Father Cane rested the gun’s tip on the woman’s clammy forehead. She didn’t even stir, lost in her final nightmares. The priest began reciting the old prayer:

“Dust to dust, we are but earth and we return to it.”

Her pulse was weak; he could barely feel the trickle of blood underneath her cold skin. It wouldn’t be long now, not at all.

While his voice recited the prayer as much for the old woman as for the family gathered around her bed, inside his mind the priest prayed for God’s help. He felt old, and the gun was heavy in his hand. An unfamiliar fear was clutching his heart with cold fingers, and the arthritis in his joints was angrier than usual. They were all bad signs that made him uneasy. (more…)

Really, it is only when one comes to write ones memoirs that one finds oneself in remembrance of things that previously were forgotten. Perhaps ‘forgotten’ is too strong a word. Perchance, I had chosen not to relive the memory of those terrible days. Perchance, subconsciously I had chosen to push them back into the rear of my mind, to cover them over with memories of happier times: Garden parties and long firelight discussions with good friends, fine port and cigars: British summers and the resonant crack of leather on willow in a good game of cricket with which I used to occupy my life. Now, as I sit here in my London townhouse, recounting tales of excitement and derring-do on which I have occasionally embarked, I find I must tell this tale to complete my story. Although my hands tire easily now and I occasionally forget the spelling of words as old age seeps through my body, my memoirs will not be complete without the retelling of this ghastly tale. So I give you, (with more than a little reluctance for fear you think I should be sent to Bedlam), ‘The Island of the Ungodly Dead’. (more…)

-Prologue-

The team even had to be careful hosing down equipment and property after a particularly fierce engagement. Zombie flesh didn’t tend to stay solidly on the body, especially after death when they’ve had time to dry out. It flakes off like the ash from a cigarette, and a stray burst from a hose could aerosolize the stuff in a heartbeat. You didn’t have to worry about infection from it since the virus couldn’t survive the air, and it wasn’t “direct fluidic contact” like those USAMRIID boys had called it. But the flesh was vile, necrotic, and a breeding ground for all kinds of bacteria. If ingestion or inhalation didn’t kill you in a day or two, the bacterial infection you were guaranteed to make you pray for death before it evaporated away after a few weeks. (more…)

The darkness. Sometimes its comforts know no bounds. I find it’s the last bastion of clear thought. Lately, it’s hard to concentrate in the darkness. That’s when they are the most terrifying. I know in my mind that this building is safe, for now, but my heart continues to stray to that one thought; ‘for now’. I can surely rely on the slow, clumsy and ridged actions of the undead to lack the means of entering this fortress, but I have never trusted the intelligence, or lack thereof of the living. (more…)

1

The morning air bites with sharp, frozen teeth even though it’s almost April. My breath hangs like a light white cloud before slowly vanishing. I’ve got to move quickly before the morning sun chases away the dawn chill. My snowshoes are almost a hindrance now as much of the snow is gone, replaced by sopping mud and heaps of decaying leaves. I still wear them. I still need them to get to The Family Trees. (more…)

A small red bead floats in the dark as the girl I followed into the cellar inhales on her cigarette.

“What kind do you smoke?” I ask, feeling the brick of the wall behind me grind into my back.

“Virginia Slims. I think their ads are sexy,” she says.

I continue to sit and let the words drift around the blackness like the smoke she just exhaled. (more…)

“God has decided no man is worthy of the rapture. We are sinners and as such, must be judged. Give yourself to the Lord, that he may grant you life everlasting.”

“Jesus Christ was crucified, died and was resurrected to perform the work of his father. Our Lord now calls upon us to do the same, to allow him to use our earthly bodies as tools of his judgment, to allow him to take our souls to heaven.” (more…)

This is Somalia, land of tradition

A cock crows
beginning the fast
from dawn to dusk
sins burned away
the living pray. (more…)