Ask me how I came to be a corn farmer on one acre of land wedged between a mountain and the white sand beach, and I’ll laugh. How, indeed. I guess there isn’t much of a demand for sociologists on Koh Tao. Never has been, so why should that change after the outbreak? Look at the island. This whole thing used to be forest. It’s basically a tree-covered mountain that sticks out of the water.

The only dangers that this island ever knew were coral scrapes, drunken motorcycle accidents, and falling coconuts. Tourism was all Koh Tao had going for it. This is and will forever be a diver’s paradise. That’s why I came. It was supposed to be a two-month course to get my Dive Master certification. After all, Koh Tao is the cheapest place in the world to train. I didn’t know that I’d be here for this long. None of us did, at least in the beginning. (more…)

Wet floors.

Open doors.

…A priest mounting a thrashing, made-up corpse from behind…her makeup smeared.  Her giant hoop earrings spinning in wild circles from her ear lobes.

…A legless, armless trunk of a woman is chained in midair by an “X” of chains.  She sits pelvis high.  A half-crazed traffic cop leers from the corner, not moving yet.

…short whacks of consciousness capitalized by the taste of bile, punctuated by the slam of gunshots into windowless rooms.

…A decomposed nurse’s outfit…no bottom jaw.  No way to say “no”.

Rooms full of money.  A hand covered in gold.  The stink of chugging generators.

Wet bodies hit the floor. (more…)

We’ve blocked off the reference room in the small community library for these interviews. Otto Miller sits across the table from me, his arms folded tightly against his chest. He is an elder in this small Amish community and looks every bit the part. I ask him to state his name and he simply stares at me and then looks down at the digital recorder I’ve placed on the table. He strokes his beard a couple times and then folds his arms again. I can see we’re going to get nowhere with this. (more…)

1st Place: Delivery 404 by Stephen M. Dare

2nd Place: Zombie Town by Adam Francis Smith

Again, we are incredibly grateful to our authors and to our readers. The quality of submissions to the site has been incredible, and we love the discussions that start in the comments.

sincerest thanks,

Ryan West
Editor, Tales of the Zombie War

The yoke about our necks, this crux of all human bondage, is that we remember the suffering of the past.  This awareness of the illusion of time, this surety of our own presence, of our own history…these are the constituents of our misery.  External misfortunes are but the clarion call at the head of our army of woe.  As we have often seen, we humans are capable of misery even in the absence of tragedy.  Lacking true unrest, we will make ourselves un-restful with petty tricks of the mind, picking endlessly at the single dropped thread in the great carpet of life.  We are destined for this, made for it.  Apocalypse aside, we have always gloried in the gloom of our own bruised dreams.  The only difference now is that there are far fewer of us to do the suffering. (more…)

Dr. Amanda Mackenzie zipped herself into the bulky, blue biosafety suit, slipped on her yellow boots, and stepped through the first airtight steel door. She waited for the buzzing sound that signaled the depressurization of the closet-sized room she stood in and the green light that told her the final “Slammer” door was now unlocked. Stepping aside, she waved goodbye to a coworker, secured the door behind her, and watched through a small window as a chemical spray showered the leaving researcher. Next, she attached an air hose, cranked the little yellow handle which allowed fresh air into her suit, and found her place at the lab table where part of the anomaly squirmed in a Petrie dish. (more…)

In the wintertime, when the infected were few and slow, we would walk outside among them, employing clubs and axes at our pleasure. Watching the kids from the safe house joining in, I could imagine this becoming a Christmas tradition in a few years like caroling or standing in line outside the mall at daybreak on December 26th to take advantage of great sales with newly minted gift cards. Crack. Snap. Rip. It was like the sound of church or jingle bells. Our Christmas presents? Laughter. Exercise. Fresh air. (more…)

The high oak-board wall cutting across Prairie Road was overwhelmed with graffiti, portions of which were obscene, though chemicals and pressure washers had cleaned some of these areas away. These scoured-off areas left the wood’s surface rough, and were large enough for the high school’s art students to attempt to create vivid paintings of the Garden of Eden, the Statue of Liberty, and Christ’s burdened march through the crowds toward Golgotha. Words such as “survive” and “united” and “faith” spread through these images, as were phrases like “Support Our Troops” and “God Bless America.” Each scene had the added painted adornment of blazing, glorious crosses and flowing American flags. (more…)

*click*

Officer Johnson: “Interview with Dan Hopper started ten forty five AM. Present, Officer Stuart Johnson and Officer Mike Reilly. So, Mr Hopper, why don’t you just start at the beginning and go from there.”

Dan Hopper:: “Look. I’ve already told the other officer what happened, 3 times now, why won’t you just fucking listen to what I’m saying?” (more…)