Sequel to CONSEQUENCES

John slowly awoke. It took him several seconds to remember where he was. He was used to waking up in a strange house or in the back seat of a car but this was the first time he’d woken up in a helicopter.

Rubbing his tired eyes, and stretching as much as he was able in the cramped confines, he looked out the window at the countryside passing by. Every now and then he caught sight of a zombie stumbling across an empty field. For some reason they never seemed to look up and notice the helicopter. (more…)

A town at last! thought Cory as he looked down the hill at the buildings. The last few days wandering around the countryside had been peaceful but unproductive. Amongst the trees and fields there were no supermarkets or shops to loot, and he was down to his last tin of food. He got it out of his rucksack; there was no label on its silvery surface, it could be anything. Vegetables, fruit, dog meat; he’d eaten them all in the past. He was tempted to open it but decided not to; for all he knew the town might have been stripped of everything long ago. He noticed a few thin trails of smoke coming from the town, drifting into the sunlit sky. Cory lifted his binoculars; perhaps the town wasn’t dead? He’d come across a few settlements in the years following the day of rising; none had lasted long. The zombies overwhelmed some and everyone fled in a panic, but equally as often human folly was responsible for the downfall. Petty jealousies, greed, stupidity; all had caused organised groups of survivors to collapse into anarchy. Sadly for Cory, the few settlements that had persevered didn’t welcome outsiders. That’s probably the secret of their success. (more…)

“Hello, my name is Billy, and I am alive,” I say, as I do every week at these stupid-ass meetings.

“Hi, Billy,” the soft, sad voices of the eight other victims on stage with me echo through the mostly empty auditorium.  When the defeated speak in unison, the sound has no power to uplift.  In fact, it’s almost like a moan from my past.  I shiver as the soft breeze of a lost memory drifts just out of reach. (more…)

Thursday
April 20, 2003
5:23 PM

Two hours ago I killed my husband. Tom Everett Manning. He was 36 years old, a teacher at Mission High School. He had a masters in US history, and was under contract by a publisher to write a Civil War novel. Historical fiction was what it was. He was writing a romanticized account of the life of General Chamberlain. (more…)

“Why is it that the women who are so fuckable are always so fuckin’ insane?

“This last one was a real nutter.  I met her at a bar at the hotel where I was workin’ on assignment.  The place was full ‘cause of  the convention, and she walked in with the tightest little…well, I know I sure as hell wasn’t the only one lookin’.  (more…)

Exposure. That was what they called it in Mother Constance’s Kingdom of God. God ruled and Mother Constance was his Primate, Holy Reverend Mother to her people and a shepherdess to her flock. Wolves in sheep’s clothing were to be exposed and put out of the fold. Exile by any other name in the Zombie-Apocalypse was just as cold.

It was murder. (more…)

1

I drag a moist towel across my forehead and squint into the big brick oven. Hickory pops and crackles in the back corner of the deep fireplace below and keeps the oven at a stable 400 degrees. I double-check the little stainless steel thermometer, something I dug out from the charred ruins of Luigi’s Pizzeria.

The House smells yeasty, pungent and a little sour. Very slowly the aroma of crusty bread begins to claw at that sourness until it chases all but the last wisps of beery dough smell away. A sponge – that is a bucket filled with wet flour, sugar, salt, and yeast – bubbles and rises very slowly on the floor beside the table. I made this sponge with the last of our dried yeast a year and a half ago, but I’ve managed to keep it alive and flourishing, irrespective of the persistent chill, near constant rain, and perpetual threat of starvation urging me to cook the whole thing at once. (more…)

Hello all,

Your editors are once again running a bit behind on reviewing stories for publication and for the contest. So give us your patience, and we will give you more posts. Like this next one from Jeffrey DeRego.

-ed.