Written for Chuck Wendig’s Random Title challenge. The randomly-generated title of this story is, of course, “Grave Robber’s Sea”.
Warning: This story may contain disturbing imagery of death, zombies, gore, and other horrific stuff, and is not suitable for anyone. Reader discretion is advised.
Though she knew he was coming, Aimee shrieked as the serial killer burst out from behind the half-rotted pine log. A blade slashed past her face. She turned away instinctively, knowing what came next. Jack plunged the hunting knife into his victim’s abdomen.
The grip on Aimee’s wrist weakened. She fell to the muddy earth, sobbing. She turned away from Jack and his latest kill, trying to ignore the sounds and smells of blood and viscera spilling out of what had recently been a policeman, onto the swampy ground.
“This is how you do it,” said Jack. “No hesitation, no mercy. Just nature.” She heard his knife strike bone; ribs, she knew. “Aimee Dyer, are you paying attention?”
Continue reading “Grave Robber’s Sea”
A submission for Flash Friday volume 2-7. (This story got an honorable mention.)
Wind moaned through the empty streets. City plaza stood empty, except for the two newcomers — and her. She was an imposing figure, chiseled in stone in an era past.
“Why are we here?” asked Walker. “Who was she?”
Zed stood unfazed by the blustery winter wind despite his tattered jacket and threadbare clothing.
“She was a goddess. Or… a memorial to greatness.” Zed surveyed the empty ruins of the city. “These people obsessed over greatness. Believed in manifest destiny. Aspired to do great things. They never understood… their fate was the same as everything else. Simply, their only destiny was to die.”
The duo admired the towering goddess: her stoic face, gilded robe, and crumbling beauty. Zed scratched the peeling skin behind his neck, then grinned.
“Everything dies. In a way, we are Destiny incarnate.”
Walker laughed. “The Undead Republic.”
“Come,” Zed patted Walker’s bony shoulder. “Let’s find something to eat.”
Prompt: During the story, there is a birth. The story must have a zombie at the beginning. The story must involve a drum in it.
Years have passed since the zombie apocalypse wiped out most of the population. The few human survivors grow fewer in number with every passing year as they succumb to zombie attacks, injury, starvation, despair, and each other. Can anyone find peace in the post-Z world?
Continue reading “Deadbeats – A Zombie Story”