Johnny was the one who told me that she was still alive. “But don’t go over there.” He cautioned, turning his back on me as he walked across the room. When he got to the window he told me that he thought they had all the women they needed. He had even seen two teenage girls walking down the street unhindered. (more…)

The first indication Gil Pevney had that anything was wrong was when the power blipped, just past 3:30 am. He was sitting in the station’s small common room with his feet up on a table eating his lunch: a sardine sandwich. It was a little silly to call a meal eaten at that hour “lunch,” but as it was the second meal of his day, “lunch” would have to suffice.

“Aw, shoot,” he said as darkness enveloped him. He waited expectantly for the backup generator to come online, and relaxed when he heard it powering up, exactly as it was supposed to do. The generator at the transmitter shack a mile or so away would be doing the same, he knew. Sure enough, within 15 seconds of the outage, the lights came back on. The security lights outside in the parking lot stayed dark, but this was no surprise. They were off the main circuit and wouldn’t come back until full power returned. Gil glanced around while the fluorescents flickered back into life, waiting for further problems, but nothing else happened. It was unlikely that any listener would notice the brief signal drop-out. (more…)

As I wandered back into the Hotel St. George, it was summer, and my mouth was still sticky from the wine tasting next door.  Pete, Pete, possibly the greatest human that had ever lived was there, in the doorway, holding his cart, his beads around his neck.

He did look a bit like a homeless person, but he was not.  He was so “not homeless” that it pissed me off when he was regarded as such.  He was old, weathered, educated, alive.  “Helooooo, Ryaaaaaan, how are you?, are you getting good maaarks in your school?”, he dragged every word out, each syllable passing through its own accent, French, Jamaican, English, erudite, academic, compelling.  This man could read the phone book to me and I would sit, glassy eyed and cross legged in front of him until the birds stopped singing. (more…)

Trevor pushes a button on the cassette recorder. The tape begins turning. Grunts and growls, like some wild beast rooting in the forest, crawl out of the tiny speaker. What follows is a meaty tearing noise, with chewing and slurping. Then a voice comes from the past. (more…)

“Viruses mutate. They branch off through natural selection and evolve continuously. Microscopically, each new strand might look almost identical to the original, but the effects on the host can be radically different. Look at the Human Herpes Virus: HH1 is genital herpes, HH3 is chickenpox.”

I remember the lessons of my senior year biology seminar often nowadays. I wonder where Professor Schneiderman is now, if he’s still alive, still explaining virus behavior to a bunch of starving survivors. Probably not; most likely he’s dead and feeding on those starving survivors. I load my make-shift crossbow, take aim, and shoot–another undead falls and three push to take its place. (more…)

Since working out exactly how to close the metal security gates at the entrance of the Triggs hypermarket, our group of seven had been huddled in the men’s clothing section, toward the back of the store. We each stared off in our own thoughts for a time. The only sounds came from the mall area. Out there, the children shimmied up and down the front gates, hacking and whooping with those croup-like coughs. (more…)

I knew right away I wasn’t human.
But it took me nearly a quarter-million years to discover what manner of creature I truly am. I am a virus.

A virus is a genetic code without a body. Not even one cell. A single-celled organism has more of a body than a virus. A paramecium has more of a form than a virus. A virus is a parasite. A virus requires a host. A victim, if you please. (more…)

When the Cloud came it brought life to those who ought not have it anymore.

So Edwin Prace naturally headed off towards the cemetery.

He had three cans of free flowing salt with him, seventy-eight ounces in all, not counting the handful of little packets collected in his truck’s glove box from the drive-throughs of various fast food restaurants.

He hoped it would be enough. He said a little prayer, just in case. It serve well to be caught without enough salt when the Clouds came. (more…)