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  1. #1
    Veteran Enthusiast

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    Mar 2008
    Perth, WA

    Zombie Short Story

    Edited this, I've decided to go with a triple perspective, where the characters may or may not come into contact with one another. I think it is a good idea for a zombie story because people act so differently in such situations. I've updated this with chapter 2 as well, and currently working on chapter 3. Please let me know what you think, it is very important for me to know and get some real comments on this. Thanks guys.

    Chapter 1: Stan

    Stanley Smith slept silently. Sleep brought peace in the time of pure hostility. A time where survival is tested and the enemy does not rest, shows no mercy, nor any fleeting shred of humanity. Or any human emotion for that matter.
    Bullets tear through their flesh, blades slice them open, and burning fire singes their skin. Yet on they walk, with a persistent, everlasting and unquenchable hunger. Pain does not falter them, it eludes their sensory perception. In fact, they feel nothing. The dead do not feel, they do not socialise, they do nothing but feast and feed. They are driven by hunger, a monogamous, animalistic instinct which controls their every action of their life of death.
    The city is overrun, controlled by the ones who have perished. Living people are forced to live like the dead. Boarded up, hidden and buried from the outside world.
    It is out of necessity for the conscious to stray from the minute shred of safety they gain from the darkness of the indoors. But darkness breeds maliciousness. The dead roam the streets, infest most buildings and rule the entire cityscape.

    Stan woke to the moans and groans of the dead who walk the streets in search of food. He rolled out of bed, weary and sluggish, taking the pistol kept hidden under his pillow, and cocking it to assure it was ready for action.
    His stomach rumbled loudly, aching for a meal, as he walked into the kitchen. He opened the cupboard, to his disdain and utter disgust, the cupboard was empty. Stan grunted with frustration, screwing his face up at the thought of what had to be done to quell his grumbling gut.
    He collected his knife off the kitchen bench, as he made his way out of the room, attaching it with its sheath to his waist.
    Stan crept up to the front window of his house, covered with bars and boarded up to almost completion. Carefully pulling back one of the curtains, he peered through a small crack in the wood and bars, carefully checking for the dangers that loomed in the world beyond his house. Two men stumbled slowly in the street. The man at the front was a medium build. His skin was grey and clothes tattered. There was a large hole where his right hip should have been, forcing him to walk with a heavy limp.
    Followed behind him, was another grey skinned man. He was of a larger build, standing tall, approximately six feet and four inches tall. His jaw was hanging, by the smallest thread of muscle and ligaments. Blood dripped from his broken jaw. His face was battered, bruised and beaten heavily, causing his right eye to hang lower on his face.
    Stan reached to his side, releasing his recently sharpened, bayonet style knife from its sheath. He placed one hand on the door knob and sighed deeply as he began to turn it.

    Bursting out of his house, Stan charged at the first dead wanderer. He launched, tackling him to the floor. A loud, piercing screeching emanated from the mouth of the zombie, as Stan lifted, and drove the knife through the left eye of the living dead man. He went limp as his life of endless death faded. The other turned slowly, and roared charging towards Stan, who stood, waiting for the dead to strike. He stepped forward, brought his knee to his chest, and drove it down into the leg of the charging zombie. A large snap echoed, and the femoral bone of the dead man pierced through the skin of his leg. He dropped to his knees, unable to keep walking on the broken leg. Stan raised the blade high above his head, and swung his arms down with a deadly force, catching him directly in the skull. The knife split through the bone and struck the middle of the brain. A last gurgle of air escaped the limp zombie’s throat, as Stan released the blade.
    The zombie dropped, as Stan cleaned the dark blood off his knife and sheathed it by his side. He breathed a sigh of relief as he started walking further into the city in search of food. He released his pistol from its holster, and spun it around his finger. A loud screech erupted from behind him, and Stan’s stomach dropped in despair.

    Stan turned on the spot and met the gaze of no less than twenty living dead. The leader of the pack had her mouth opened wide, screaming from deep within her throat, a screech which pierced the ears and sent chills down the spines of all conscious people who heard it. She stared at Stan with a great and lustful hunger.
    Stan began shaking, his jaw dropped low, and he was paralysed with fear. His mind went blank, and he stared at the crowd of dead people waiting to feast on his flesh. He snapped out of the paralysis and slowly raised the pistol, shaking vigorously as he aimed at the leader.
    He breathed heavily, finger heavily shaking on the trigger. She stepped forward, preparing to charge. Stan panicked, and pulled the trigger, missing her and collecting one of her zombie lackeys square between the eyes.
    Stepping backwards, Stan continued to fire rapidly. The crack of gunshots echoed around the city as he fired bullet after bullet, aimed with little care. The bullets tore through her body, hitting her in the chest and stomach, but she walked on, taking each bullet like nothing more than a mosquito bite.
    She let out a low grunt, and began to charge towards Stan, the rest of the living dead crowd followed suit. Stan turned, breathed heavily, and began running from the hunting pack of the dead.

    Sweat poured off Stan’s face as he ran down the street, panting heavily, fuelled only by desire for life. The zombies were stumbling with a great speed behind, slowly gaining on him. Their screams and growls were enough to chill Stan’s blood, but he continued on, persistent and determined to not become like them.
    He looked ahead, and saw the building he was searching for. The supermarket. He burst through the doors, tripping and falling down, to which he recovered quickly, springing back to his feet and closing the doors.
    He grabbed anything he could find, chairs, shelves and trolleys, to reinforce the door.
    The dead reached the entrance, and started banging on the glass of the door, pushing forward like a crowd surging in for the Christmas sales.
    He breathed a sigh of relief, and looked down the dark aisle of the market. It had been looted, but only by Stan himself. He walked down, and heard the groan of a living dead in the next aisle. He bent down, and stalked around the aisles to find the source of the groan.
    Peering through the gaps in the shelves, Stan saw him, hunched over a freshly killed man, feasting on his entrails. Blood splattered out as the zombie tore at his flesh with teeth and claw.
    Stan crept up behind him, making little to no noise, except the occasional clack of his shoes on the marble floor. Stan drew in a deep, silent breath and lodged his knife into the back of the man’s skull. He dropped and Stan stepped over his body to search the body of the freshly mauled man. Tapping the pockets of the man’s blood soaked pants, Stand found nothing, to his distaste.
    Walking past him, Stan found a trolley full of baked beans and canned food. He pocketed a few tins, and filled his bag with as much as he could bear to carry on his back.
    He began walking to the door, almost forgetting about the army of dead waiting for him.
    Stan was quickly reminded, as the sound of glass shattering echoed around the near empty supermarket, and the growls of hungry dead men and women sent chills down his spine. Stan froze, and crouched down to the ground. The zombies walked in, searching for their feed as Stan had just done. They did not want beans or canned pasta, they wanted flesh. Stan’s flesh.

    Chapter 2: Serena

    The woods were filled with an eerie silence. Moonlight winked on the slowly flowing stream as a fire crackled just off the shoreline of the river. Jack clasped his hands together, rubbing them vigorously, before bringing them to his mouth, breathing hot air into them. Wisps of a light grey vapour escaped his mouth and danced in the wind. The fire continued to spit, radiating with a slight orange glow filled with warmth.
    Something caught Jack’s attention, out of the corner of his eye he noticed Serena was still shaking; her breathing was raspy and short.

    ‘Are you cold?’ He asked, taking off his large jacket, and offering it to her.

    ‘No, you keep it. I’m fine,’ she lied.

    Jack stood and wrapped her up in his jacket, the quivering of her cold bones slowed and her breathing grew calm.

    ‘Thanks,’ she breathed, as she watched the fire dance in the deep onyx of his eyes.

    A cold breeze blew through the small camp, making the fire dance back and forth, as their shadows flickered onto the thick trunks of the forest trees. Thick clouds grew in the sky, blocking out the moonlight, and the orange radiance of the glowering fire was the only source of light in the forest.
    The once silent woods now echoed with strong gusts and growing winds. The branches of the tall trees swayed in the strength of the air current, as Jack continued to warm his hands by the fire, and an awkward silence grew between Serena and him.
    Jack began to hum and whistle a tune, the noise bounced off the trees and echoed on for an age. A bird cawed and its wings fluttered off in the distance, an unsettling noise which always set Serena on edge.
    A howl carried on a large gust of wind called softly through the trees, as though it had been picked up not too far from the camp. It sent shivers down Serena’s spine, Jack remained oblivious to it.

    ‘Jack,’ Serena whispered. Jack kept whistling.

    ‘Jack,’ she said, raising her voice slightly. The oddly whistled tune still escaped from Jacks mouth as he stared up at the stars in the night sky.

    ‘Jack!’ Serena called loudly; Jack turned and gave her a quizzical look.

    ‘What?’ He asked, frustrated. His face screwed up.

    ‘Stop whistling,’ she started, ‘I heard something in the woods.’

    They stopped talking, ears craned to the sky, waiting for the sound. Nothing. Silence, eerie and heavy filled the campsite once more. A small breeze swayed the branches, but no howl came bounding through the trees.
    ‘You’ve lost it lady,’ Jack said with a smirk. ‘I should have left you back there.’

    Serena looked up towards him, tears welling up in her eyes. She began to sob, her cheeks turned red and the sound of her choking on her tears plucked at Jack’s heart. His smirk faded quickly.

    ‘I was only kidding you know,’ he started, averting his eyes towards his feet.

    ‘I-’ she started, her words caught deep in her throat. ‘I know, Jack.’

    Silence erupted between them once more, Jack sat and stared into the dancing of the flames, their tips licked at the sky tentatively. Tears still casually dripped off of Serena’s face.

    An hour or so passed with still no words passed between the two. Jack had had enough of the silence, and chose to break it.

    ‘So how did you get there?’ He asked, glancing up from the flames which had dwindled to a small glowering ember.

    Serena looked up from the log she sat on, her blue eyes were stained red where white should be. Lines of dried moisture were visible in the small light of the low burning fire, where tears had crept down her cheek.

    ‘Where?’ she questioned, feigning ignorance, rubbing her raw eyes as she spoke.

    ‘You know what I mean,’ he started. ‘I know we barely know each other, I’d like to find out more about. Surely someone special gave you that pendant hanging around your neck.’ He looked at her pleadingly.

    Serena sighed heavily, clutching at the silver, ankh pendant hanging from her neck. If she had not been crying so much earlier, tears would have been streaming down her face.

    ‘The roof you found me on was the apartment where I lived,’ she began, struggling to talk. ‘I lived there with my good friend, Carl. We’d been friends for a long time, and I’d never saw him as anything more than that, until a few weeks ago.’

    Jack leaned in, eager to listen to more. Again, Serena sighed and continued on with the story.

    ‘We had heard stories of some people turning, becoming aggressive and attacking others. At first we thought it was just normal, people killing other’s isn’t very rare in this day and age, but the style in which they did it, and the media blow up had everyone worried that something wasn’t right. Anyway, Carl and I had been in bed together, when we hear a knock at the door. I remember each knock so clearly, it plays through my head in my dreams and in my waking nightmares. The loud, thunderous boom of the fist on the wood of the door, matching the beat of my pounding heart, being startled from bed, it always makes me feel uneasy. Carl got up and answered the door, while I began to nod back off, too comfortable to move. Until three words and a loud screech of grief ripped me from a near dreamy sleep.

    “Woah, what’s wrong?” I heard Carl say, followed by the shriek. That cry, it was heart gripping, the pain behind it was, was.’ Serena stopped for a while, looking up at the countless stars dotting the night sky. She looked back towards her feet, another sigh escaping her lips.

    ‘It was a shriek that I now understand the pain behind. I leapt out of bed dressing quickly, to find Carl comforting his ex girlfriend, this perfect looking girl Cindy. She had natural blonde hair, and deep brown eyes, with a full hourglass body. Her smile was always sparkling and white, wherever she walked, guys jaws would drop, and their eyes even further. Between her sobs I could only make out a few words.

    “He... bit.... me.”

    Like that shriek, only now do I know the meaning behind these words. I came up and asked what had happened, and Carl told me her boyfriend had come home angry and frustrated. Cindy said he looked kind of pale, and his hands had gone clammy, so she put him to bed and let him sleep. When she walked in an hour or so later, she snuggled up next to him. She said he was still, not even the movement of breath rocked the bed at all, and he was cold. As she peered over at his face, his eyes snapped open and he attacked her. She showed us the red bite mark, it was bloody and deep. That’s when she ran here; she explained he had nowhere else to go.’

    Serena stopped, a noise had emanated from the woods, but Jack seemed too enthralled in the story of how they met, to notice. She ignored it and continued.

    ‘So we took her to our spare room, and told her to get some rest. At this point me and Carl began to argue, and I-’ she stopped, words became harder to speak as she fought back tears. Through the sobs, she managed to keep going. ‘I accused him of cheating on me with her, and he erupted. Mid way through the argument she burst through the door and leapt on him. At first I thought she was kissing him, and with a heavy rage, I booted her in the face. She flopped off him, and then I saw the blood, Carl’s blood flooding out in large surges from a hole in his neck. The gurgling sound of him drowning and choking on his own blood still haunts me, and I can’t decide which is worse, if he died drowning on his own blood, or if he died from blood loss. I try to think positive and say whichever way he died, it was the more peaceful of the two, but I know I’m only lying to myself. After that I realised what was happening and I ran out to the roof of my apartment, and then you came.’

    Jack looked at her in awe, struggling to piece together a sentence.

    ‘I’m so sorry, Serena,’ he started. ‘So that turned girl I beheaded near the top of the stairs was Cindy huh?’

    Serena nodded heavily, dry tears burst through her eyes.

    ‘Go on, get some sleep Serena,’ Jack said reaching out and touching her hand. ‘I’ll take first watch, you get some rest.’

    ‘Thank you,’ she breathed as she lay down on the soft grassy ground, closing her eyes. That night she dreamt of it all over again, the noise of Carl choking echoed through her mind as she tossed uncomfortably in her sleep.

    Chapter 3: Troy

    Red dust blew over the barren lands, carried by a dry and warm breeze. The sun was sweltering and hot, as Troy sat with his back against his car. His white shirt was blackened with oil, his hands covered in sanguine engine fluids and rusty water. Sweat was beading on his brow, wiped away and replaced with grease from the back of his hand.
    Troy’s mouth hung open, dry as a bone; flies buzzed and landed on his lips, but no hand rose to swat them away. His eyes were open, but did not move; instead they stared into the openness of the red lands which carried on for an age.
    The car door opened and shut, the slam woke Troy up from his daydream, coughing hoarsely, red dust escaped from his mouth.

    ‘Troy!’ A voice called to him, unfamiliar at first, his sun drained mind made his thinking slow. ‘Troy, are you there?’ The voice called again.

    A young man walked around the front of the car. He was fairly tall for his age, with bronze skin and thick mahogany hair of curls. The fires of the sun flickered and glistened in the deep pool of a brown so dark that it appeared black.
    A low grumble escaped the dryness of Troy’s throat as he stood slowly to meet the gaze of the young man before him. The teenage boy eyes Troy awkwardly, before looking down and screwing the lid off of a bottle of water.

    ‘Troy, drink some water, you’re dehydrated,’ he said as he placed the bottle of tepid water in Troy’s hand.

    Troy brought the bottle to his mouth and swallowed deeply, the warm water stung at his throat. He clutched at his neck, as though the skin of his uvula was cracking and flaking off. More raspy coughs emanated from his throat of razors, as small tears cascaded down his cheek, carrying oil and red dirt, leaving clean streaks of skin in their wake.

    ‘E-Ed?’ Troy spluttered breathlessly. ‘What happened?’

    ‘The car broke down, we’ve been here for a day or two,’ he began, before heading over to place a hand on Troy’s forehead. ‘You got sun stroke and passed out trying to fix the car.’

    Troy remained silent, his face filled with quizzical confusion as he tried to remember back.

    Ten minutes or so past, with nothing but an awkward silence filled the air between Ed and Troy.

    ‘Has no one driven past?’ Troy asked, breaking the eerie silence.

    ‘No one,’ Ed said. ‘You called the emergency services; they said they would be out within the first day. But no one has come yet.’ He looked down at his feet, kick the red dust off of his shoes.

    ‘We have to get to dad as soon as possible,’ Troy started, choking slightly on his words.

    ‘Do you think we’ll get there before he dies?’ Ed asked with a quivering bottom lip, as tears filled his dark eyes.

    ‘No Ed,’ Troy started, trying to comfort his brother. ‘Dad won’t die. He’s strong, remember?’ He tried to sound as convincing as possible, but the look on Ed’s face told the story.

    ‘Don’t patronise me Troy,’ he said, crossing his arms whilst tears began to flow freely from his dusty, red eyes.

    ‘The last I heard from the doctor on the phone was he had a fever,’ Troy said, finding his voice. ‘Fever’s barely kill anyone these days; doctors can always relieve a fever.’

    ‘But they said it was a fever they had never experienced before didn’t they?’ Ed asked as his tears began to dry up.

    Its true Troy thought, they had never seen a fever take someone so fast, and debilitate them as much as it had our father.

    Troy stayed quiet for a while, thinking over their situation whilst Ed went back and sat in the car. Twenty minutes passed before Troy got up and joined him in the car, he let out an exasperated breath as he escaped the sun’s rays and entered the shade and sat down in the soft material of the backseat. Ed had has back to him, Troy reached out and grabbed his shoulder.

    ‘How you doing Ed?’ he asked.

    Ed turned towards him and glared through pain soaked eyes, red from tears and the dust of the empty space that surrounded them. His breath was short and sharp between quivering lips and drenched cheeks, yet he remained silent and still, ignoring Troy's efforts to comfort him.

    'I'm going for a walk,' Troy said. 'See if I can find some sort of civilisation close by. Stay here.'

    Ed nodded his head in reply, still no sound escaped the crease of his lips. A warm breeze blew over Troy's face as he exited the car, dust choked his throat and he coughed up coagulations of thick rusty coloured fluid.

    Troy walked along the side of the road that seemed to go on for an age each way. The screwdriver in his pocket rubbed and poked at the outside of his thigh. Every step was becoming a struggle. His mouth was dry, eyes raw and his nose clogged with red dust from the dry lands surrounding him. The sun had passed its highest point in the sky and began its descent, Troy wiped a thick red substance of sweat and dust off of his brow.

    I should head back before it gets dark, Troy thought. Ed's probably a bit worried.

    Before Troy could turn, he spotted the faintest silhouette against the fading sun. It ambled slowly in Troy's direction. Excitement filled his chest, as he realised it was another person.

    ”Hey!" Troy yelled, waving his hands above his head. "Over here."

    He began to jog over to the person, but began to slow his pace when he got within proper eyesight of the man. He dragged his feet, still meandering over towards Troy, blood dripped off his mouth, and his left ankle was twisted around the wrong way. His arm was hanging on to his body by the smallest threads of sinew and muscle, his neck had a gaping chunk taken out of it. The man lifted his eyes off of the floor, and looked at Troy with cloudy and lifeless eyes. A screech escaped it's mouth revealing mouldy and decaying teeth of yellow and black, as it began to pick up its pace and heading over to Troy.

    "Sir?" Troy asked, his words quavering with fear. "Are you ok?"

    The man continued to lurch over, his legs changing from the slow walk to a gallop. His mouth salivated a thick red mixture of dust and blood, which dripped down onto his ripped clothes. Troy stood with his mouth agape, staring at the man with pale and grey skin. He began to back away.

    "Stay away!" Troy shouted. "Don't come any closer."

    The man did not heed his warning. Troy continued to step backwards, as he did so, his foot caught on a rock and he fell onto his back, the screwdriver in his pocket pierced the thickness of his thigh. A loud yelp escaped his mouth, as his hand grabbed at the rip in his pants where the handle of the screwdriver had burst through. His fingers shook violently as they grasped around the yellow handle, but before he could think, the man was on him, jaws snapping violently at his face, blood, saliva and dust in one conglomeration dripped onto his face. The warm breath of the man stunk of decayed meat and morning breath.
    Troy put his hand in the middle of the man's head and held him at bay, yet his strength was fading. His other hand lay gingerly on the hilt of the screwdriver, he pulled slightly, yet the pain was unbearable. The man's hands squeezed his shoulders, the dead fingers began to dig into the skin and pull the bones apart. Pain erupted through Troy's body, with one quick pull the screwdriver burst free from his leg and blood sprayed out from the wound.
    Troy buried the screwdriver into the side of the man's head, his dead fingers twitched violently and after the grip fell lose. The body flopped onto Troy, the weight of the large man took all of Troy's remaining strength to shift off of his own body. He stood and pulled the screwdriver from the skull of his attacker, wiped the blood on his torn clothes before putting it into the other pocket of his pants.
    His breath was short and rapid, he glanced at the puncture wound in his leg and winced at the pain. Quivering hands touched the entry wound gingerly, as blood still flowed freely from the hole. Without thinking, Troy pulled off his shirt and tied it tightly around his leg, and he began to limp back towards Ed with the sun fading fast behind him.

    Chapter 4: Stan

    The sound of glass shattering echoed around the store as Stan hid in an aisle. Fear cut through him like a knife, whilst the horde slowly fought their way into the supermarket. He wiped the drying blood off of his knife, onto the recently killed man next to him. Stan stood and grabbed at the trolley which once held the canned food he now had in his bag, and placed it between himself and the door.
    Creeping over towards the front door whilst pushing the trolley, Stan's heart began to race. The pounding sound grew in his ears, louder and louder he could hear it. Thud thud, thud. Nausea swept over him, and his stomach rumbled noisily, the sound seemed to reverberate around the store. The groans of the dead fighting for their soon to be feast sent shivers down his spine, as he came out of the aisle and saw them gathering at the glass door.
    Blood was everywhere, all around their feet as they slipped and slid around trying to keep their feet. The glass had shattered between their hands, yet they felt no pain of it. Instead, they fought harder at the sight and smell of living flesh.
    The first one broke free from the glass and the bloody floor, running into the store. Stan aimed the trolley, and gave it a fierce kick with the heel of his boot, which sent the trolley careening into the living dead man. The trolley caught the man and pushed him back, the squelching of the man's shoes on the floor made the hairs on Stan's neck stand on their ends.

    Come get me you monstrous bastards, Stan thought as he backed away to the other end of the store.

    A large shriek exploded from the front, and a lump caught in his throat as he turned to run. Stan grabbed at his backpack and threw it over his back, the cans rattled and shook and dug deep into the skin of his torso.
    A quick peer over his shoulder made Stan swallow hard, as the dead had given pursuit, and were right on his heels. Stan groaned through exhausted pants, and ragged breaths. The back door was within sight, behind a counter. Happiness encroached into Stan's mind, but these thoughts were soon quelled when two dead men meandered in front of the counter, unbeknownst to them that a potential meal was running directly at them.
    With knife in hand, Stan increased his pace, before kicking the first man square in the chest, sending him flying over the counter top. The other grabbed at Stan, his teeth biting towards him. Stan ducked, twisted and drove the knife into the man's gut, before pulling up and ripping the man open from naval to throat. Blood poured out in a waterfall of red, and the man fell back, as Stan leapt over the counter, and stomped the first dead man's head. Blood, brain and bone fragments crunched and exploded beneath his boot, as he pulled open the door and slammed it shut behind him.

    Outside the rain fell down heavily, the sound of it falling to the Earth was almost deafening. The sweet smell of petrichor filled Stan's panting breaths, as he bent over with his hands on his knees; sweat and rain and dead man's blood dripped off of his face.
    Tree's swayed in a growing wind, and the sky had darkened with the grey of cloud cover. Midday had never seemed so dull in Stan's eyes, as he began his journey home.
    He crouched down, running between buildings, large bins and fences. The occasional dead man would walk past, but the rain hid both Stan's smell and muffled the sounds of his footsteps and ragged breath.
    Lightning forked the sky with a blue flash and his brothers booming voice followed, shaking the ground with his thunderous bang.

    I wonder if sounds like that could attract Lurkers from miles away, Stan thought, as he shivered from the cool of the torrential rain. I need to get home. Now.

    Picking up the pace, Stan unsheathed his still bloody knife. Now speed was the necessity, and stealth was only an afterthought. One lurker began to chase Stan, his growls muffled by the rain, his warm dead breath sending grey wisps of vapour into the sky. Stan stopped suddenly, stepped to the side, and took at the dead man's feet. He fell hard onto his face, and skidded along the now soaking concrete of the sidewalk, before Stan drove his knife through the back of the man's skull. He pulled the knife free from the grasp of bone and sinew of the man's head, and looked down the street where his house was located.

    He reached his house without anymore troubles. Sliding the key into the hole, he turned and clicked the lock and slowly opened the door.

    I wonder if any lurkers commit burglary or breaking and entering, Stan thought, cackling quietly to himself.

    Getting out of the rain into the warmth of his house was a comforting feeling. He peeled off his drenched clothes, turned and locked the door, and grabbed three logs of wood from the basket in the hallway. Stan threw the logs into the open fireplace, and sparked up a flame, before pouring water into numerous pots, which he placed over the fire. Puncturing two of the cans from his bag, he threw them into the fire with the wood, and waited, warming his hands by the fire, before picking up his bag and throwing the cans into his kitchen pantry.

    'Beans, spaghetti, tomato soup,' Stan said to himself, proud of his accomplishment.

    When he returned, the water had started to boil. Quickly, he carried the pots to the bathroom where he filled the bath with the now steaming water. He pulled the cans out of the fire, and slipped into the warm bath.

    'The lengths I got to for a warm bath,' he said, soaking in the warmth. 'It's worth it, you know that.'

    After ten minutes, the water began to cool, and Stan began to shiver. He climbed out of the bath, and wiped away the steam from the mirror. Those familiar green eyes stared back at him, yet somehow his face had changed since he last looked at his reflection. His blonde hair, matted brown from the wet of the rain and the bath had grown halfway to his shoulders, a thick, scraggly beard of blonde lined his jaw and hung slightly off of his chin.
    His thick nose and strong jaw seemed to be more prominent today than it had been a week or so ago.
    A loud yawn escaped his lips as he ambled over to his bed. The events of the day had drained him of all energy, and he fell asleep almost instantly, with his mouth hanging open and drool dripping from his lips.

    Stan woke to the sound of a door closing. His groggy eyes struggled to open as he jumped to his feet and stubbed his toe on the corner table. He bit his fist as he held in the yelp of pain, before throwing on some clothes and grabbing at his knife and pistol.
    He crept out of his bedroom, when he started to hear the whispers of two people.

    'It looks like someone's been living here,' a woman said. 'We can't take much if someone is here, it doesn't feel right.'

    'It's either us or them. Screw whoever it is, we are hungry, we need food.' A man said, as the sound of cans rattling in a bag echoed from the pantry.

    Stan peeped around the corner, and saw the lights of two flashlights exiting his pantry, and heading for the door. He pressed his back against the wall and waited for them to walk past.
    Soon enough, the man walked past, followed by the woman. Stan grabbed her from the neck and held the gun to her head.

    'Who are you, and what do you think you are doing with my food,' Stan started, his groggy eyes now opened wildly. 'Answer me now, or I'll blow her brains over the walls.'

    The man swallowed hard, dropped the bag and stared at Stan with tears in his eyes, he held his hands in the air and opened his mouth to talk.

    Chapter 5: Troy

    Pain shot up through the entire right side of Troy's body, the puncture in his leg still bled freely, and the once white shirt now used as a bandage had turned a deep scarlet. The muscles around the hole seized and twitched with every step. The red waste was blurred by pain soaked tears flowing down his raw and sunburnt cheeks. Sweat collected on his brow, and dripped down his face, stinging his eyes and mixing with the salty tears.
    Troy kept an eye over his shoulder, expecting to see another of the monsters coming after him. The sun had almost dropped below the horizon and the sky had turned orange, the few clouds in the sky glowed pink. A soft breeze blew through, the red dust shuffled slightly on the ground. The wind stung Troy's sweating face with an uncomfortable wash of cold, the hairs on his arms and legs stood on their ends and his skin crawled with goose bumps.

    'Come on,' Troy said to himself. 'Not much further.'

    Troy's stomach flipped and switched, an uneasy feeling washed over his body. Thoughts of Ed being attacked like he was just attacked sent pangs of worry throughout his mind. He quickened his pace, and started jogging, limping heavily. The pain was unbearable, yet Troy continued running, the fear of losing Ed fuelled him.

    The car came into eyesight, and Troy's stomach flipped over with excitement and sighs of relief escaped his lips. He slowed back to a walk, his leg throbbing with a tremendous pain, the thick blood seeped from the wound, his white shirt was now a dark crimson. The sight made him dizzy, and nausea grumbled through his empty stomach.
    And then, a blinding light came from just behind the car. Troy's eyes watered, and he raised his hand to his eyes to shield them from the light. The sound of an engine turning off echoed down the road, followed by the slamming of car doors.

    Must be the emergency services, Troy thought.

    The lights of the car switched off, leaving Troy blinded momentarily, his vision covered with spots and colours which moved with his eyes. His head began to spin, he swayed from right to left and left to right; the landscape seemed to warp and twist on itself. A raspy cough escaped his dry throat, and chunks of red dust and what could have been blood spluttered from his cracked lips. Spit and blood dripped slowly from the corner of his mouth, and trickled down his chin.
    Suddenly, Troy was back. His vision returned, and his head stopped spinning. He wiped away the fluid from his mouth and chin. He found he was running again, but he had no idea why, until a noise reminded him.

    'Let go of me,' he heard Ed call. 'Troy, help! They're taking me.'

    Troy's stomach dropped, and his heart began to pound in his chest. Adrenalin surged throughout his body as his weak legs picked up more and more speed until he was at a full pace sprint. The pain of the puncture in his leg had been overrun by desperation.

    'Ed!' Troy called, as tears began to stream down his face.

    A man turned and saw Troy running towards them. He called out to the other people he was with, calling orders Troy couldn't hear. The man had a hand around Ed's mouth, and was dragging him towards their car.
    His light blonde hair glistened off the rays of the dying sun. He was tall, and slim, with torn clothes covered in red dust and what appeared to be blood. A woman slipped past him and jumped in the driver's seat, whilst another man jumped in the back with the man who had a hold of Ed.

    'Stop!' Troy yelled at the top of his lungs. His throat stung as the words passed out of his mouth. 'Please don't.'

    The man glanced back at him, threw Ed in the car and jumped in after him. The sound of the engine roaring to light sunk Troy's heart. The headlights flicked on once more and burned away the tears which rushed from his eyes.
    The tyres spun as the car took off in a hurry, leaving puffs of red dust floating in the air. Troy waved his hands in the air as the car sped past him, the dust clogging his throat, allowing no words to come out.
    He dropped to his hands and knees, his head hung low as he coughed and spluttered.

    'Come back,' he said, as tears cascaded off of his face and faded deep into the red dust that lay underneath him. 'Please come back.'

    The red ground below his face was darker, the drips of tears and sweat coagulated the thickness of the dust. Troy whimpered quietly, his lower lip trembling, with tears streaming out from tightly closed lids.
    He rose to his feet and wandered over to the car. The sound of the other car slowly dissipated, and it disappeared, cloaked by the darkness of night.

    'Please work,' Troy said as he slid into the driver's seat. 'Please.'

    He turned the key in the ignition, the car moaned and groaned, struggling to accept life. Troy tapped the accelerator.

    Please start, he thought.

    He tapped the accelerator harder and faster. The car rocked and shook, the sounds of it giving its last breath echoed throughout the red waste.

    'Start God damn it!' Troy screamed at the top of his lungs. 'Start!'

    The car roared to life, and Troy's heart skipped a beat. Happiness exploded all over his body, only to be squashed by the dying splutters and last twitch of movement from the car's engine. Troy's head dropped, slamming hard against the wheel of the dead car, tears streaming heavily down his cheeks, his heart pounding and thumping against his chest, and his breath short and raspy.

    'Ed,' Troy whispered as his heavy eye lids closed. 'I'm sorry.'

    Chapter 6: Serena

    Serena lay in a light sleep, her breathing short and soft, the sound of Jack snoring buried itself deep within her head. A cold wind blew through the camp, the small embers lit up hungrily at the air. Ashes flew on the wind, circling and dancing above the camp, the soft patter of rain on the trees filled the forest, followed by a low and ominous growl.
    The slight crunch of wet leaves being trodden on roused Serena from her sleep. She rolled over, droplets of water landed on her face, sliding from the leaves of the trees above. Her groggy eyes opened, and saw a man inches away from Jack.

    'Jack!' she screamed, as the man bent down and bit and tore off a large chunk of Jack's neck.

    Jack's screams echoed around, and spurts of shining crimson blood pulsated from the wound in his neck. His screams slowly died out, drowned from the blood filling his throat, slowly changing his screams of help into a hopeless and dead gurgle. The smell of petrichor was overwhelmed by deaths stench, as Serena leapt to her feet, grabbing around her feet for a makeshift weapon
    Her small hands clutched around the cool metal of the crowbar she had kept from her car. A dead woman burst through the trees, her mouth covered with sanguine liquid, low groans erupting from the back of her throat, and her bloody hands reaching out to grab at Serena.

    'Stay back,' she said, but the woman paid her no heed.

    She lunged forward at Serena, only to have the crowbar meet her in the head. It smashed against her skull, blood splattered onto the ground, yet the woman kept coming. Her fingers reached out to claw at Serena's skin.
    Serena swung the crowbar hard again, crashing into the side of her face. Her jaw snapped and hung, dangling from skin and sinew, as blood poured out of her mouth like a waterfall of sanguine. The power of the attack sent the woman to the ground, and Serena jumped and shattered the top of the woman's skull; her body went limp and she collapsed to the ground, blood began to pool beneath her face and head.
    Red blood sprayed as the crowbar was torn away from the dead woman. Serena glanced over at Jack, his body shook violently, as last dance of life before deaths silence entered him. His gurgled splutters slowly faded, and Serena was left with the man who had feasted on Jack's flesh. Serena walked over towards the man who paid her no heed, preoccupied with the fresh meat in front of him.
    With a powerful thrust, Serena drove the bloody edge of the crowbar through the top of his skull, as tears cascaded down her face and landed on the two bodies beneath her.

    Serena cradled Jack's head in her arms, his blood was sticky against her arms and clothes, and tears fell freely from her sobbing eyes. Her tired eyes were heavy, and the rocking Jack back and forth with a slow rhythm nearly sent her to sleep. But the fear in her heart kept her awake, and she stared off into the trees waiting for another dead person to come falling through the leaves and bushes.
    The wind blew through the trees with an ominous, and eerie sound. The leaves shook and the branches danced, shifting the shadows on the ground in what little light the moon could shed. The night was cold, and Serena's warm breath sent vapours into the sky. Wisps of steam drifted off of Jack's still warm blood, as the tears began to slow, and Serena's mind began to race.
    Dread filled her stomach as she rose to her feet. Jack's body rolled over limply as she left it. She grabbed her sleeping bag and stuffed it into her backpack, and grabbed at the crowbar, now sticky with the blood of the two reanimated dead.

    'I'm sorry,' she said, but the words caught in her throat, and left only a scarce croak.

    She slung the backpack over her shoulder and walked away from the camp where Jack lay dead with the two others.

    Serena's breathless pants echoed slightly around the forest. Cool wisps of vapour escaped her mouth with every quick exhalation. Her head pounded with a heavy drumming, and every step made her wince in pain, and her eyes water.
    Through pain soaked eyes, Serena saw a blurry light burst through the trees and shrubbery, followed by voices.

    'Watch the kid,' a man said in a gruff tone. 'Make sure he doesn't escape.'

    'I know I know,' a woman said.

    The muffled sounds of someone trying to call out whilst gagged filled the silence after the woman's words. Serena ducked low, and started creeping towards the light. A man was squatting over a pit, trying to spark a pile of twigs and sticks to make a fire. He was rather short, with jet black hair and his clothes were torn, and speckled with blood. A young woman, no more than 19, sat watching over a young boy who's hands were tied, and his mouth taped shut with duct tape. She had light orange hair which reached the middle of her back, and her skin was the colour of milk.
    A man carrying a torch was heading towards her. The light blocked out most of his body, but he seemed tall, and every time the fire starter struck the flint on the stone, the light bounced off the torch carriers blonde hair, making it sparkle in the night.
    The man stopped, undid his zipper, and relieved himself just meters from Serena. The smell stung her nostrils, she covered her nose but couldn't hide the sounds of her gagging.

    'There's someone behind the bushes,' the man said to his two companions.

    'Who is it?' the woman asked.

    'I don't bloody know,' he said. 'Whoever's behind there, you have until the count of three to show yourself or die.'

    A gap of silence filled the night air, the sound of birds fluttering could be heard in the distance.


    The whimpering of the captive child filled Serena's ears, as she watched him squirm with his restraints.

    'Two,' the man chimed again.

    Serena's heart beat loudly and her brain went numb.

    Last edited by Stark; 07 Sep 2013 at 05:50 PM.

  2. #2
    Join Date
    Feb 2011

    Re: Zombie Short Story

    It was a very nice short story, I really liked that.
    A thing I instantly noticed when I began to read is the well used alliteration in the first sentence, good introduction.
    I enjoyed that, I hope this will develop in a longer writing.

  3. #3
    The Green Boss

    Join Date
    Dec 2009

    Re: Zombie Short Story

    Absolutely amazing Jon, I have read a series of books about zombies, the style of writing is similar, but also different in entertaining ways. I feel you can easily make a great series and make good money if you keep this story alive. This short story is just as good, maybe even better then the series I read that has become very successful.
    The first book of the series is called The Enemy by Charlie Higson if you want to have a look for ideas, a great book followed by other great books. I would really like to talk about it on skype and maybe come up with small plots throughout, I would love to help. Maybe you would like it better to do it yourself but that is fine. Keep it up Jon.

  4. #4
    Veteran Enthusiast

    Join Date
    Mar 2008
    Perth, WA

    Re: Zombie Short Story

    Definitely Juke. I love the genre, and I feel it hasn't had a great literature side to it. I sent this onto my publisher, hopefully she likes it and wants a longer. If not, then I will still continue it, and try and either self publish, or find another publisher to publish it for me.
    We will talk more on skype.
    Thanks for the comments guys, Lukas, that means a lot. I love how you noticed some of the stylistic elements I applied, like the alliteration. I usually don't really think about it, then I read over it and notice I actually did do it, but this I knew I had done when I wrote it. It was not overly intentional, but as soon as the ink hit the paper for that opening sentence, I knew what I had done.

    Again, thank you both.

  5. #5
    Veteran Enthusiast

    Join Date
    Mar 2008
    Perth, WA
    Edited this, I've decided to go with a triple perspective, where the characters may or may not come into contact with one another. I think it is a good idea for a zombie story because people act so differently in such situations. I've updated this with chapter 2 as well, and currently working on chapter 3. Please let me know what you think, it is very important for me to know and get some real comments on this. Thanks guys.

  6. #6
    he llo Mitchell's Avatar

    Join Date
    Jan 2012
    Your imagery is dead on man. The way you describe shit just works, like I can totally imagine these 2 scruffy looking people sitting in the middle of nowhere with like a fire making that crackling noise every time little embers fly out.

    First piece of your work i've read, I dig it man.
    Moonlight Road: 210/600

  7. #7
    Veteran Enthusiast

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    Mar 2008
    Perth, WA
    Thanks man it means a lot.

  8. #8
    Tychus Findlay

    Join Date
    Sep 2009
    This was a great read Stark. I really like how well you described each scenario before you got the reader involved with the characters. It helps the reader build a picture in they're head to imagine as they read on about they're experiences. It also had a pretty good storyline, one worth continuing. Which btw do you have any other chapters finished besides 1 and 2?

  9. #9
    Veteran Enthusiast

    Join Date
    Mar 2008
    Perth, WA
    Currently working on chapter 3, usually I write too much too quickly and lose interest really fast, but I'm just sort of taking my time and letting things settle. It will be tri-perspective, so told from three different people's views. I have a few plans for this being quite effective in the future.

  10. #10
    Veteran Enthusiast

    Join Date
    Mar 2008
    Perth, WA
    Chapter 3 is up! Let me know what you think, I had another thing in mind for the ending of this chapter, a big plot twist of sorts, but I decided I'd save it for the next Troy chapter.

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