaders are giants. Never, ever, try to go hand to hand with them.