‘To bottomless perdition, there to dwell’

For a few seconds he dozed in that wonderful head space between consciousness and unconsciousness. He was warm and well rested, the Egyptian cotton enveloping his form. Then, one by one, each fresh injury made itself apparent. There was a slightly twisted knee here, a bruised and slashed shoulder there, a jaw ache, and a muscular twinge under his shoulder blades. The peaceful feeling left him and he tried to turn over to see if that orientation was more comfortable. As he turned a pain shot through his cheek and he realised the pillow was stuck to his face, a consequence of the weeping graze from his fall from the estate wall. The plasma had formed a crust inter-weaved with the soft fabric of the expensive down pillows. (more…)

SEQUEL TO PART 2

I watched as a patch of bog, brown on brown, oozed like lumpy liquid from a drainage ditch. It took me a moment to recognise it as human. I wasn’t sure if it was some lost, crawling corpse or if it was that little teenage waste of space. To my joy it was the latter. I didn’t realise it but I’d actually been looking forward to this. I moved deeper into the shadows and watched him crawl across the open ground and into the trees. The eejit must have thought he was invisible because of the mud; John feckin Rambo. I let him come.

Once again the pine needles dampened my footfalls nicely as I ran at him from behind, but at the very last second he heard me and turned; startled. He only had time to raise his machete in self-defence before I shattered his wrist with the bog oak. The blade went flying. I rotated with the swing and burst his nose flat on the return journey. He hit the ground without bending and didn’t move after that. (more…)

SEQUEL TO PART 1

I hadn’t pumped near enough juice to keep us in the air for more than a few minutes. We could land safely anywhere; in a nearby field or something, but we’d never take off again with empty tanks. We didn’t want to lose the Cessna so we had to return and finish our refuel. Weeks beforehand we had discussed the possibility of this very situation and we developed a procedure to deal with it.

“D’you remember the plan?” Greg shouted. I sat on the floor where the right hand seat should have been and tightened my leg straps. He poked at the fuel gauge to illustrate the gravity of our situation. “Just coax them away from the runway long enough for me to land. You’ve already kung-fu’d over half of them so the rest are probably quite demoralised already. Keep out of their mitts and I’ll be down directly!” (more…)

I’m Richie, and this is my little brother Greg. I’m the eldest and he’s the youngest. We’re all that’s left of the five Byrne brothers – but you know the way it is; you know the story. The other three are dead I imagine; dead and wandering in Canberra, in London and in Vancouver, along with their families. But I try not to think about it; it’s too unsettling.

We’re in a bit of a mess at the moment, Greg and I. I’m sitting in the pilot’s seat of our parked Cessna 206 and I’m waiting for the first glimmer of light to wash into the eastern sky. When it does I’ll attempt to drag this aircraft skywards for one final flight. Hopefully to a place where Greg can get some help. He’ll be okay if he’s seen to; he’ll pull through, but I fully expect to be dead by this afternoon. Thankfully he’s out cold, I think, and unaware that I’m fatally damaged, but I can’t turn around to see. Quite frankly I don’t believe I’ll ever leave this seat alive, no matter what. (more…)

Hue Citadel, Republic of Vietnam.

May, 1968.

I’m not going to deny it. I absolutely love this shit. Tim Page said it best when he told some REMF reporter asshole back in Saigon, “Some folks had happy childhoods. The rest of us had Vietnam.” Truer words were never spoken. This place is hotter than hell, malaria is everywhere, the bugs are everywhere, and you can’t trust a goddamned soul when it comes to the locals. Our own government is supporting the most corrupt pile of sonsabitches that ever drew breath, but to tell you the truth? Hell, I’d rather be here than covering some jive-ass assignment back in the World.   (more…)

Gravel crunched under Ford’s boots as he walked along the road’s sunken shoulder. Marshall idly kicked a pebble off the asphalt as he kept pace with his younger brother. It took two of Marshall’s strides to keep pace with Ford. The brothers had the same brown hair and brown eyes but over a foot in height separated them.

Marshall squinted in the sunshine as he scratched his chin in thought. He had to keep the game going or Ford would win again. (more…)

Mommy says I have to always be quiet like a mouse so they won’t find me.

David remained quiet and still as he surveyed the dark aisles of the long abandoned grocery store. Sunlight filtered through the still intact wire clad glass at the front of the store allowing David to confirm that nothing moved. He silently climbed down from the hole in the ceiling and glided down the aisles pausing every so often to listen. The only bodies in the store were the dry long decayed jumbles of bone and clothing that posed no threat. (more…)

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…)

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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.