Huang’s World

June 30, 2009

Bombed Street

Picking his way through the deserted streets of Shang Hai, Huang crouched by a deserted fruit stall and scanned the road ahead. Even now, months after the Great Social Collapse, the city would echo as some unfortunate soul, alive or undead, stepped on an artillery shell or land mine.

Huang was experienced at living in the city post Collapse, he knew to stay on hard concrete and to not only stay away from impact craters, but to check the blast pattern and avoid any forward flung unexploded shells.

Seeing the street was clear he picked his road cones up and put them down twenty feet ahead of their previous position, expanding his sphere of non-exploding influence. Satisfied with the new acquisition to his domain, Huang strolled back to his house.

Walking in, he hung his hat on the zombie bolted to the wall and took his seat. Looking across the room at the zombies bolted, chained and fused into various household furniture poses he nodded. Outside the sun was shining on his newly expanded property.

He smiled, life was good.


Shakespeare and Some Monkeys

June 29, 2009

Abandoned Hallway

The two men walked down the dark, cavernous hallway, flashlight beams lancing out ahead, dragging a large metal box between the two of them.

“You know that phrase? The one about a hundred monkeys?” asked the first

The second man frowned “You mean a million monkeys? Give them typewriters and they’ll eventually produce the complete works of Shakespeare?”

“Yeah that’s the” Before he could finish the sentence a figure lurched out of the darkness toward them. Without hesitation the man leveled his shotgun at the zombies head and pulled the trigger. As the boom faded away he completed his sentence “One”.

“What about it?”

“Well, what would happen if you gave a million zombies typewriters? You think they would produce the complete works of Shakespeare?”

In the distance they could hear deep drawn out moans as the undead began to move toward the sound of the shotgun.

“I think they would eat Shakespeare”

Pulling a box of shells from his pocket the second man, began to reload his own shotgun. As he raised it to his shoulder he finished the conversation “Now shut up, concentrate and start killing zombies, if you get eaten I’m going to have to drag the damn box out of here on my own.”


Fallout Shelter

June 26, 2009

Fallout Shelter Sign

Sunday, day 2

Made it into the bunker! Had to fight our way through a small band of the dead, but we managed to get into the this old fallout shelter and seal the doors. Finally all 25 of us are safe until this all blows over. I sustained a minor cut to my arm from the break-in fight, its nothing though, not compared to Joey, damn they messed him up really bad.

Tuesday, day 4

Well I guess were not alone here, an exploration squad was down in the basement areas when they heard banging and moans from down there. That gives me the creeps, but they said they locked, bolted and barricaded the door so I’m sure were safe.

Tuesday, day 4, Evening

Soo tired, we spent the whole day hauling stuff around, barricading the lower doors and the entrances, I think we all got a little paranoid and just went nuts blocking all the doors. My muscles ache from all the lifting and the cut on my arm is itching like crazy.

Thursday, day 6

I am still tired from Tuesday, I guess the adrenalin, my beer gut and the lifting had a heavy toll on me. I think being cooped up like this is affecting me. Ive noticed I seen to drool a lot now and daydreaming,  i’ll just be standing around in my own little world until someone asks me to help out. I’m not even sure what I think about. Weird.

The food tastes like ash too, I could kill for a nice steak right now. The cut on my arm is looking a little Grey, it might be the light though.

Friday, day

I tired. Su tird. The others shouted as me day. Not sure why, I hunger still. The cut is fine now, both arms grey, so that’s ok.

Day day

Keep shaking. Cant stoop drowling. So tired so hungry. Must slep now

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Words of Wisdom?

June 24, 2009

Mountain View

Looking down from his cave high up on the mountain, the monk pondered life sadly. He had seen the world change in many ways yet still it remained the same. People had come to him seeking enlightenment. Then people had come to him seeking help. Finally they had come to him seeking shelter.

Every time he had advised “Move onward my child, staying still is the real danger. The storm is immense and its path of destruction will destroy any building put in its way, so move forward and enjoy the moments of safety when you find them.”

Of course, the advice he gave to others and the advice he gave to himself were different.

He looked down at the plain stretching into the distance. Even from this height he could see them roaming aimlessly, destroying plants, killing animals and polluting the water. He watched in fear, until, with a sigh he turned and went back inside his cave.

His home

His prison.


The Final Choice

June 23, 2009

Old Hut

Harold sat with his back wedged against the wooden door, feet pressed into the ground in front of him, pushing his full weight back, holding the door against the constant assault from the other side. He looked around the room to see Macy suddenly knocked back from the window she had been trying to block with a large plank of wood. Hoping she could hear his shout over the near deafening moans and roars of the surrounding horde he pulled his revolver clear and slid it across the ground to her.

Knocking into her hand she scrabbled for the pistol, aimed and pulled the trigger, sending a dark skinned zombie flying back into the night. Almost immediately two more appeared at the window, desperately pulling at the opening, and trying to drag themselves in. Another survivor, David pushed back from the door he was trying to hold shut, swung his shotgun up and fired a heavy slug into the head that had forced its way around the door frame. Lashing out he kicked the now lifeless head back and closed the door, sliding the dead bolt in place.

With a smash of splinters Harold was flung forward as something heavy slammed into the door with a deafening crash. Immediately Harold jumped to his feet and sprang back toward the door, only to meet it nose first as it swung inwards and two heavy set zombies spilled into the room.

Stunned, with blood pouring from his crushed nose Harold crawled toward Macy’s feet as she began to unload the pistol wildly into the doorway, killing the two zombies with two perfectly placed shots along with two more rounds out through into the night air and into the tightly packed throng of zombies surrounding the small hut.

She shouldered the door shut and braced herself against it, turning to look back into the room and hold the door in place. As his vision began to clear, Harold picked himself up, only to be struck again in the face as David’s shotgun was flung across the room with David quickly following locked in a hand to hand struggle with another zombie that had forced its way into the building.

Harold again staggered to his feet, only to find several zombies pushing their way over the now prone, but violently convulsing David as his life blood poured to the ground. Harold looked over at Macy, who wild eyed looked back to him. Tears falling from her eyes she whispered to him, her voice strangely floating clear over the background noise of the walking dead “I’m sorry”. With that she placed the pistol to her temple and pulled the trigger.

Harold watched in shock as blood sprayed back against the door and her lifeless body fell to the floor. Looking up he ducked under the swing of an approaching zombie, dropped to one knee and scooped up the shotgun. Pumping a cartridge into the chamber he leveled the barrel to his attacker’s skull and pulled the trigger. The boom set his ears ringing as blood, bone and hair shot across the room.

More zombies flooded into the room, their arms outstretched and pallid skin hanging loosely from their flesh. Harold pumped the shotgun one final time, reversed the gun to his mouth and pulled the trigger.

The gun clicked.

Wild eyed and desperate Harold again pumped the shotgun, aimed it to his mouth and pulled the trigger, again it clicked.

Harold’s screams echoed through the night air for a few agonizing minutes, until finally, he was silenced. If anyone had been listening, they would have heard a new voice added to the zombie horde as it milled around the deserted building. They stayed there for days, until finally one of the zombies spotted something in the distance and with a lurch, they set off in search of fresh prey.


Clear The House First

June 22, 2009

Old Axe

Swinging the axe high over head she slammed it home, deep through the zombies collar bone and down into it chest. It stumbled backward from the blow, tripping and smashing through the remaining stairs and dragging the axe back with it. Stepping back Marie breathed a sigh of relief as the next zombie tried to reach her and failed as its incomprehension to climb the shattered stairs resulted in it falling backward, knocking the next zombie in line to the ground.

As the stricken zombie tried to climb back to its feet Marie tried to grab the weapons haft as it weaved around the stairwell. Failing to grab the weapon, she turned away from the stairs and gasped in shock as the landing door opened and a large dull skinned zombie sporting a full set of gold teeth pushed its way through the doorway and reached out for her. She tried to slap its outreached hands away, failed to block its advance and was shouldered back from the landing and down onto the axe stricken zombie below.

Marie gasped as she landed hard on her back and pain flooded through her. Looking down she saw the axe haft protruding up through her stomach, covered in blood and saw more welling from the wound, rapidly spilling to the ground. She struggled to rise as the pain shot through her. Looking up she cried out in pain as the zombie beneath her began to bite into her back, tearing at her flesh as the large zombie from the landing above launched itself down on her.

The wooden haft smashed into and through the creatures ribcage and caught on its spine, suspending the zombie a foot above Marie who began to punch the creature face in final desperation. Slowly the weight of the zombie forced it down, pushing the haft through its back and with a tear, the shirt pulled tight across its skin ripped apart. With a dull thud the zombie fell forward, crushing Marie below it. The last thing she saw before her world exploded in pain was the zombies gold front teeth gnashing down toward her nose.


Mission “Glass in the bottom of their feet”

June 18, 2009

Old Light Bulb

Reaching up in the darkness, the figure unscrewed an old light bulb, covered it with his jacket and squeezed. He turned as it popped and scattered the broken glass across the stairwell landing.

“What on earth are you doing?” asked the second figure.

“It’s something I saw in a movie, you sprinkle the broken glass across the floor and, in this case, when a zombie walks through it, we’ll know and be able to hear it moving around,. You know, ‘cos the glass will be stuck in its feet.” The first figure whispered back while shaking the remaining glass out of his jacket.

“I see. And what, prey tell, do we do if there’s a zombie on the other side of this door?”

“Dunno, but that’s why you’re going in first Johnny, short straw and all that”

Johnny turned back to the door with a scowl, twisted the handle and quietly crept into the darkness beyond.