“Mother,” asked Seymour, “what are you doing out of bed?”

The old woman didn’t answer. She was carrying a lit wicket inside an archaic, silver, antique candle holder and the hot wax was dripping down onto her wrists. There was no need for this of course as the hallway was already ablaze with light courtesy of the best bulbs which G.E. had to offer. Plus the cold afternoon sun, which was brightened by the high piles of leftover snow outside, shone fearlessly through every available pane. (more…)

“Mr. Whelan, Mr. O’Keeffe, why do you persist with this ludicrous idea of returning to Dublin? Even on some amoebic intellectual level you pinheads must understand that Dublin is shut to us forever. It is home only to the teeming dead. Teeming! Pressed tightly together in the parks and thoroughfares. Moaning beneath the statues of our baffled Patriots. Staring myopically at nothing. Bereft of stimulus. Swaying in the wind from the Dublin Mountains. Sodden and mildewed by the rain off the sea. There is nothing for you there anymore my little ex-junkie friends. I’m afraid you can never go home. Don’t ask me again.” (more…)

The sky was a mottled gray-blue, growing little brighter with the coming dawn.  There were still patches of snow in the corners of the courtyard of Barbour Middle School when Brian pulled into his usual parking space in the third row. He eased the old brown Volvo station wagon into Park, grabbing his dented brushed stainless steel mug and his worn leather messenger bag after the engine settled down and stopped. As Brian walked across the wet parking lot, he looked up at the old, two story brick relic of the late 1950’s. The first white “r” and the dot above the “i” had peeled away from the sign on the front of the building, showing a rusted casing beneath. The concrete gutter above the roof over the entry walkway had crumbled a little more over the winter, and snow-melt was dripping from the roof onto the middle of the pitted sidewalk. Despite the superficial flaws, Brian loved the old school. He just hated having to do all of the dirty work. (more…)

Mummy and Daddy have stopped shouting at each other and now I am just bored again. My DS has run out of battery and Dad didn’t pack the charger for the car. He shouted “There are more important things than your bloody DS!” at me when I asked if it was in the boot. In fact this is the worst car journey I have ever been on. We have been stuck on the motorway for hours with nothing moving, and the girl in the car next to ours keeps making faces at me and sticking two fingers up at me. Spotty cow. (more…)

..as I trudged through the tall snow, the wet fire of exhaustion steaming out from my mouth, I knew that I couldn’t stop: the temperature was supposed to top 40 degrees Fahrenheit and some of the snow was already starting to melt. The blizzard had been the only thing slowing the living dead down. They couldn’t move very well through the high drifts with their brittle limbs and stiff muscles. As afraid as I was of them, I had to admit that they were slow and their problem-solving skills were very rudimentary. One could literally stand and watch them flail around in the thick powder, panic blazing in their hell burned eyes like a soul drowning in fire. (more…)

Eram quod es, eris quod sum. “I was what you are, you will be what I am.”

The thing about zombies is that they are as eternal as the waves pounding the strand, the sun beating down on your back as you walk through yet another deserted street, the paranoia that has become ingrained in anyone who’s managed to blunder along though yesterday and somehow made it to today and wants to make it to tomorrow. It only takes one to start the cycle all over again, only takes one to undo all we’ve created and the War starts all fucking over again. (more…)

John hopped around in panic. He had scrambled down the alley in hope of escape and found the end blocked. Turning he saw a group of Zombies round the corner, see him, and start to advance with that guttural growl. Fear rose in John’s throat and frantically he tried to climb up the sheer wall but couldn’t find a handhold in the well pointed brickwork. (more…)

Sequel to TRANSMISSION

John had always been impatient. He hated waiting. Not just the “Oh I can’t stand waiting around” type of hate, but the physical, makes you want to punch a wall in anger, hate. He just couldn’t stand the thought of waiting around for anything. If he needed something, it had to be straight away. (more…)

As everyone knows, documentation detailing the original outbreaks in the United States is sparse at best. Attached is one of the more complete records of an initial outbreak in 2011-2012.  The chain shows the source of the May 2012 Flushing Outbreak, one of the first outbreaks in New York City that attracted media attention.

Monticello Tribune article, November 15th 2011.

No sign of missing hunter near Lake Louise-Marie (more…)

For the last hour or so, I have been waiting for my daughter to show.  She’s supposed drop by with my medication and some groceries, and she had better do it quick, because the cupboards and the refrigerator are damn near empty.  I look at the clock and it reads ten A.M.  She always comes by at nine; it even says so on that dumb “Memory Board” my nurse has posted in every room of my house.  “Friday at nine A.M.-Jenny visits.” (more…)

The heat of the morning sun forces me from my canvas home and out onto the flat gravel world. I drink greedily of my meagre water and wrench the two foam stops from my ears. The low monotone rumbles becoming distinctive moans from my dead neighbours below. My heart sinks.

I crunch across the gun shop roof towards the door, locked and wedged shut with my heavy pack. Sliding it out of the way I listen. Six days of scratching and shuffling becomes seven and I don’t know if I have the will to open the door. Slowly, I turn the key and hear excitement rise from below. Hesitantly, I open the door and the carpet of foetid stinking hands below grasp through the broken stair well to the bottom edge of the door, hunger increasing every day. I close the door quickly, lock it and wedge the pack back against it. One more day trapped in my new home, my new prison. (more…)