Tag Archives: Zombie Flash Fiction

New Moon – A Flash Fiction Zombie Story

9 Oct

I stare out into the night, but it’s pitch black. While the sky is clear, it’s a new moon, so there’s no light to be had apart from the distance star-shine, and that’s so faint it’s of no help what-so-ever. When the moon is full, or even just a narrow crescent, you can see them as they creep towards you under cover of darkness, the light glinting off their sallow, sagging flesh, making it seem like they’re glowing from within. I know it’s just a trick of the light, but it still sends a shiver down my spine every time I see it. Even though they’re dead, it seems they still have some intelligence. They know we can see them in the daylight and they lie low, hiding in dark, damp places waiting for nightfall before they emerge. When the sun drops below the western horizon, the main sense that keeps us safe, our eyesight, fails us, and we are rendered blind as they are. This levels the playing field and makes it easier for them to catch us by surprise. The darker the night, the more actively they roam, moving amongst the trees and across the open ground, hunting us no matter how hard we try to hide, and nights when the moon is new are the worst. Those are the nights when they swarm through the inky blackness in unimaginable numbers, wearing the night like an invisibility cloak; they attack our defences, trying to overwhelm us, pushing forward, searching for a weak spot where they can break through. They attack in small groups, swiftly and silently. If the defences hold, they disappear back into the darkness to regroup before we have a chance to kill them; if the defences don’t, they make it inside. When they do, they howl with delight as they surge through, drawing more from far and wide. We know we have mere seconds to neutralise them and restore the barricades before we’re overrun, and yet we have to do it without being able to see our hands in front of our faces, let alone each other or those who are attacking us. These are the nights we dread, and yet they come, regular as clockwork, once every twenty-eight and a bit days. We don’t need to mark them off on a calendar, we can just watch the moon expand and contract as the inevitable night of pure darkness approaches yet again, knowing what is coming, knowing that each month we’ll be lucky to make it through that moonless night unharmed. Every time the new moon comes, our numbers shrink. Sometimes we lose only one or two, at other times it’s too many to count. We’re being whittled down, new moon by new moon and it seems there’s nothing we can do to stop it. How many more we will survive, I don’t know, but one thing is certain. Eventually, a new moon will come which sees the last of us wiped out, and when the sun rises the following morning, it will shine on a world where were we are gone, and all that will be left of humanity is them.



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From the author of For Those In Peril On The Sea, a tale of post-apocalyptic survival in a world where zombie-like infected rule the land and all the last few human survivors can do is stay on their boats and try to survive. Now available in print and as a Kindle ebook. Click here or visit www.forthoseinperil.net to find out more. To download a preview of the first three chapters, click here.

To read the Foreword Clarion Review of For Those In Peril On The Sea (where it scored five stars out of five) click here.

Stairwell – A Flash Fiction Zombie Story

25 Sep

There’s a noise above me, or is there? I know they’re coming up behind me, chasing me, but fear strikes deep inside me as I realise they might be ahead of me too. I look up, craning my neck, but I can’t see anything. The stairs twist and turn, and just as I can’t see those coming up from below, I can’t see if there are any in front of me. Am I running towards more danger, even as I try to escape from the danger which is following me already? I’d pause and listen, but if I do that I’m dead because those who are pursuing me will catch me and rip me limb from limb. I know this because I’ve seen then do it to others. That was when I started running, somehow ending up in the stairwell where I’d started to climb. I began on five and now I’m twenty floors up with maybe another fifteen to go. I’ve given up trying to get out. The doors which provide access at every floor only open from the other side, designed to let people out in an emergency and not let them in. This means I’m trapped on the stairs with only two options: up or down. I can hear the howls and roars of my pursuers echoing up from below, bouncing off the bare concrete walls, disorienting me, robbing me of the ability to tell which direction they’re coming from. Why on earth did I choose up? Was it some sort of innate instinct that told me up was best? Maybe it was a lingering primal urge from when we used to live in the trees that made me want to climb in order to escape. Whatever the reason, I know now that it was the wrong decision. I should have gone down. Why the hell didn’t I go down? I could have been out on the street by now. But then again, would the street be any safer? Surely they’d be out there, too? I reach yet another landing. The number on the wall says twenty-one. My lungs are screaming from the exertion, my legs aching, but I know I need to keep going. Now I’m here, I have no choice. I glance upwards. Was that a movement I saw? A flickering shadow indicating that they’re up there, too, waiting for me? Or was it just my imagination? I’m running on fear and little else. My mind’s racing, but I can’t think straight. I look backwards. From the sound coming up from below, I can tell they’re closing in on me, but I can’t tell how close they are. They don’t seem to tire, they don’t pause, even for a moment. As I slow with every step, they seem to speed up. I can’t see them, but I know they’re there; I can hear their feet pounding on the stairs. I start climbing again, no longer even knowing where I’m going or what I’m going to do once I get there. All I can concentrate on is trying to escape, on keeping them out of sight, hoping against hope they’ll finally give up, even though I know in my heart that they won’t. I hear the noise again. I can tell that it’s closer, but I still can’t tell where it’s coming from. What can I do, but keep climbing, hoping that somehow I’ll manage to escape, even if I know that I won’t? It’s either that or I give up, and there’s something embedded in my very soul that just won’t let me do that. So onwards I go, knowing I’ll keep running, keep climbing until I can go no further. With no way out of the stairwell, what else can I do?



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From the author of For Those In Peril On The Sea, a tale of post-apocalyptic survival in a world where zombie-like infected rule the land and all the last few human survivors can do is stay on their boats and try to survive. Now available in print and as a Kindle ebook. Click here or visit www.forthoseinperil.net to find out more. To download a preview of the first three chapters, click here.

To read the Foreword Clarion Review of For Those In Peril On The Sea (where it scored five stars out of five) click here.

Silence – A Zombie Flash Fiction Story

28 Aug

I listen intently, but hear nothing. I glance round, wondering what caught my attention enough to wake me but not enough to have me grabbing my axe and leaping to my feet. Once sounds in the night would have been the sirens of fire engines or the rattle of the last train pulling into the station behind my house; now they’re more likely to be the low guttural moans of the dead as they hunt the living. I hear the sound again, and realise what it was that woke me in the first place – just the cry of a fox out seeking a mate. I fall back onto my mattress, trying to get some rest but knowing I’m now too much on edge to get back to sleep before dawn.

I lie in the dark, thinking about how the world sounds different now: no more jumbo jets roaring overhead as they start their descent into the airport across the river; no more taxi engines idling below my bedroom window while they disgorge their laughing passengers; no more car doors slamming in the night, or car alarms going off in the small hours of the morning; no more kids kicking an empty tin can down the street or drunks screaming at each other outside the pub across the road. I’d hated all those noises before everything changed, but now I’d give anything to hear them again. Now all I hear is the silence of the deserted city, weighing me down, stifling me, only broken by the occasional cry of an animal or, more frequently, by the sound of the dead as they stagger through the streets in search of flesh. I don’t know why, but every now and then they let out a groan or a snarl, each one setting off the next in some ungodly chain reaction. If I didn’t know they were dead, I’d have sworn they were communicating, letting each other know where they are and whether they’ve found anyone to feast on or not. If they could communicate, it would explain how so many turn up so suddenly the moment one of them works out where you are, but surely being dead they couldn’t be doing anything as purposeful as that, could they?

The fallen city surrounds me, fencing me in on all sides and this means I must keep quiet too: never speaking, being careful where I tread so I don’t send the creak of a loose floorboard out into the night and towards those long dead but ever-listening ears, making sure I make no noise at all. All I can do it cower silently in my attic, where I’ve been since it all started, working my way through my ever-dwindling supplies, hoping against hope that the dead will somehow disappear before the last of my food is consumed and I’m forced out into their world by the need to find more. If I have to do that, I know my silence will no longer be enough to keep me safe, as it has done all these months, because even though their eyes are dead, somehow they can still see, and it’ll be only a matter of time before I’m spotted. Then, as they descend on me, heads thrown back, roaring to let others of their kind know food is near; the chase will begin, and it’s one I know I’ll never win.



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From the author of For Those In Peril On The Sea, a tale of post-apocalyptic survival in a world where zombie-like infected rule the land and all the last few human survivors can do is stay on their boats and try to survive. Now available in print and as a Kindle ebook. Click here or visit www.forthoseinperil.net to find out more. To download a preview of the first three chapters, click here.

To read the Foreword Clarion Review of For Those In Peril On The Sea (where it scored five stars out of five) click here.

Leaving – A Flash Fiction Zombie Story

1 May

I move from the barricaded windows back towards our bed and kiss her as she sleeps. I’ve loved her for as long as I can remember but now I’m abandoning her when she needs me most. I look down again at the now-festering bite mark on my arm. How could I have been so careless?

***

Flash (or micro) fiction aims to tell a whole story within a specific short word limit. This was one I wrote for the Zombie Authors blog, a site I’d highly recommend visiting, and it was first published there on the 21st of March 2013. The word limit for this story was 55 words and ou can find the original post here. You can also down load a PDF of this story can be downloaded from here.



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From the author of For Those In Peril On The Sea, a tale of post-apocalyptic survival in a world where zombie-like infected rule the land and all the last few human survivors can do is stay on their boats and try to survive. Now available in print and as a Kindle ebook. Click here or visit www.forthoseinperil.net to find out more. To download a preview of the first three chapters, click here.

To read the Foreword Clarion Review of For Those In Peril On The Sea (where it scored five stars out of five) click here.

Survival Skills – A Flash Fiction Zombie Story

17 Apr

Something’s wrong. I can’t put my finger on what yet but I’ve always been able to sense when things are amiss. It’s what’s kept me alive since the dead unexpectedly and inexplicably rose from their graves. Some saw this as a sign of the Second Coming and ran forward, arms open in greeting; no sooner had this welcoming committee reached the no-longer-quite-so-deceased than they were devoured. The dead might be dead but it hadn’t dented their hunger and it seemed that, above all, they craved human flesh. Maybe they just wanted what they no longer had – blood coursing through veins, a still-beating heart, a brain sizzling with electricity.

Once the true believers had been consumed, the dead turned their attention to the rest of us: chasing us down, pursuing us like prey. They might stagger and stumble but they’re relentless; grinding down your resistance day after day after day. When it started, the army were sent in to stop them but soldiers are trained to kill and they didn’t know quite what to do when faced with an enemy that was dead already. This is not to say they didn’t try, they did; it’s just they didn’t do much good. After that, it was every man for himself or, in my case, every woman.

Suddenly I realise what’s wrong: the birds have stopped singing and the forest around me has fallen silent. That, I’ve learned, is a sure sign the dead are approaching. I freeze, listening, trying to work out where they are and how I can escape one more time. I don’t really know what I’m doing but I must be doing something right; after all, I may well be the only one still breathing in this world where the dead now stalk the living.

***

Flash (or micro) fiction aims to tell a whole story within a specific short word limit. For this one, the target was 300 words and it comes in at 296. A PDF of this story can be downloaded from here. Other flash fiction and short stories which I’ve written can be found here.



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From the author of For Those In Peril On The Sea, a tale of post-apocalyptic survival in a world where zombie-like infected rule the land and all the last few human survivors can do is stay on their boats and try to survive. Now available in print and as a Kindle ebook. Click here or visit www.forthoseinperil.net to find out more. To download a preview of the first three chapters, click here.

To read the Foreword Clarion Review of For Those In Peril On The Sea (where it scored five stars out of five) click here.

Three Men In A Boat – A Flash Fiction Zombie Story

3 Apr

There’s three of us crammed into a row boat built for two, floating in the middle of the mill pond. It seemed like such a good idea when we scrambled into it to escape the horde of undead that descended on our village without warning but now we realise it was the wrong thing to do. We can see the zombies crowding the nearby shores, moaning and shuffling, surrounding us on all sides; they know we’re here, they can sense us but they can’t get to us so it seems like we’re safe. Yet, there’s no way we can escape either and we don’t have any thing we can eat. All we can do is huddle together, making sure the dingy doesn’t drift too close to the shore and hoping that somehow, someone comes and rescues us.

***

Flash (or micro) fiction aims to tell a whole story within a specific short word limit. For this one, the target was 150 words and it comes in at 137. A PDF of this story can be downloaded from here. Other flash fiction and short stories which I’ve written can be found here.

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From the author of For Those In Peril On The Sea, a tale of post-apocalyptic survival in a world where zombie-like infected rule the land and all the last few human survivors can do is stay on their boats and try to survive. Now available in the UK, and available as an ebook and in print in the US from the 21st March 2013. Click here or visit www.forthoseinperil.net to find out more.

To read the Foreword Clarion Review (where it scored five stars out of five) of For Those In Peril On The Sea click here or visit https://www.forewordreviews.com/reviews/for-those-in-peril-on-the-sea/

The Bookshop – A Flash Fiction Zombie Story

20 Mar

I don’t feel hungry anymore; I haven’t since yesterday morning. I guess after a while your body just gives up expecting food. It must be different with water though because my thirst keeps getting worse. I need to do something about it or it’ll drive me mad but that would mean going outside; Mark did that the day before yesterday and he hadn’t made it more than a few feet. I’d rather die in here than go outside and face them – but god I need something: beer, wine, Coke, anything. Hell, I’d probably even take a Pepsi. This thought makes me laugh. The old world’s gone and yet the advertisers still have their hooks in me.

There’s a half-hearted bang on the security shutter: they know I’m in here but they also seem to sense I’m close to death because they’re losing interest. At first, when I was still strong, they hammered on it almost continuously and I was sure they were going to break through. Mark was still here then so maybe that had something to do with it. We’d worked together in our tiny bookshop for six years and while we’d never had many customers, enough came through the door to keep us afloat; just. At first we thought we’d got lucky, getting the shutter down in time to stop any of them getting in but after a few hours we realised we should have run the moment they first appeared. Instead we’d locked ourselves in and we were now trapped in a room filled with nothing but books and they wouldn’t help us survive; I know because I tried eating a couple of pages from The Raven on the third day to see if it would ease my hunger – It didn’t; it just made my stomach hurt. That’s when Mark got the idea of making a break for it into his head. I did my best to talk him out of it but his mind was set, so as quietly as possible we’d inched the shutter up just enough for him to slide underneath before I slammed it down again, and that was the end of Mark.

***

I’ve been sitting with my back against the counter for almost a day now; too weak to move. I wonder how many others there are like me: trapped and dying while they roam the streets outside. How many, like Mark, had tried to run? How many had been killed? I’m guessing all of them. Yesterday, when I could still stand, I’d peeked through the little gap in the shutter. I found if I moved my head around I could see most of the street. I could see where the pieces of Mark’s body were strewn across the pavement. Much of his flesh was gone, either torn off as he was killed or chewed off when they fed on him afterwards. I saw two of them too: crouched down, picking away at his skull. One poked at it with a bony finger causing Mark’s left eye to pop from its socket. It dangled there for a moment, swinging back and forth, before it was bitten off and swallowed.

A thought occurs to me: it mightn’t have been painless but at least Mark’s death was quick. If I was braver I’d pull up the shutter and take my chances with them rather than just sitting here, doing nothing other than dying; but I’m not – I never have been. All I can do is wait for death to come and wonder how long it will be before I’m finally free.

***

Flash (or micro) fiction aims to tell a whole story within a specific short word limit. For this one, the target was 600 words and I think it comes in at 598 so I was pretty close. A PDF of this story can be downloaded from here.


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From the author of For Those In Peril On The Sea, a tale of post-apocalyptic survival in a world where zombie-like infected rule the land and all the last few human survivors can do is stay on their boats and try to survive. Now available in the UK, and available as an ebook and in print in the US from the 21st March 2013. Click here or visit www.forthoseinperil.net to find out more.

To read the Foreword Clarion Review (where it scored five stars out of five) of For Those In Peril On The Sea click here or visit https://www.forewordreviews.com/reviews/for-those-in-peril-on-the-sea/