Continued from Part 1

The Stryker careened around the corner and the men inside, packed so tightly that they could barely breathe, swayed back and forth into each other. It was an uncomfortable ride, but not a one of them would’ve preferred the alternative. The Gunny couldn’t really see much, locked as he was in the mass of men packed into the APC but he did spot some few details as it continued to roar away from the crowd of dead left behind. (more…)

With December upon us, take time to reflect on your preparedness for the Zombie Apocalypse. Also, take time to re-read these past submissions of tales centered around the holiday season:

THE SOURCE OF OUR TRADITIONS by Jay Smith

NIGHT OF THE FROZEN ELF by Richard S. Crawford

SATAN CLAUS by Tom Hamilton

HOME FOR THE HORROR DAYS by E. F. Schraeder

Sequel to Part II

I rationalize my serial theft from the quiet crypts of civilization by imagining myself as the inheritor of all those now dust. Perhaps not me, an old man, a relic, but Ferlita, at least. It is she who stands some chance of seeing our species coming back from the brink, she the one who may lead us back into the light.

The pattern of larceny, once begun, grows easier with repetition. The Kinneys, strange as we were, earned what we took, and were proud of standing on our own two feet. Aside from our trophies, we hated to borrow, rejected help, and bought only those things which we couldn’t gain by direct action. My primary action now is to think of things I can rob from the community chest and ways I can use those items to prosecute a war perhaps only myself and Ferlita have formally declared. (more…)

Also posted on Facebook

What music best describes to you the majestic horror of the fall of the world to the hordes? We’re not talking the hope of the few who survive, but the point at which evil reaches it zenith – what is Cthulu/a necromancer/the evil government scientists hearing in their head(s) when they realize their triumph? Feel free to submit a track or two in the comments.

Sequel to Part I

I don’t know how they hone in on their game. The workings of zombies are too esoteric for me, but I can tell you that within their cold husks, there are, indeed, workings. I bring the Suburban to a halt and pop my door. I reach back into the back seat and bring out the M14, inserting a magazine and ramming it home.

“Doors closed, hands over ears, kiddo,” I tell Ferlita. She puts her small palms over her ears and bites down. I slide the muffs over my own battered ears and sight down toward the hollow in front of my own ancestral house. There are twelve zombies milling about, but recently aroused from their aimless shambling by the sound of my truck’s exhaust. (more…)

So after much hand-wringing and an ill-timed work trip on your main editor’s part, we announce the contest winners for the second half of 2011, a scant 20 days late. We’ll try to do better next time. And an emphatic THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to all the authors and readers over the past months – it’s been a great batch of submissions, and we’re always loathe to rate them in any way.

1st place: Apocalypse and Andy, by T.J. McFadden

Runner up: …The One-Eyed Man is King by MadHarlequin

Congratulations to both. T.J.’s recognition is long overdue, and MadHarlequin’s tale was hell of a first story submission. We’re grateful to the two of you for your talents.

Pete Bevan’s collection of stories is now available in paperback form – ordering info for all formats on the original post.

She’d always said, “monsters aren’t real”
to comfort me when I called in the night.
She’d say,

“Ghosts don’t exist” and she’d
tweak my nose and chuckle and
call me Casper. (more…)

In the Everglades, deep in the swamps of Mississippi, you can find a structure that’s something between a junkyard and an homage to the Great Wall of China made out of rusted Volkswagen Beetles and other small sedans. This is where I encountered former pastor Thomas Lawerence, who preached at the Wade Baptist Church in Wade, MS. I found him with a handrolled cigarette in his mouth, something scribbled on it burning down slowly, leaving a small wisps hanging in the air, drawing out like his sentences accented by his southern drawl.

You have to understand, first of all, that this is only what happened with our congregation. I can’t speak for religious leaders or churches worldwide, or hell, even nation-wide, but if they were anything like us, there were reasons they were overcome by the dead. Just try not to make assumptions, and don’t let my opinion speak for what’s left of organized religion, or those who fell from it. (more…)

Zenith had planned this day for weeks, ever since he heard about the Blood Rains: the Second Step coming out on Christmas eve. He told his family not to plan anything until after 3 p.m. that required his showing up because he was dead set on seeing it opening day. They complied, as parents often do with a favorite firstborn. In their eyes, Zenith was worth the inconvenient delay of a few hours, so they placated his sisters with a morning full of carols and brunch and planned a festive family dinner together: no problem. (more…)

We saw them walking
hand in hand- the one, slightly
in front of the other.

We watched them walking,
just outside our garden gate,
past the old Winthrop house,
where Pine and Filbert

intersect. We felt
the crimson tracer tag
our retina’s. Mark
us Barska red for –

Stop, Miss Alba …please… (more…)