In the corner of this room
a chair made of wood
where I sit at eventide
to watch the shadows flood. (more…)

Cord should have been sleeping off the previous night’s overindulgence. Instead he slouched over the bar, his clingy black T shirt felt too small and his jeans were tight enough to feel like they played an integral part in keeping him upright. He only had to nab a few photos then he’d go home. His feet pushed onto the chrome edge of the bar stool for balance as he listened to the bass line of the third song in the Gatekeeper’s set. Listened was an understatement. He felt it vibrating up from the floor through his seat. He set his right foot down on the floor and felt the surge ripple up through the thinning sole of his faded black converse and move up from his leg to his stomach. Pounding. Maybe the pumping line of pure rhythm would give him the energy to get up and snap some shots. (more…)

“Gotta stop the bleeding” I tell myself. “Gotta stop it or they’ll find me.” They can smell it. They can taste it in the air. “Gotta stop the bleeding.” I say again in a nervous whisper. It’s been two months, three days and “Shit, it’s almost evening already.” I say, looking at my watch thinking of how long it’s been. No one saw this coming and I definitely wasn’t an exception. (more…)

All chapters in the “Hunger” series

Chapter Six

Horst was the first to open fire into the oncoming crowd of Ornel’s former inhabitants. The round from his K98 Mauser slammed into the throat of an limping, groaning man and whipped his head back like it had been hit with a board, spinning him partially around. But within seconds he had turned towards the makeshift barrier blocking the road and continued his advance. Burkhardt glared at him. “Dumpfkoff! Scharfuhrer Dietl told you to aim for the head! We’ve only got a few rounds between us!”  (more…)

The outrage was immediate and intense.
There were riots in the streets.
Lower courts had ruled that zombies
had no civil rights. They had rights when
they were alive, but those rights were lost
when they died. (more…)

‘To bottomless perdition, there to dwell’

For a few seconds he dozed in that wonderful head space between consciousness and unconsciousness. He was warm and well rested, the Egyptian cotton enveloping his form. Then, one by one, each fresh injury made itself apparent. There was a slightly twisted knee here, a bruised and slashed shoulder there, a jaw ache, and a muscular twinge under his shoulder blades. The peaceful feeling left him and he tried to turn over to see if that orientation was more comfortable. As he turned a pain shot through his cheek and he realised the pillow was stuck to his face, a consequence of the weeping graze from his fall from the estate wall. The plasma had formed a crust inter-weaved with the soft fabric of the expensive down pillows. (more…)

SEQUEL TO PART 2

I watched as a patch of bog, brown on brown, oozed like lumpy liquid from a drainage ditch. It took me a moment to recognise it as human. I wasn’t sure if it was some lost, crawling corpse or if it was that little teenage waste of space. To my joy it was the latter. I didn’t realise it but I’d actually been looking forward to this. I moved deeper into the shadows and watched him crawl across the open ground and into the trees. The eejit must have thought he was invisible because of the mud; John feckin Rambo. I let him come.

Once again the pine needles dampened my footfalls nicely as I ran at him from behind, but at the very last second he heard me and turned; startled. He only had time to raise his machete in self-defence before I shattered his wrist with the bog oak. The blade went flying. I rotated with the swing and burst his nose flat on the return journey. He hit the ground without bending and didn’t move after that. (more…)

SEQUEL TO PART 1

I hadn’t pumped near enough juice to keep us in the air for more than a few minutes. We could land safely anywhere; in a nearby field or something, but we’d never take off again with empty tanks. We didn’t want to lose the Cessna so we had to return and finish our refuel. Weeks beforehand we had discussed the possibility of this very situation and we developed a procedure to deal with it.

“D’you remember the plan?” Greg shouted. I sat on the floor where the right hand seat should have been and tightened my leg straps. He poked at the fuel gauge to illustrate the gravity of our situation. “Just coax them away from the runway long enough for me to land. You’ve already kung-fu’d over half of them so the rest are probably quite demoralised already. Keep out of their mitts and I’ll be down directly!” (more…)

I’m Richie, and this is my little brother Greg. I’m the eldest and he’s the youngest. We’re all that’s left of the five Byrne brothers – but you know the way it is; you know the story. The other three are dead I imagine; dead and wandering in Canberra, in London and in Vancouver, along with their families. But I try not to think about it; it’s too unsettling.

We’re in a bit of a mess at the moment, Greg and I. I’m sitting in the pilot’s seat of our parked Cessna 206 and I’m waiting for the first glimmer of light to wash into the eastern sky. When it does I’ll attempt to drag this aircraft skywards for one final flight. Hopefully to a place where Greg can get some help. He’ll be okay if he’s seen to; he’ll pull through, but I fully expect to be dead by this afternoon. Thankfully he’s out cold, I think, and unaware that I’m fatally damaged, but I can’t turn around to see. Quite frankly I don’t believe I’ll ever leave this seat alive, no matter what. (more…)