A Hero Among Us

“Kids these days, they’re really missin’ out, Ron.  Back when we was young, we had all sorts of superheroes to follow.  Superman, Captain America, even that plastic guy.  Each month was a new adventure.  They’d fight some super villain, and in the end the good guy always won.”  I say as Ron nods to appease me while tending to his grill.  “These days, we could use Superman.  He could take care of this whole problem in an hour.  And all he’d want in return was to see us smile and feel safe.  Wouldn’t even ask for any payment.”

Ron throws another fresh burger over the hot coals and stares past me towards the main gate.  As I continue, I am interrupted by a loud thud next to me.

“Would you mind keeping the guts away from my meat?” Ron asks his newest customer sarcastically.  The man responds by tossing his blood stained ZED into the nearby grass.

“Sorry, Ron, sometimes I forget where I am,” the man replied before removing his helmet and pads; placing his protective gear next to his seat.  “It’s just that I’m starving.  I worked up such an appetite today;  I got 27 kills on my own.  How’s about double bacon cheeseburger with the works, some fries, and a milkshake?”

Ron laughed as he served up a freshly cooked burger to the man and left him to eat.  He made his way back over to me and said, “Who needs Superman when you’ve got the Corps?”

Who Will Tell Our Stories?

Where have all of the great writers gone?  Aren’t there more stories to be told?  Just about the only way to escape the madness is to lose yourself in a good book.  I’ve read all of the books we have here.  I want new stories.

Over the years, the salvage teams supplied us with hundreds  of books.  The Zone’s library is pretty good, but  everything in it is old.  No one’s publishing anything new these days.  I guess it’s understandable with the undead around.  Where have all of the writers gone?  Are they off somewhere thinking up new stories?  Have they been taken?

I wish they were here.  They could just take a look around this place for inspiration.  We’ve got some real characters around here.  I hope where ever they are that they are writing.  Someone needs to tell our stories for future generations, if there are future generations.

The Repercussions of Choices

In the months since the outbreak, Charlie Mills had seen just about every horrific thing you could possibly imagine.  He watched as his wife was torn from his hands.  He saw friends kill their own family members.  He saw others kill themselves because they couldn’t take it anymore.  He became numb to it all.

Charlie found refuge with six dozen others outside Scranton, Pennsylvania.  The first months since the panic were not pleasant for Charlie’s group.  Each week their numbers would shrink while the monster’s grew.

It was mid-February, and there were now only seven left.  Food was scarce.  Heat was non-existent.  The only consolation prize was that as they sat there freezing, Zack was too.

Before the winter, there was talk of a safe zone near Syracuse.  They had even found a small plane and a pilot that was willing to make the trip.  There was hope.  On the morning of the first planned flight, word came down that Syracuse was overrun.  They stayed in Scranton.  They died.

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I Hate Erin McGraw

I hate Erin McGraw.

I hate her and her smiley-faced ZED.

I hate her and her smiley-faced ZED and that stupid nickname she gave me.

I hate her, her ZED, my nickname, and how she acts during missions.

I hate that I didn’t see that ghoul coming up from behind.

I hate how close to my head she swung that smiley-faced crowbar.

I hate that her ZED saved my life.

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Undeadstiny USA!

“We’ve got to call this place something. ‘Syracuse’ just doesn’t cut it anymore.”

“Hancock Internation-ghoul Airport?”

“No. That’s awful.”

“What about Zentral New York? Or Undeadstiny USA?”

“Yeah, that’s it! Let’s name it after a mall! I want serious suggestions.”

“OK, then what do you think of Zombiecuse or Zombiedoga County?”

“I like Unhhhnhhhhpstate New York better.”

“I get what you’re saying, but I’m all out of ideas.”

“I’ll know the right name when I hear it.  But Undeadstiny USA?  Really? There’s got to be something better.”

Prison Break

“James, they gonna be real mad at us if they catch us.”

“Then make sure you keep looking for them so I can dig. I can’t dig too fast with this spoon.”

Ever since he arrived, James had been looking for a way out. He tried to climb over the fence, but the barbed wire kept him locked inside. James and his crew longed for the freedom of life on the other side of the fence. He thought he had the perfect plan. He swiped a spoon from the cafeteria, and for the last few days had spent his free time digging a small hole under a secluded part of the fence while T and Wilson kept watch. 

Today was going to be the day. He could feel it.

He didn’t know what the outside world held for him, but that wasn’t going to stop him.

He had cleared enough room to barely squeeze his frame through when T yelled over to him, “James, quick! He’s coming!”

James tried feverishly to pull himself the rest of the way through the tunnel, but his pantleg became entangled in the chainlink. The rest of his crew ran. The guard grabbed hold of James’ leg and yanked him back through the fencing and lifted him up by his ankle.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, kid? You wanna be ripped to shreds? You’re coming with me.”

He then led James across Runway 10 and back towards the terminal.

The First Day

They came without warning, a never-ending tide of the undead. The military was unable to contain the explosion of the disease. The government packed up and headed west. They told us to evacuate the cities and wished us luck. The military was too busy trying to defeat the enemy to help with evacuations.

Flights and buses were few and far between, but that didn’t stop people from trying to catch a ride. Even if you caught a flight, there weren’t many safe zones left in the world. Jack Walker was one of the lucky ones. He had a seat on the last flight out of Syracuse. It was headed for rural Montana.

Another passenger, Bruce Schick, tried selling his seat to the highest bidder in the crowd that had gathered. He was betting that this wouldn’t be the last flight out of Hancock.

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