Zombie Apocalypse Now!
Date: 2015-10-07 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Zombie Apocalypse

Zombie Apocalypse Now! Part 1

Rachel Tsoumbakos

COPYRIGHT © 2015 by Rachel Tsoumbakos

MYRDDIN PUBLISHING GROUP

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used factitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organisations, or persons, living or deceased, is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this manuscript may be used or reproduced in any matter whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or review. For information contact the author at mrs.zoomby@live.com.au

BLURB

Four women find themselves in the middle of the zombie apocalypse. Each from different backgrounds and locations, they somehow manage to find each other.

ROSALYN has recently lost her husband and we discover her in the opening scenes, having to defend her house against a zombie child. She has spent the first part of the zombie apocalypse holed up in the roof cavity of her house with a stockpile of food and nothing but diverted rainwater to drink. She may be quiet, but she sure is resilient!

BERTA: Say hello to the last surviving crazy cat lady of the apocalypse! Stuck in her home with only her cat, Martin, for company, Berta plots an escape. She plans to rescue Mrs. Chin from across the street also.

It's a shame nothing goes according to plan...

PIPPA: It's not the best time to be bringing a baby into the world, but somehow she is determined to survive childbirth and the zombie apocalypse. While searching for food, she comes across a zombie in a bank, They get to know each other through the bullet-proof glass.

It’s all fun and games until the zombie realises someone left the door open though...

TATIANA: She's your hooker with a heart of gold. Chain smoking, stiletto wearing and still taking customers...

Australian Slang Glossary

Zombie Apocalypse Now! The complete Series is set in Australia and, considering I’m Australian, I have fought to keep the feel of the Australian manner of speech across all my novels without making it overwhelming for a broader audience. However, I have allowed some Australian slang to bleed through into this novel and, as a result, have included some of the more common Australian expressions here (both from this novel and my other titles) in this glossary to make it easier for the worldwide audience.

Arvo – short for afternoon

Ciggies – short for cigarettes

Pokies – Australian term for slot machines. It can also refer to a venue that has these machines. i.e. “I’m going to the pokies.”

Servo – Gas or service station

Cuppa – short for ‘cup of tea’ or ‘cup of coffee’. i.e. “Would you like a cuppa?”

Biscuit – cookie

Commission housing/houses – housing owned by the government of Australia and rented to people in crisis situations (i.e. single parent, disability, mental issues) at a subsidised rental rate

RSL – stands for Returned Services League. This is a large group within Australia consisting of returned war veterans. In the instance of its usage in Unremembered Things, it refers to the local establishments known as RSLs. These are bars and pubs owned by the Returned Services League and are open to the general public. Many towns across Australia will have a local RSL where you can go to drink liquor or to buy a meal even if you are not a member of the Returned Service League. If you can prove you are a returned war veteran of the relative of one, you are eligible to join for a yearly fee. This will entitle a member access to discounted rates at RSLs as well as access to the courtesy buses offered if you live within a certain distance from your local RSL.

Kingston – a popular biscuit/cookie variety that consists of two small coconut and oats cookies wedged together with chocolate cream

Please let me know if I have missed any terms you may not be familiar with and I will promptly update this glossary. You can email me at: mrs.zoomby@live.com.au

And after these things I saw four angels standing on the four corners of the earth, holding the four winds of the earth, that the wind should not blow on the earth, nor on the sea, nor on any tree.

~Revelation 7:1-17

PART ONE: In The Beginning…

In The Beginning….ROSALYN

When it first happened there was panic. Then there was fear. And finally there was killing. Lots of killing. Some of it wasn't even the zombies fault! My best friend Clara was killed by her neighbour, Albert. He took a pitchfork to her and stabbed her in the guts so many times she looked like a cartoon character. I was that far beyond crazy as I hid in the roof and peered out into Albert's yard that I wondered if she'd look like a fountain if she was given a drink.

Yeah, fucked up, I know. It wasn't long after that, while the flies were still buzzing around Clara's bloated corpse and I was starting to get worried about my lack of supplies, that a real zombie visited Albert. It turns out he was the fool my mama always pegged him for. He stuck the zombie with his trusty pitchfork. Trouble was that poking them in the guts does nothing but piss off the undead. That damn thing screamed and yanked the fork out of its intestines and poked poor Albert right back. Hard. Right in the same spot he'd poked it. Albert squealed and tried to run but the puddle of blood at his feet made him slip as he turned. That zombie was on him like cheese on a cracker.

I couldn't help myself. Even when I saw the look of panic in his eyes - and for a moment I even thought Albert saw me up in the hole in the roof - I still couldn't look away. Death is funny, you know. I felt like a voyeur. Like some sort of sick bastard perving down at Albert. To see him in the final throws of death was horrific and yet I still kept thinking about how embarrassed I was to witness it.

All this time later it still hasn't changed.

It took me two weeks to get up the courage to come down out of that roof and make my escape. The roof had those in-built stairs, so I was safe enough while up there, but the trouble was, food was running out. Water was okay though, since I'd diverted the down flow pipe. Still, it took me two days to build up the courage to lower those stairs and climb down.

The house was so silent. Off into the distance I could hear the occasional moan, but inside it was like a tomb. The thought made me shudder. Being as silent as I could while my whole body whimpered in fear, I inched towards the bedroom. While I needed food, it was probably safer to pack a bag first before venturing down to the first floor and possible doom.

Every noise, every creak and groan the house made were like bullets through my brain. I was sure to be the only person to die of a heart attack during the zombie apocalypse! It was only three measly metres from the rickety stairs that were my only safety net and my bedroom. It seemed to take a week to travel that distance.

My room hadn't changed a bit. When I entered it, I was shocked. For a world that had gone from normal to chaos in just under a month, it was strange to find everything still in its place here. I picked up a forgotten jumper and hugged it. Tears were something I could not afford yet.

THUD!

I had to be quick! A moan erupted after a second thump. I was unsure if the zombie could smell me or if it was further on up the street; noise always had travelled weirdly from upstairs. I would have to wait until I reached the kitchen to find out if I was a potential snack for the undead.

Quickly, I pulled a backpack from the wardrobe and loaded it up with as many pairs of jeans, t shirts, jumpers and underwear that would fit. It didn't take long to fill the bag. Ducking into the dark en suite, I snatched up two tubes of toothpaste, my stubby toothbrush and an unopened package of citrus scented soap. It wasn't much, but space was at a premium.

Shrugging on my backpack and grabbing another bag, I exited my bedroom for the very last time. I didn't look back; I had nowhere to go but forward.

The kitchen. Just when I thought the stairs leading down to the ground floor were scary enough, I realised I had to slide open the door to the tiny kitchen. The muted thudding was increasing in volume. Every now and again I heard a moan, but the closer I got to the kitchen, the quieter the creature was.

I stopped and listened. It was definitely my house the zombie was targeting. Fear made me want to run and hide. Hunger, instead, grabbed me firmly by the shoulders and yanked me forward.

Slowly. Ever so slowly, I reached for the handle. The door stuck as I gingerly pulled at it. Taking a deep breath, I stilled myself and tried again. The door rattled a little but shifted on its rollers this time.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

Stepping through the door, I unzipped the large black sports bag and turned left towards the walk in pantry.

Shit!

The moaning intensified when the creature saw me. Although, perhaps it didn't really see me with its milky eyes, maybe it only smelled me as I approached. Either way, the thudding turned into a frenzy as it tried to butt its way through the door. I counted my lucky stars for Max who lived next door. Only six months ago he'd kicked a football over the fence and through the glass door now in front of me. I sure did whinge at the time about having to replace the old (non-regulation) glass with new and improved tempered safety glass.

It was the only thing that saved me now. I tried not to feel sorry for Max as he butted at the door now.

Swallowing back my terror, I scuttled across the kitchen and opened the pantry door. Inside was the stale smell of old bread and mouse droppings. I covered my nose and pulled out every tin I could find. At the very bottom of the pantry were two casks of water. Ten litres, that's all I had. How far would that get me, I wondered. Sobbing, I grabbed it and the bottle of cooking sherry next to it.

My last stop was the medicine cabinet. It was a high cupboard situated over the top of the oven. I grabbed a chair and dragged it across the kitchen, trying not to look at the slavering beast still butting it's skull against the glass. The chair skittered and scraped before banging into the cupboard beneath the stove. The pans rattled and clanged inside.

Jumping up, I plonked the heavy bag onto the stove top and yanked open the cabinet. Swiping my hand across the shelf, I cleared it in seconds.

And in those seconds, I heard the safety glass shattering into a million little non-threatening pieces. It turned out to be the most dangerous sound in the world.

In The Beginning….BERTA

I can hear Martin. He is scratching and hissing at the front door. The thumps are not his. Those noises belong to the beasts outside. I still can't bring myself to say out loud what they truly are - even if it is only to Martin. That would make it real. I am a coward like that.

"Martin!" I hiss the word, too scared to go and retrieve my cat, yet thinking he'll listen to my voice.

He ignores me. I am too far away, up here on the second floor, for him to hear me apparently. His scratching intensifies. I hope I can keep him safe. Does he miss Heidi, I wonder as I wait in the dark.

I turn away from him, feeling safe in my tiny little house. Instead, I bring my attention to the window. Being this high up, I can see across the street, across the abandoned tram lines to the shops opposite. Every night, as the sun is setting, I sit here and wait, watching. Each night I hope to see a face in the window above the Laundromat.

Mrs. Chin is her name. I have lived here for fifteen years, Mrs. Chin has lived here longer than that still, and I never did find out her first name. Every Wednesday, I locked up the shop downstairs and took my laundry across the road. She was always there, making extra money by ironing shirts as the customers needed them. Constantly smiling and asking how Martin was, and yet, not once, did I care enough to ask her about her family. There was one occasion when I saw a small boy playing cards as she worked. Mrs. Chin spoke to him harshly in Mandarin and the boy quickly packed up his cards and ducked behind the curtain that separated the shop front from the stairs leading up to their living quarters. Was he her son, or her grandson? Maybe now I'll never know.

Ah, there she is. I raise my hand and wave at her. She smiles and frantically waves back at me. Her English has always been broken, and now it seems so too is her writing skills. I lift my white board and hold it to the window.

'How much food do you have left?' It reads. I know the answer, yet still I ask.

'No much food.' Is her answer. I want to correct her phrasing. She pulls down the board and crouches over it. 'How Martin?'

'He eats mice mostly.' I answer.

It makes me sad. Soon there will be nothing left for either of us. The twilight is quickly turning to full blown darkness. I scribble my final message for tonight. 'When are we going to leave?'

Mrs. Chin looks at the sign for the longest time.

'Day after tomorrow?'

I nod at her. She nods back before she pulls her blind. I am alone again.

"Martin!" Bravely I call out this time.

There is a soft whimper as he hears my voice and then one final hiss. I hear soft padding as he makes his way up the stairs. A meow arrives before him and I reach out to pat him as he leaps onto the bed. He purrs as I scratch all his tickly places. Curling up, we both fall asleep to the sounds of moaning coming, constantly, from outside our safe haven.

Blinking, I am awakened by a scream. Leaping up, I am out of bed, spooking Martin as I bound. He skitters off down the stairs. Gone to check on his undead thing at the front door, no doubt.

My first reaction is to look across to Mrs. Chin's window. Her face is there already, a pale mirror image of my own fright.

Another scream.

I look lower, down into the middle of the road. Where the trams used to run there is a car. It wasn't there yesterday. A man is standing on the roof of it. Once more he screams. I hear his words this time.

"Is there anyone there?"

Mrs. Chin is unclicking the latch to her window. My fingers itch to do the same. A moan distracts me. It's coming from the demon at our door. It has moved out into the road. Finally, I now have a face to put to the creature that has butted at our door for nearly a week. I can hear Martin, frantic, as he tries to claw open the heavy wooden door.

The man on top of the car is an idiot, I decide.

"Hello!" Mrs. Chin has opened her window.

Her arms are out and waving madly at the man. He sees the zombie but turns at the sound of another human voice. I think it is a mistake. While these undead freaks are stupid and only have one thing on their mind, they can be remarkably fast if their target is free from obstacles.

The creature hits the car with enough force to rock it. The man on top roils and his feet dance briefly as he attempts to steady himself. One step, two steps - the world holds its breath - and then there is no roof of the car left for his feet to stand on. His arms swoop through the air, looking for something to grab. He hits the ground but I do not see if he is injured, since the car is in the way.

I watch with morbid curiosity. He is certainly a goner, I decide.

"Hello?" Mrs. Chin again.

I am confused though; her voice is softer, lower. My eyes whip across to her window. Her curtains flap in the breeze, but she isn't there. A sick feeling starts to creep up from the bottom of my stomach. It rises as my eyes lower to the Laundromat window.

There she is. Her door is open and she is beckoning to the man who is now cowering behind his car. The zombie has gone back to being stupid. It can smell live brains, but can't work out where they are. There is hope for this man yet.

I see him rise and then bolt for safety. Like a flash he is through that door, knocking poor Mrs. Chin over in his blind panic. The zombie sees the movement and groans with apparent joy as it lopes across the deserted road. Mrs. Chin is shouting in her native tongue. I cannot see the man any more. She pulls herself back and is clawing at the door. The zombie is quick and sure of his target.  Closer it gets, Mrs. Chin is now screaming. Her hands grab at the door, her legs swinging behind her. She pushes hard and the door closes.

Or it would if the zombie didn't have a foot in the way.

My hands go up to my mouth and I suck at my fingers in sheer terror. There is more scrabbling at the door. I can hear Mrs. Chin's screams as well as the moans of the hungry zombie. A brush at my ankles and I jump before realizing it is only Martin. I scoop him up and look once more out the window at the macabre show on display.

I am sick at what I see. The zombie is literally chin deep inside Mrs. Chin's head. I gag and Martin yowls in fury. He sees the creature below and he hisses and spits at it.

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. Looking across, I see the man. The stupid cowardly man who caused the death of the only other person I know personally who is still alive in all this mess. I duck out of the way, feeling the need to hide from him. Even as I move, I know I am too late. I am sure he has seen me. Hiding behind the green curtain, I can still look out and see the remains of Mrs. Chin.

I also see the zombie pushing open the door. It hasn't forgotten its first target.

Feeling more brave, I move the curtain ever so slightly and peer across to the open window. The man is still there. From his vantage point, he has no idea he is now sharing the building with a zombie. Smugly, I smile. I hope the zombie gets him. Perhaps, I shouldn't be thinking this way, but I am bitter at the needless death of my neighbour.

Selfishly, I am also aware that once the zombie is upstairs, I will be able to escape in the man's car.

Freedom.

Mrs. Chin and I had been planning for this. Now it looked like only I would get the opportunity to leave this place. Would I find others? Surely I would. But would they be like this new man? All mean and ready to trip over the next person to ensure their own safety?

It was a risk I would have to take. My meagre pantry held only baked beans and two more tins of cat food. It may be the first and last chance I have.

I rushed about my small home, grabbing food and underwear and cramming them all into a large suitcase, the kind that had wheels. At the last minute, I fetched Martin's cat carrier and a large jug of water. I was ready. Coming back to my bedroom window, I perched myself on the edge of the bed and waited.

And waited.

And then I even waited some more.

It took that damn zombie over four hours to work out how to use the stairs. I was pretty sure the man knew what was happening. There was no other reason to climb out the tiny window. In his panic he never even did the math. I watched for only a moment as that zombie tried to tear the man's brains out through his arse.

It was now or never.

Finally, I had the courage to run.

In The Beginning….PIPPA

(Diary of Pippa Roscoe to her unborn child)

January 22rd

(41 days after the first reported outbreak)

Little One,

It’s time to stockpile. You are growing so quickly inside me and it won’t be long before I can’t get around without risking our lives. I need to find as much food as possible and store it here. I’m not sure how safe this house is, but I am eternally grateful for Greek neighbours and their impenetrable fences.

If I take their car, I should be able to pile it up with enough food to last us until the birth. There is not much petrol in the car, so hopefully I can make it back in one trip. Maybe I’ll come across a servo somewhere that still has fuel? One can hope can’t they?

There’s still no word from your father. I fear for his life. It’s been eight days now and no sign. I wish he’d taken the walkie talkie I found in the Spiriopulous’ shed.

Honestly, though, I always thought a trip to the Forensic Unit in Morristown was a bad idea…

However, he insisted on going, sure that Walter Shipley would still be there and able to help.

But with what?

Love,

Mamma Pippa.

Milky eyes. I reached up and poked at one. The zombie snarled and moaned, her hands slapping at me. A brief shot of confusion darted across her face, the shortest, sweetest moment of clarity and then back to being a plain old stupid zombie. I ran a finger down her face. A hank of hair, matted and clotted with old blood was stuck to the fetid greyness of her cheek. She growled at me again. Her hand reached up and smashed against the glass. It made me jump. I stumbled a little before regaining my feet. One hand clasped at the wooden bench behind me, the other absently rubbing at my swollen belly.

For hours I had been standing here. I was both repelled and intrigued by the woman. For weeks I had been squirreling around in these shops, mainly looking for food and clothes as my belly expanded. Today was different though. I was getting bored with my surroundings. The constant moaning of hungry zombies was starting to mess with my head. It was either explore new territory as a distraction, or go stark raving mad. I wondered at how long I would be able to negotiate the narrow laneway behind the strip of shops. My belly was growing, and felt awkward only because I was used to being thin and agile. Being a ballerina was like that. But in another month or two, besides the risk of getting stuck, becoming clumsy and slow was my main concern. I was stockpiling in an attempt to combat this.

The woman groaned at me, licking her lips and the glass in the process. Dark blood oozed out from between her teeth and was slathered across the glass. I gagged. Yet, still I watched. Leaning forward, I licked the glass also. The zombie moaned louder and smashed her head hard against mine. So hard that when she pulled away, I could see where the bones in her forehead had caved under the force. The creature seemed stunned for a moment. Her tattered clothes indicated that she'd once worked in an office, perhaps even here in the bank. Her black jacket looked like it had once been expensive. She still wore one high stiletto, so her gait was more pronounced than normal.

CRACK!

Her head hit the glass once more. I felt the reverberation through my hand as I stroked the glass. This hit knocked the zombie out cold. I mashed my face up against the, clear surface and peered down at the woman. Her left leg had snapped just below the knee as she'd fallen, so was now bent at an obscene angle. They must have brittle bones, I decided as I stared at the unfortunate woman. She didn't move.

Was she dead?

Or should that be more dead than normal?

My face flattened as I pushed myself as close as I could. There was absolutely no movement. Not a breath taken. Not one little twitch. I tapped once on the glass, holding my breath while I waited.

Nothing.

"Hello?" My voice scratched from lack of use. I coughed and cleared it before trying again. "Are you okay miss?"

There was a small squirm in the pit of my belly. I rubbed at my baby. "Hush, little one, mummy's okay."

But was I? I hadn't seen a living person for over a month. The last animal I saw was a fat ginger cat. That had been more than two weeks ago. I'd watched as it ran along the wall on one side of the narrow lane behind this building. It had been hissing and yowling at a zombie. I wasn't sure what the dead thing was following, but it sure wasn't interested in the animal. This seemed to irritate the feline, no end. In a last ditch attempt to get the attention of the undead, the cat had taken a flying leap and landed on the zombie's head. This confused the hell out of the stupid creature. Its hand reached up and slapped at itself. The cat dug in its claws and hung on for dear life. It was no match for the dead thing though. It ran straight at the wall. The cat was crushed. The zombie had looked down at the lifeless critter, took a sample of the animal’s brains, shuddered and moved on.

I couldn't bear to travel up to that end of the lane any more.

The lack of people was starting to scare me. Was I the only one left? My baby and I.

A week ago I'd thought I'd heard a car. Nothing had come of that. Maybe my mind was starting to play tricks on me. Although, having broken into the bookstore two days after that, I had discovered that pregnant women can be prone to having incredibly vivid dreams.

And now I was just plain bored. Complacency was beginning to set in. I looked at the zombie again. It hadn't moved. Surely it was dead. The last bash to its head must have completely caved it's skull in and killed it. I still wanted to know for sure.

Inching backwards, I scanned the room. This had recently been a bank. It was madness when it was looted. I had cowered in the dress shop two doors up, hiding like a small child in the centre of a clothes rack. People had thrown chairs and screamed and took large amounts of money. It got out of hand quickly. The bank staff which didn't flee were slaughtered.

It was amazing how quickly you could adjust to the smell.

I stepped around an upturned desk and nearly slipped on a pile of home loan pamphlets. A multitude of smiling faces looked up at me. Happy families smirked at me through the dust and dirt and blood. I stomped a little too hard on their cheery, papery faces.

Exiting the teller’s booth, I pulled at the heavy security door. A display stand was the only thing that prevented the door from locking. I'd put it there for ease of access. Poking my nose around the door frame, I saw a dead body. That's not where the zombie should be. I was confused. Stepping out, I realised my mistake. This was merely the bloated, decaying body of one of the bank staff. It was hard to tell who it was, but it had to be someone I once knew.

I tried not to think about that too much.

Moving forward, I pushed aside a desk chair and made my way to the other side of the bullet proof glass.

Still no zombie.

I was beginning to get a bad feeling about this.

My breath quickened.

A scamper behind me.

I whipped my head around.

Nothing.

I was beginning to lose my nerve. Quickly, I started to make my way to the other side of the room, eager to be out of the place now. The exit I needed was only metres away. I hurried but tried to remain sure-footed.

More scampering.

I didn't glance back. It was time to keep my eye on the prize. I could see the door I needed. It was a mere seven or eight steps away. I counted carefully in an attempt to distract myself from the soft noise behind me. The sound I was trying to convince myself was not a small moan.

Four steps to go.

My breath was ragged and caught in my throat. I was not crying.

Two steps.

My arm reached out, eagerly clasping for the door handle.

One step to go. Safety was mine.

I'm not sure what happened first; the screech or the feel of the cold scabby hand around my ankle, but the effect was still the same.

I screamed, not quite ready to die yet.

In The Beginning….TATIANA

The stars were bright and winked at me knowingly. I scowled and tried to ignore them as I blew smoke rings. Each circle perfectly sailing through the last. It had taken me weeks to get the hang of it. But now I had all the time in the world for things like that.

Tap-tap-tap-tap.

Instinctively I rose and made my way back inside. It was so nice up here on the roof, in the dark. It felt safe. I'd shimmied down the metal ladder and was half way across my lounge room before realising that that wasn't a john at the door, it was a goddamned zombie. How they managed to make it up the narrow staircase, I could never work out.

While inside, I decided not to make it a wasted trip and pulled another beer out of the bathtub. There was no hot water and no electricity now, so cold water and the tub were the only way of chilling beer now. Passing the kitchen, I also scrounged through the barren pantry. It was a choice between spam, tinned tongue and a packet of Easter eggs I'd found wedged under one of the aisles in the supermarket. I'd eaten one egg the day I'd found it, the chocolate was all mottled with age, but it still tasted good. I pushed aside the treat and pulled out a tin of tongues. While it wasn't appetising, it was all that was left in the store now.

The stars. I never got sick of the stars now. I stayed up all night (through habit and my trade) and slept all day. The nighttime was now my only friend. It was so lonely now, I even missed my clients; even the sickos.

The zombie continued to butt against the door. It made me miss the old times. All the crazy, funky things this apartment had seen. I smiled, wishing, for about the thousandth time that there was still a stash of weed behind the statue on the mantle. At least there were still cigarettes. Maybe for not much longer though. The shop two doors down only had a couple of cartons left and the last one I'd bought back was dry and stale.

The beer was good. I drank half of it before attempting the tongues. The rest of the beer was good for getting rid of the taste of the meat afterwards. Lighting the last cigarette in the packet, I realised if I wanted those last few packets of smokes, I'd need to get them tonight. While zombies didn't seem to sleep, their sight seemed to be better in daylight, so it was less risky to travel by night. Not that scurrying over the rooftops and shimmying down drainpipes posed much of a risk in the zombie department.

Standing on the very edge of the roof, I peered down over the town I'd come to know as home. It was black. Mostly. In three spots, I could see the glow of life. Two people had candles burning. The gentle flicker bounced off the walls of their confines. The other light was more consistent. Maybe a battery operated lantern? Every night I watched these signs of life; the signs of the living. Once I’d called out, but no one heard me. Or no one listened anyway. At the same time I threw my cigarette butt over the edge, one of the candles was blown out.

I sighed and went to get ready.

Pulling on a pair of old leggings, I caught my eye in the dusty mirror. I scratched at my hair and decided it was time to try and work out how to get into the chemist from the roof. Three inches of regrowth was just not acceptable! I could live without acrylic nails and foundation, but once a blonde, always a blonde.

I tugged on my camo high-heeled boots. I'd bought them two years ago to go with some matching shorts. There was a john who liked his women all military, I was happy to oblige; kinky role-playing paid better after all. Who would have known they would turn out to be so hand during the apocalypse? Checking the heels, I noted I hadn't cleaned all the zombie brains off from the last time I'd staked one through the noggin. Gross. I really needed to clean that once I returned. I wasn't sure how contagious the virus was, so there were no taking chances.

Pulling the two-toned hair back, I wrapped a tie once, twice, three times around it and reached for my lippy. It was habit. If I couldn't have colour in my hair, it had to be on my lips. Grabbing a large tan satchel, I swung it over one shoulder and across my body. Inside it was a torch and a kitchen knife.

"Taaaaaattsssss.....!"

What the fuck?

I whipped my head around, towards the moan. Did that zombie just say my name?

My heels clicked on the floorboards as I marched to the door. The sound seemed to enflame the zombie.

"Tiiiiiiittsssssss.......Taaaaattssssss.....!" It was followed by a strangled moan.

I felt ill.

There was only one john who used to like to make fun of my name.

"Peter?"

The word was out before I even realised I'd thought it.

Silence.

Tip-toeing, I carefully made my way to the front door. There was a little peephole there. I leaned over and pushed aside the red cover. The sight was gut-wrenching.

"Heeeelllllpppppp....meeeee....." his voice trailed off. He thudded his head against the door.

"Pete, you know I can't let you in," I replied softly.

I sat down at the foot of the door, my head resting on the cool wood. The tinned tongue was threatening to reappear after seeing Peter. How could he change so much? He'd always been handsome. So good looking in fact, that I couldn't understand that first time, why he needed a hooker. Then he explained what he liked and I understood. Most girlfriends won't change a grown man's diaper.

"How long have you been like this?"

"Nnooooo..."

I wasn't sure what he meant by that. So I kept talking.

"Honey, I am going to open this door, okay?"

"Ttttiiiiittttsss.....?"

"Yeah, baby, you can see Tat's tits," I replied. The tears were threatening. "You can have a real good look. But only looking, okay? No touching?"

"Uuuuuhhhh....." That was probably a yes. It didn't matter; I was too busy wiping snot and tears on the bottom of my black singlet. One last sniff and I stood up. Peeping out the little window, I could see Pete as he shuffled from one foot to the next. Oh my god, he was feeling himself! I shuddered and swallowed back the tinned tongue.

"I'm opening the door now, Pete," I said, turning the lock. I tucked my bag behind me, not wanting to give him something to grab onto.

Pete was silent.

"You still there honey?"

"Uuhh...huuuuh..."

"Okay, Pete," I replied. The tears had returned. I sobbed once more. It was a wretched, choking sound. I eased the door open.

The zombie formally known as Peter stood as still as the statue I hid my weed in.

Not looking a gift horse in the mouth, I lunged at him.

My aim was true, even as I hobbled on my one remaining high heel. The other shoe was now protruding from the middle of Peter's skull.

He looked surprised. And then sad. Finally, he crumpled to the ground.

I pulled my shoe out quickly and swiftly slammed the door shut, locking it.

"Fucking zombies," I muttered.

PART TWO

Tatiana Runs Out of Cigarettes

“Shit…shit…shit!” Tatiana muttered to herself. There were definitely more cigarettes the last time she was here. She scraped her arm across the shelf one last time and was rewarded with nothing more than a Quitline card. She flicked it across the room in disgust.

Turing, she scanned the store. Someone else must be hiding close by. Tatiana was both excited and scared by the prospect. While she hadn’t met another human being since the apocalypse, she’d assumed there were others like her. There had to be. The notion that she was the last person – woman or man – standing chilled her to the bone if she stood still and thought about it for too long.

She had to be careful. Time was fast approaching when she would have to move on and search for more food. Was there any more food left anywhere else? Maybe that was why her cigarettes were going missing now; someone else had run out of food in their area and was moving further abroad in their search. How hungry were they now? How hungry would she be when she finally moved out? What then? How long would it take her to turn savage over food?

So many questions. She shook her head and trued to think about something else.

The small corner store was as quiet and still as when she’d first entered. It didn’t ease her fear that she was no longer alone.

Taking her bag, she made a final trip around the few cramped aisles, looking for the last of the food, looking for the somebody else she now both feared and welcomed. She took more than she normally would; now she knew she wasn’t the only customer. Mostly, it was tinned corn and beetroot, along with the seemingly constant supply of canned gross-meats – all the things she didn’t like. She took a large bag of Doritos when she found them stuffed under the till. They had been opened (probably it was the cashier’s snack for quiet times); but the owner had clipped them shut with a large peg. They would still most likely be stale, but she was eager to give them a go. If only there was some salsa left. She scurried around in the supplies room, but not a jar of sauce could be found. She pouted before leaving.

Max came at her quicker than she thought possible. His gait was all crooked, and even though he veered off across the room at one stage, his eyes never left her.

Still hoping for an escape, Rosalyn dropped her bag of clothes and threw the heavier, food-laden one at the little freak.

It missed.

She scowled at the sound of the shattering sherry bottle and then there was the assault of the scent of alcohol. Stepping from the tall chair, she was now on the kitchen bench. It was the only thing that stood between her and Max. Her sneakers stuck and screeched at her as she sprinted across the marble bench. She jumped through the kitchen door and dashed for the stairs.

What the fuck?

How did that zombie get there? Rosalyn shuddered at the thought of sharing the house all this time with the undead and not even knowing it. She got a quick glance at it and realised it was poor Max’s mother. Oh yeah, she had a key. Could zombies even use keys? It was a thought for another day.

Turning, Rosalyn hurried down the hall. Moans followed her but she was too busy dodging furniture to check out how close the pair was.

Quick! Think, Rosalyn, she frantically thought. Where can I hide?

The bathroom!

She made a sudden right turn and slammed the door behind her. It wouldn’t stop them for long, but it might buy her an extra second or two. Down the dark hall, she sprinted; her heart thumping about in her chest like someone was playing basketball with it.

There it is!

She dived through the door and slammed it shut behind her, leaning on it for one short, sweet moment while she caught her breath.

Tatiana couldn’t believe her luck. Peter had still been carrying his car keys. It was so horrible to have to go through his pockets, but driving his black Navara was worth every grave-scented moment of the search.

She hummed along to Bon Jovi and smiled like a mad woman. What were the odds of finding a car with petrol and one with enough power to go off road when a traffic jam occurred?

Maybe it was time to leave the city.

She’d toyed with this idea before. Perhaps there were fewer zombies in the country? Plus, if she found a farm, she could grow stuff and raise chickens. Sure it sounded like bloody hard work, and nothing she’d ever tried before, but it would be better than scrounging for spam and tongue-in-a-can.

But not now, not tonight. She had to plan for these things. There were a few maps in Pete’s glove box (along with a dry old packet of Drum that she was now smoking - the weed could wait for later), she’d need to check these out and decide where to go before she just up and left her neighbourhood. She had to be smart for the first time in her life.

Surely there was a servo around here somewhere?

Tatiana scanned the road ahead, it was dark still and she was just a little bit lost. She’d entered a residential area by accident and was now looking for a way out. She needed shops, not houses. A street sign caught her attention.

Shit! She was nowhere near where she should be. This was where she grew up. A small, pained smile flitted across her lips. Was she game to see if they were dead too; the parents that she hadn’t spoken to in over five years?

Hell yeah, she was!

Chucking the car in reverse, she backed over the top of a zombie that had come up to investigate. His guts strayed out from underneath her back tires. She revved the engine and minced that sucker for a moment longer, just to make sure he was truly done for.

The house was still the same.

Each rose was manicured to perfection. Sure the grass needed mowing, but everything else was as neat as a newly-minted penny. She turned off the engine and stared at the one place she never thought she’d return to.

Pausing for only a second, she grabbed the crowbar from underneath the front seat and opened the car door. Glancing around, she checked for the undead. Not a single zombie in sight. She could hear moaning though, so some had to be nearby. It didn’t matter; this would only take a minute or two anyway.

The house was cold and stale when she opened the backdoor. She’d been surprised when the old key she kept on a chain around her neck still worked. It made her heart lurch just a little too.

It was so dark inside, she wished for a torch to help her out. Rifling in the junk drawer in the kitchen bought her some luck and she flicked on the penlight.

She should have expected it.

Really, she should have.

Her father groaned and lurched at the same time her mother appeared from the pantry.

Swinging her crowbar, she made light work of her dad. After all, it was a task she had often fantasised about. She didn’t even shed a tear as she splayed his brains out across the kitchen sink. Her mother was another story though. How do you kill someone who never said a harsh word against you – even when you accused her husband of being a sick pervert?

Her mother didn’t seem to recognise her now though and took Tatiana’s hesitation as an excellent opportunity for a light snack of brains. Her shuffling gait quickened and her arms flung up and outwards. Tatiana was now holding up the crowbar defensively to delay the inevitable.

“Mum!” she shouted. Maybe she would remember her like Peter had?

The zombie paused. Or so Tatiana liked to think it had.

The crowbar was clenched between her whitened knuckles and she grunted as she pushed it against her mother’s flimsy chest. A chink of two metals meeting told Tatiana that her mother still wore her big gold locket, the one with photos of her two children – neither of which would speak to her now.

“Mum, please,” she begged. There was another slight pause before another lunge. “No, mama, it’s me, Tats.”

A groan and a high pitched wail followed.

Both Tatiana and her zombie-mum turned towards the noise.

Tatiana’s mother turned and began to stagger away in confusion, her delectable daughter forgotten for the moment. The scent of a new, and possibly easier kill, having lured her away.

It was now or never.

Tatiana clenched her teeth together and raised the crowbar high over her head.

“I love you mum!” she screamed and bought the great metal bar of death down upon her mother’s skull.

The woman crumpled at Tatiana’s feet like a dusty old sack of potatoes. A sob tore free from Tatiana’s throat and she dropped to her knees in the dirt and guts on the kitchen floor and hugged her mother tight. She didn’t even give a thought to how contagious the dead woman might be.

“Help me! Somebody help me!”

Tatiana was pulled from her keen grieving. Taking the crowbar and her mother’s gold locket, she jumped up, wiping snot and gore across her face, and listened again for the voice. It wasn’t long in coming.

Tatiana was sprinting now, out the back door and across the vast lawn, her camo heels sinking as she ran. Only a small box hedge separated this yard from the next and not wanting to break a leg, she darted back towards the house and the small gate that was there. It wasn’t even closed now.

The wailing was getting more frantic.

Tatiana pushed her taunt muscles to the limit as she bolted next door into the O’Connor’s old house. There were new neighbours now, but Tatiana had been on her way out as they were on their way in; it was a young couple from memory.

“Where are you?” Tatiana finally broke her silence, hoping to distract the zombie that was obviously the only reason for such a shriek in these troubled times.

“In the bathroom,” a startled voice bellowed. “Bottom floor, take a right down the hall from the kitchen.”

“Gotcha!” Tatiana was nearly there, thankful she’d remembered the layout of the house from her childhood. “Come and get me mother-fucking zombie bastard!”

Her voice was more than enough to tease the two zombies reaching through the broken door. If it weren’t for something heavy behind it, they would be dining on brains now and not eating cold hard steel.

The first one was too surprised by the brutal blow to even realise it was dead all over again. The second – and Tatiana swallowed bile when she saw this one – roared in disgust at the loss of its mate and threw itself at Tatiana.

“You’re a child!” she cried. “Only a baby.”

Yet still she killed it.

Berta Escapes

She should have known there was only one reason for a man to be standing on the roof of his car and shouting for help in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. Still, she turned the key and hoped for the roar of the engine. Martin yowled in the back seat, both at the indignation of his confined space and at the small mob of zombies that were now rocking the car.

Berta didn’t know what to do. She’d tried praying, clutching the small gold cross around her neck and confessing her sins. Telling the zombies to go away, butting her head against the steering wheel (although the noise of the horn had startled everyone briefly into a stunned silence) and jiggling the key in the ignition were just as useless in effect.

“Think, Berta, think!” She mewled over and over again. Martin yowled and his furious scratching was setting her teeth on edge.

Undoing her seatbelt, Berta swivelled in her seat and shoved her hand through the wire gate at the front of Martin’s carrier. She patted him briefly, although in his terror and excitement, he scratched her arm. Quickly she retreated. The zombies outside renewed their frenzied attack with the smell of freshly spilled blood.

The car roiled as it was shaken by the mob of frenzied zombies. Placing one hand on the sun roof, popping it up slightly in the process, she pulled open the glove compartment, looking for a weapon, scrounging for hope.

Nothing.

Slamming the door shut in frustration, she leaned down and hurriedly felt around underneath her seat. This wielded an old coffee cup and one solitary gold earring. The smell of spoiled milk knotted up Berta’s stomach more than the panic did.’

The car bumped and jangled as Tatiana drove it through the night. The woman in the seat next to her stared out of the window and didn’t speak a word.

It wasn’t through want of trying either. Tatiana had asked her a hundred questions before giving up on her. Already she regretted saving her.

“I’m taking you home, back to Morristown,” she said. Not that she expected a reply, but she was sick of the non-zombie woman who behaved like one.

When that thought had first occurred to her, she hit the brakes and did a complete body search, looking for bites on the silent woman. There wasn’t even a scratch on her. Nothing that could indicate she’d been bitten. The woman now leaned sideways and rested her head against the cold glass.

“I’m planning on moving to the country,” she continued to the mute woman. “You know, grow some food and keep out of the way of all the dead people in town? I have to pack first. Is there anything you need to go back for? We could stop on the way outta town, I guess.”

Still no answer.

“Well, I guess you won’t complain at my music choice then,” she muttered, replacing Bon Jovi with Mumford and Sons. The banjo played as they bumped down the road towards the city.

***

Martin swiped at her again, but Berta swatted him away as she wiggled between the front seats. Pulling herself over, she landed with a plop in the back seat next to her mad cat.

“I’m sorry I got you into this mess Martin,” she clucked at him as she moved his cage down onto the floor. He hissed in reply.

Frantically her hand slapped at the backseat as she felt for the pull tab. The car rocked some more. It seemed like there were a hundred creatures out there, but in reality there were only five.

For now.

She wasn’t stupid. If she didn’t do something soon, there would be more arriving, and she didn’t think she could outwit the few that were here already.

Finding the canvas strap, she yanked the seat forward and scrambled into the boot of the car. It was so dark back there she had to feel for items. Mostly she just found a suitcase. Unzipping it, she was rewarded with nothing but clothes and toiletries – nothing that could actually kill the undead.

Pushing the case to one side, she felt her way along towards the side of the car. Hitting something soft, she was rewarded with the tinkering of metal. She pulled the bag and herself out of the boot at the same moment that a zombie managed to get purchase in the sun roof.

Tatiana was sick of driving. She hadn’t realised how far from home she’d travelled when she was lost. It didn’t help that the shorter route was laden with obstacles, mostly in the form of cars blocking the road. She reversed her way out of yet another roadblock and let the car idle while she rested her head on the steering wheel.

Would she ever get home? Tears were threatening. Maybe she should ditch the city now? Maybe it was some sort of a sign? But she wasn’t a superstitious woman and this idea bought her little comfort.

A fragile hand tangled in her hair and for the first time since rescuing the mute, she was hopeful.

“Thank you.”

Tatiana looked up at the frail woman and smiled through her tears.

In the distance a woman screamed.

“Here we go again.” Tatiana rolled her eyes.

Oozing grey fingers probed the sun roof, searching for a way to open it further. Berta screamed and Martin yowled, desperate to get his claws into the undead beast.

“Oh dear Martin, I really fucked it up this time,” she whispered.

Her only chance was the bag in her lap, the lumpy, clanging bag of something metal.

The fingers had now become a hand and its owner moaned with pleasure. Berta scampered back into the boot, dragging Martin and his cage with her. It was dark, but further away from the zombie. Frantically, she scratched around for the zipper and ripped it with such force when she found it the metal tag came clear off the zip and tinkled across the floor of the car.

Her arm reached in and she clutched at the first thing her fingers felt. Wrenching the item from the bag, she sighed in relief.

“Martin, we may get out of this mess yet.”

One hand went back into the bag, searching, prodding and finally finding what she was looking for. Loading the spear into the gun, she tried to steady her hands. While she waited, the zombie clawed around in the opening. It certainly wasn’t in the car, but a great deal more of its arm was inside the vehicle. Another zombie was trying to reach in also. In the process of the pair of arms scrabbling about, a finger snapped. Berta was horrified at the sound and held back vomit as the brittle finger snapped clear off its owners hand and fell into the car. Thick blood spurted out briefly before coagulating.

She’d screamed at the sight before she even realised it. Clamping one hand over her mouth, she stifled more noise. Closing her eyes, she tried to breathe slowly in an attempt to calm her jangled nerves. The rocking and thumping on the car didn’t help.

Taking one last deep breath, she opened her eyes, took her hand away from her mouth and raised the spear gun up, pointing it at the roof of the car.

That first shot took off the zombies arm.

Dragging back on the spears rope, she pulled it free from the roof of the car and loaded her weapon again. Martin reached out and hooked the dead fleshy arm that now lay in front of his cage. Berta hoped cats couldn’t turn into zombies as he gnawed a hunk of decaying flesh off the bone.

She wriggled forward and freed herself from the car boot. It was time to dispatch these hideous beasts.

Reaching over, she slowly grasped the handle and began to wind down the back window. She was eternally grateful this was an older model car. The handle was stiff and she had to jiggle it considerably before a small gap appeared at the top though.

For dumb critters, the zombies sure were on that gap quicker than a fly on a turd. Berta shot off her spear again, missing this time.

“Damn it!” she whispered before dragging the spear back and loading it again.

She moved closer. It was time to move quickly, before the zombies managed to get the window open any more by themselves. Pushing the gun right up to the window, she shot the zombie at point blank range. She was disgusted at what she’d done. Still, she yanked back that spear and reloaded like there was no tomorrow.

There would be time to clean up the remains of fetid brains tomorrow – if she made it through the night, that is. And, realistically, if this didn’t work, there would be no tomorrow for her or Martin.

The head of the finally dead zombie was wedged sideways in the window, its body dangled below, but two more heads were now trying to get inside the car. The hands were still clawing at the roof of the car since there was no more room for zombies in the window. Scraps of material fluttered down from the roof as the splintery nails became progressively frantic.

As Berta loaded up again and took aim, she heard a noise that was completely unrelated to what was going on inside the car.

Is that a banjo?

Shaking her head, she concentrated on the task at hand. It took only a moment longer to pierce the eye of the second zombie. It made a sickening squelch as she pulled back the spear. This zombie fell backwards rather than clog up the car window.

Martin was finally quiet as he chewed on his undead meat. Chancing a quick glance, Berta took a good look at him. Was his coat less shiny? Were his eyes a little dull? If he turned, could she spear him too?

Yes, it was a banjo she could hear.

Her aim was off as she realised this and the spear went straight out the window. She pulled back quickly but the spear butt hooked on the window and wouldn’t come free without some serious tugging. Leaning forward she took the rope in both hands and prepared to pull with all her might in order to lift the spear up and over the glass edge.

A cold dead hand grabbed at her hair.

Berta screamed and yanked her head back.

In the distance she could still here the banjo playing.

“There!” Rosalyn called. Her muteness had disappeared completely at the sound of someone else in distress. Her finger jabbed forwards and Tatiana could see a car surrounded by zombies.

“Shit!” she whispered. If only they had a gun.

Slowing the vehicle down, Tatiana tried to see what was going on. As she approached, it seemed the trouble was less than first anticipated.

“Two down,” she said quietly to Rosalyn. “But three still seem active. What’ll we do?”

Rosalyn said nothing. Leaning forward, she turned up the radio and forced Tatiana’s hand by hitting the horn.

Three heads swivelled at once.

Well, two did successfully, the third was still wedged in the window and his swivel resulted in a broken neck. It didn’t kill him, but it sure made it hard for him to see where he was going with a head that wouldn’t be told which was up.

“Drive!” Rosalyn screamed as she wrenched the crowbar and leaned out the window.

Tatiana suddenly liked this woman more than she’d ever care to admit.

The car lurched forward as Tatiana hit the accelerator. It didn’t matter though, Rosalyn was still able to swing that crowbar and detach one of the zombie’s heads. It flew up and over the power lines and made a repugnant splat as it hit a wall.

The zombie with the broken neck was still stuck in the car, being unable to lift its head up. There was a strange popping sound and the occasional tear as it attempted to free itself. The other remaining zombie shuffled towards the car.

Rosalyn didn’t need her crowbar for this one. The car did an excellent job of flattening it as it reversed back. Tatiana ran over it with the car several times until she heard the satisfying pop of the zombie’s skull.

Looking up, she was rewarded with the sight of a woman, a caged cat and a bloody swear gun emerging from the back seat of the car. Taking aim, the woman shot the gun clear through the ear of the still stuck zombie. It jerked once before slumping.

“Hi,” I’m Berta,” the woman said as she retrieved the spear and took aim at Tatiana and Rosalyn.

And What of Pippa?

The problem with being this far from the teller’s stalls was the lack of a stabbing implement, such as a pen.

Pippa writhed and kicked at the zombie that had her ankle. This one was a new one and not the woman from behind the glass. She must have been killed properly the second time her head hit the glass.

This new zombie had much more grunt to him. He was big and fat. His grey guts wobbled as they protruded from the bottom of his torn shirt. The mottled skin reminded Pippa of a dead seal she’d seen once at the beach. He smelled about the same too.

Kicking fiercely, she actually made contact with the dead man’s nose. A squelch and the splintering of bones could be heard. The blow wasn’t hard enough to be fatal though. She’d have to come up with something else.

While the surprise of a broken nose distracted the zombie momentarily, it still wasn’t enough for her to wriggle free from his vice-like grip. Her long skirt had ridden up around her knees as she’d fallen and it was now tangling with the fat zombie, making the situation more confusing.

Frantically, Pippa reached out and clawed at the ground. Her fingers clasped at brochures and random bits of tattered paper, but nothing more substantial.

A banjo played in the distance.

A banjo?

Pippa questioned her sanity. Was this really the end? A growl bubbled up from deep in her chest and she rolled herself upwards. Her baby bump prevented her from sitting up properly, but at least she could now prop herself up while still batting at the grotesque man. She looked around for anything that might work to get her away from the zombie.

Paper, paper, everywhere!

Shit!

And then she spied something glinting at her from between two sheets of paper on the ground to her left.

It was her only hope.

She kicked once more at the zombie and managed to poke her sandaled toe into the obese zombie’s eye. There was a squirt of eye fluid and a roar from the zombie. Bile rose in her throat and she vomited.

Damn being pregnant and her weak stomach!

Surprisingly, the smell of vomit distracted the zombie. His nostrils flared and his looked away from Pippa, following his nose. There was a look of doubt on his face – if zombies could even have facial expressions. She knew it wouldn’t be long before his realised his mistake and turned back to the real prize.

Rubbing harshly at her chin, she took her one golden opportunity and lurched sideways; reaching for the item she’d seen briefly before their frantic movement had moved everything. Her hand slapped down three or four times. Her legs kicked out with the ferocity only the undead can evoke and the small little baby in her stomach rolled about all over the place, thankful that it was safely protected by amniotic fluid and strong walls of muscles.

“Where are you?” she cried.

Off in the distance was the faint sound of a scream. Or was it the screech of car tyres? Pippa didn’t have time to wonder about it.

Another slap as her hand felt nothing but paper and floor beneath it. Pulling both her legs towards her, she pushed with all her might against the zombie’s head, trying desperately to keep his nasty teeth from her delicate flesh.

“I’m pregnant you fucker!” she screamed. Like he even cared. Could the undead still understand their native tongue?

Her hands splayed out and searched some more as her head hit the bank door. A ringing started in her ears and black spots danced in front of her eyes. It wasn’t time to black out now! The door moved under her weight, but not by much.

The chains through the door handles prevented it.

The movement bought her closer to the thing. With renewed energy, she stretched out. There was a pop and a deep burn in her side, but she couldn’t think about torn muscles just now for her hand had finally closed on the item.

Hopefully it was useful.

The zombie was now snapping at her ankles. His fetid teeth clicked and crunched together. Spit flew out of his mouth and splattered against her feet. Her stomach rolled again. She gulped and swallowed, not wanting to throw up again.

Her hand yanked at the item and bought it up in front of her face.

It was a key - probably the one that opened the chains on the door.

If she was lucky.

With the last vestige of strength left, Pippa lunged at the zombie. She wasn’t sure if the key was long enough to do much damage, so she aimed for his popped eye.

She missed and got him in his flabby cheek. The zombie howled but more with fury than agony. She pulled back again.

Thirty seven stabs later, Pippa rolled the finally dead zombie off her and sat up.

Gasping and wheezing, she clutched at her stomach and hugged at her unborn child, hoping against hope that it had not been injured in the attack. Her arms felt like jelly and the key jangled out of her fingers and clattered against the hard tiles of the bank’s front entrance.

“Hey baby, mamma’s okay.” But for how long?

The fat zombie still clutched her ankle and the circulation was starting to falter. Reaching forward, she and loosened his grip. Only one finger was lost during the process. Pippa, unfortunately, lost her lunch again.

As she sat up, she noticed the revolver. So the fat man was once a security guard. She removed the gun and its holster too, strapping it around her own growing belly.

Wiping one shaking hand across her forehead, she leaned back against the sturdy glass door. She couldn’t help the tears as they flowed. Her breath sucked in great gulping sobs and she let herself be lost for a while.

A sharp sting to her thigh bought her out of her grief quickly.

The female was back!

She’d dragged herself silently across the floor while the fat zombie had her distracted. The broken leg had prevented her from getting at Pippa’s brains. The bite would have the same effect though – it would just be a slower process.

“No,” she screamed and fumbled for the key once more. She grabbed it quickly this time and killed the female zombie much quicker than the first.

It still didn’t undo the damage.

Pippa jumped up and staggered as the pain in her side reminded her of her torn ligaments.

She had to act fast. Staggering through the bank, clutching at her side, she weaved her way through the teller area and through the big door that was held open with the pamphlet stand. She yanked it aside and pulled the door closed behind her.

Her heart hammered in her chest as she made her way down the narrow corridor and towards the staff room at the back. There was a first aid kit there and, surprisingly, running water.

She rushed as fast as her damaged muscles would allow and was tucked safely in the staff room within moments. Her muscles fought against her as she dragged a table across the door. It was heavy and therefore wasn’t much, but a warning was better than another bite.

She ripped open the cupboard over the microwave and pulled out the meagre first aid supplies. Throwing the Band-Aids aside, she reached for the Betadine and haphazardly set it down on the little sink in the kitchenette.

The water was slightly muddy as it started to run before clearing over time. In her travels, Pippa had discovered a large water tank on the roof of this building that collected and stored water from the gutters. With the lack of electricity, the pump didn’t work anymore but gravity still did its job.

Pulling a chair over, she climbed up and laid her leg in the sink. A few short months ago and she would not have to use the chair. Alas, it was probably time to say goodbye to her dancer’s physique. And her free will. When would the zombie gene kick in?

She didn’t know how long it would take, but she was ready to try anything to prolong her life. Pulling out a set of tweezers and a scalpel, she set to work.

At least there was nothing more in her grumbling stomach to throw up, although her gag reflex still worked. The poor baby inside her stomach felt a sharp contraction every time its mother heaved.

First, she washed the wound. That was the easy part.

Using the scalpel to remove all the flesh that had come in contact with the zombie’s teeth was more torturous. Still she scraped and dug at her thigh. The blood ran freely and sometimes she would have to stop, turn on the tap and clean the wound.

There was nothing in the kit that would aid her in sewing up the gaping wound, so she had to improvise. Pulling off her top, she checked it for signs of zombie blood.

It was spattered with the darn stuff!

So was her skirt.

She searched the room for anything she could use. Pulling her leg out of the sink, she tested its weight and cried out in pain as a result. Dragging the chair with her, she used it as a crutch and dragged it across the room as she hopped along with it. Blood gushed out and she was beginning to feel light-headed.

Still, she managed to reach the staff closet. There wasn’t much inside, but after riffling around, she came across a long discarded cardigan. The thin black thread would work, she decided.

She tried not to look at her blood trail as she made her way back to the sink.

She was not prepared for the agony of stitching her own flesh. Probably no one bar Chuck Norris would be. Clenching her teeth together, she suffering on; screaming with each incision. She didn’t have a needle to thread the cotton onto, so she had to poke holes in her own flesh and then push the thread through with the tweezers. It was slow, sickening work.

Eventually it was done. She was proud of herself for not fainting. Finally she poured the entire contents of Betadine over her handy work.

She’d done everything she could think of.

Covering her wound with a bandage, she limped out the door.

Slowly, she made her way to the front door, the key held tightly in her hands. Shaking with the shock of being bitten and then having to perform surgery on herself, she dropped it several times before managing to slide it into the padlock.

The click of freedom was loud in her ears as she exited the bank; her tomb.

The street was barren as she turned the corner and came face to face with three women and a cat.

Diary of Pippa Roscoe to her unborn child

January 23rd

(42 days after the first reported outbreak)

Little One,

I got bitten today.

I also met people – finally.

They were hostile at first; one was pointing a spear gun at the other two. If I didn’t have the gun I wouldn’t have approached them. But I needed to be with people, little one. I needed someone to be there when I turned, so they could do what they had to do. The thought of you, my little baby, being alive inside of me and your mamma nothing but a mindless zombie, spurred me on.

Not telling them I’d been bitten was my own selfishness.

I guess I just want a few more hours with you little one.

And maybe I got to the wound quick enough. There is always hope, I guess…

Love always,

Mamma Pippa.

Secrets and Lies and What the Apocalypse Brings…

It had been three days since the women had banded together. And for people who know much about groups of women, even in the time of the zombie apocalypse, there were still obstacles to leap.

Tatiana hated cats. Rosalyn was allergic to them. Berta was happy to leave the group rather than leave her cat behind.

And she did for a time. Then Tatiana and Rosalyn had driven out and collected the woman and her cat. While the death of Martin as a result of their actions sat quite comfortably on their shoulders, the death of Berta did not.

Pippa got along with everyone and there was plenty of cooing over her growing belly. Still she kept her secret. It had been three days after all and still no sign of the fever that pre-empted the activation of the zombie gene. She was hopeful – and silent.

“How many tins of beans are left inside?” Tatiana asked as she leaned into the back of Rosalyn’s Patrol.

“None, but we still have to pack the crate of tomatoes,” Pippa replied as she handed Tatiana a box of supplies and wiped a thin film of sweat from her brow.

It had been agreed that they would all follow Tatiana’s plan of moving to a place in the country. It’s seemed likely there wouldn’t be as many of the undead all the way out past suburbia. None of them knew how to grow vegetables or tend to live stock, but there was always the local library to raid before they left.

Even packing lightly, there was still two 4WD’s laden with goods. They figured they could go lightly on clothing and utensils for the time being, since they should be able to scavenge for these once they found the perfect place to move into. None of them were prepared to leave behind one ounce of food or water though.

And Pippa was a stickler for bringing every sort of first aid item they could find. The others had just put it down to fear of childbirth. Pippa did nothing to correct them. Still she worried that the pain in her leg would never subside and she would have to go on blaming her wincing on a vigorous baby and pulled muscles.

“Any ideas on which way we should go?” Berta asked as she carefully loaded a whinging Martin into the back seat of the Patrol. Roslyn was happy to give up her car to Berta for a seat in Tatiana’s Navara.

“North-east, I figure,” Tatiana replied. “There’s a whole heap of national park out that way and hardly any towns.”

“The west has farmable land though,” Pippa replied. “My uncle used to grow wheat out past Ararat somewhere.” She sighed. Her uncle was probably dead yet still roaming his beloved farm now.

“North-east,” Rosalyn rushed in with. “Definitely north-east. That’s where Walter works…worked.”

“Walter?” Pippa asked. “Not Walter Shipley?”

“Y-yes, you know him?”

Pippa ducked her head to hide the threatening tears.

“My boyfriend went looking for him more nearly two weeks ago. I haven’t heard from him since.”

“Walter’s my husband,” Rosalyn answered while reaching out and squeezing Pippa’s shaking hand. “You know they’re both probably dead now?”

It was a harsh thing to say, but the odds were not in their favour in this haunted new world. Even so, the emotion was still raw enough to make Rosalyn catch her breath and choke back a sob.

Pippa nodded her reply.

“Can we still look? I’m happy to go that way, so long as we can check on them.”

The agreement by all sealed their fate.

“Wesley’s house is just up ahead,” Pippa said. It was nearing dark, so they really needed somewhere to stay before they checked the Forensic Unit. “There it is! Number 24.”

Berta slowed and so did Tatiana in the vehicle behind. Pippa was bouncing in her seat with excitement, one hand clutching at her belly to steady it as hope grew.

Pippa and Rosalyn stayed in the cars while Berta and Tatiana investigated the seemingly abandoned building. Berta had her spear gun at the ready while Tatiana followed behind with the fat security guard’s gun. Pippa wanted to rush out and check for Wesley, but the little bundle of baby was the one thing that held her back. If they found a zombie, it would kill her.

Literally.

The house was silent, which meant absolutely nothing. There may be nothing inside or just maybe any zombies there hadn’t realised they’d dialled for a car full of people.

Berta’s breath was noisy. She clutched the spear gun with white-knuckled fear. Tatiana was quieter, although she was just better at hiding her emotions than most.

The door creaked as Berta turned the handle and pushed. Both women stood back and waited, their ears their only saviour right now.

Nothing.

One tentative step, then two and three. Berta held her weapon high as she entered. The setting sun bought false security to the dusty rooms. The kitchen was the first room presented to them. Flies buzzed over the spoiled food on the table and the dark hole of the kitchen pass through glared at them ominously. Berta poked at the food as she passed, for no other reason than wanting to know what Wesley’s last meal had been. Needless to say she would never be able to eat spaghetti again.

A dark hall presented itself with two doors on the left and one on the right. Berta jerked her head to the first one on the left and Tatiana positioned herself, ready to fire. The door swung open onto a small lounge room. Dust motes danced in the sunlight shining through from the kitchen. A chair, the theatre system and a wizened Christmas tree were all to be found there. The decorations still glittered even through the dust of time.

Taking a deep, rattling breath, Berta backed out of the room and made her way along the dim corridor. The single door on the right was next. It too was ajar and swung noisily as Berta poked it with the spear gun.

“Do you think he’s in there?” Pippa asked. Her eyes were glowing as she stared at the familiar building. It looked deserted, and lonely. Yet still she hoped.

Roslyn didn’t know what to say.

“How did you know Walter?” she finally asked.

“I didn’t,” Pippa replied. She’d tucked her hands underneath her legs, yet she still jiggled. “Wesley worked with him.”

“Walter worked with a lot of people; I don’t remember anyone called Wesley.”

“You might have known him as Person A.”

And then Roslyn realised who she was talking to.

Wesley was the reason for the apocalypse – as well as its possible saviour.

The bathroom was clear, so was the little laundry alcove adjoining it.

Only one door remained. The light was fading fast. Berta glanced at Tatiana, who nodded quickly and stuck her chin out towards the final barrier.

This door was closed tight and Berta was hesitant to touch it. Tatiana’s breath was close behind her as she reached forward and grasped the door knob. It clattered from her fear before whining as she turned it.

The room smelled stale and wisps of silvery webs hung from the bare light globe. Berta waved her spear gun as she entered to clear the spider webs out of the way before entering.

The small bedroom was neat and as sparse as the rest of the house. Only the bed clothes were disturbed. One drawer of the dressing table hung open and a single sock was draped over its edge.

“It’s clear,” Berta announced.

“What about under the bed?” Tatiana whispered.

“Shit.”

“Is he really immune?” Roslyn whispered, even though she knew the answer already.

“Apparently so,” Pippa replied.

“Is the baby?”

Both of them looked at Pippa’s rounded middle.

“I-I don’t know. We never got it tested in time.”

“Are you immune?”

Pippa paused before shaking her head sadly. One hand scratched at the bite on her leg.

“Oh, that sucks,” Roslyn finally said.

“How close were they to developing the vaccine?” Pippa asked tentatively.

“I’m not sure. I’m not even sure anyone is still alive in there.”

Both women gazed out of the car window and off towards the horizon. The Forensic Unit’s windows winked back at them as the twilight deepened.

The floor boards creaked as Berta kneeled down. She felt so vulnerable on her knees. Tatiana closed in behind her, ducking, ready to shoot, yet not lowering herself entirely to the floor. At least she had the opportunity of flight if something leaped out at them.

Slowly Berta’s hand reached out before clasping at the frayed edge of the red blanket. With each breath, the light seemed to bleed from the room. She would have to hurry. Without even thinking, she whipped the blanket up and over the top of the bed. Letting go, she scuttled backwards and away from danger. Tatiana tripped as she tried to jump out of the way.

Berta was undefended.

There was nothing there.

Yet the pair still jumped when the blanket slipped back to cover the space under the bed.

“All clear!” Berta called as she exited the house.

Pippa was free from the car before the sentence was even complete.

They found her curled up in the bed blanket. Tears streamed down her face in direct contrast to the manic grin plastered across her face.

“I’m home,” was all she said.

No one saw the book clutched in her hand.

Nor did they see the shadow as it darted away outside the window.

Diary of Pippa Roscoe to her unborn child

January 26rd

(45 days after the first reported outbreak)

Little One,

We’re home.

Well, at your daddy’s home, anyway.

I’m sleeping in his bed tonight, the very bed you were conceived in. For the first time in three days, I feel like I just may make it out of this mess alive. The bite was itching today, it must be healing. I wish I had the privacy to check on it more often, but I worry at the others reaction if they see what happened to me.

I found one of your fathers journals taped to the underside of his sock drawer. I wish I could read it tonight, but everyone is worried about candle light attracting the undead. Maybe I will wake up early enough tomorrow to read it.

Love always,

Mamma Pippa.

Welcome to the Funhouse Forensic Unit

Diary of Pippa Roscoe to her unborn child

January 27rd

(46 days after the first reported outbreak)

Little One,

Daddy has been keeping secrets. From me, and you, and Walter, and everyone across the country. I kinda feel ill.

Yes, he was immune, that wasn’t a lie. But he had the cure and he WITHHELD it! He knew the goddamned answer and he didn’t tell a single living soul. Who would have guessed that the answer to all this shit was worked out by someone who hadn’t even passed high school? Man wouldn’t all those scientists be pissy if they knew – that’s if there are even any still alive at the facility. And his journal gives nothing away either, so our only hope is the Forensic Unit in Morristown.

Wish me luck Little One…

Love always,

Mamma Pippa.

“Here’s his I.D. card,” Pippa exclaimed as her bulging form struggled out from under the bed.

“Where is he, if he isn’t at work then?” Tatiana asked without tack. Pippa frowned and the emotional tide of pregnancy threatened to overwhelm her.

“Maybe he’ll come home,” Pippa managed to mutter before flinging the card at Tatiana’s head and fleeing the room.

“What a dumb arse you are Tats,” Rosalyn said while rolling her eyes.

Martin broke the tension by rubbing between Rosalyn’s legs. Yowling once, he jumped up onto the bed. Rosalyn sneezed as the cat massaged the untidy bed.

“Are you girls ready to go?” Tatiana called from the kitchen.

Berta was trying to maintain the peace as they drove up the long, winding driveway that would bring them to the front door of the once secure facility.

“How long did Walter work here, Ros?”

“Six years, before that he was a clinical immunologist with Victoria University.”

Berta nodded as she steered the car towards the large glass doors at the front of Morristown Forensic Unit. She had to dodge overturned cars and fly blown bodies in the process. Pippa was glued to the passenger window, trying to spot Wesley among the fallen – and hoping desperately that he wouldn’t be there.

Rosalyn refused to look.

“If we drive around to the side of the building, there’s a secure car park. We should be able to park really close to the entrance there. If we block it with the car, we’ll be safe from any roaming zombies,” she said numbly.

Berta followed as instructed, all the while her spear gun lay across her lap, fully loaded, but with the safety on. Rosalyn had a pitch fork wedged awkwardly between the window and her seat, Tatiana her trusty crowbar and Pippa was the back up with the gun she’d nabbed from the security guard. They were yet to come across a gun supplies shop, so they were dangerously low on ammo. That gun was their last resort.

Using Wesley’s I.D. card, they made their way through the boom gate and into the car park. The side entrance was certainly clear from bloated bodies. Berta pulled up to the glass doors. They were sensor activated and all were surprised when they opened as they approached.

“Fuck me, it’s still functional,” was all Tatiana could say. The others just gazed, wide eyed and open mouthed. Rosalyn and Pippa silently prayed harder than ever before in their lives.

A long glass corridor led from the glass doors to the brown-bricked building. There was not a soul in sight, but one lone door at the end of the corridor stood slightly ajar, ominously.

Martin purred loudly on the single bed, an occasional kick of his back paw and a yellowy dribble of spittle the only indication that anything was wrong.

The dark halls echoed with the clatter of nervous feet. Berta headed the exploration party, Rosalyn just behind her, directing. Tatiana and Pippa bought up the rear, neither of them knowing where they were. While Pippa knew of the facility, she was never permitted to enter it. Now her eyes darted to each door label, hoping to find some clue as to where she might find more information on Wesley’s little secret. Absently, she rubbed at her belly, the baby inside kicked in response.

“Walter worked on the second floor, the lifts are just up ahead,” Rosalyn said confidently.

Pressing the button, the slight hum alerted them to the fact that the lifts were still operational, even if the lights weren’t. There must be a generator somewhere prioritising electrical functions, Rosalyn thought.

The facility had seventeen floors and the old elevator creaked its way down from one of the higher levels. A shrill ding announced its imminent arrival. The doors opened and the four women were poised to step inside when an arm reached out and grabbed Berta’s gun.

Instinctively she fired, not even sure it if was human or zombie she was hitting. With the absence of a scream upon impact, she could only assume the lift contained the living dead.

The hand held tightly to her gun, not giving her a chance to reload or even to pull the spear free of the zombie’s guts. Tatiana tried to reach in and swing her crowbar, but there was not enough room to do that. Pippa hung behind and nervously wondered if the time to use her gun was now.

Without even thinking, Rosalyn leaned forward and lunged at the creature. Berta let go of her gun and Tatiana leaped out of the way just in time, to see a pitchfork protruding from the forehead of a zombie in a white lab coat.

“Is it Walter?” Rosalyn screeched before realising that she was the only one who could confirm that.

Leaning forward, she stepped over Berta’s spear gun and clutched at the side of the lift. Her heart bounced around in her chest like it was doing an aerobics class and her hands shook as they clutched weakly at the steel door. Leaden legs refused to move her forward.

Tatiana peeked in.

“Is he bald?” she asked.

“It’s not him!” Rosalyn cheered as she rushed forward. It wasn’t him, that’s for sure, but it was still a man she knew.

The sight of Walter’s boss, Frank, hit her hard. Her guts twisted and she actually couldn’t breathe for a moment or two. Then when her lungs sucked in air, it was in great ragged gulps.

“We have to keep moving,” Tatiana eventually said.

Without thinking, Rosalyn stepped over the prone body and pushed herself into a corner of the elevator. The other women followed. Berta pressed the button and the doors closed them in with the body.

Luckily they were only travelling one floor – after all, what sort of conversation do you make when there’s pulpy brain goo oozing out across the floor thanks to the pitchfork in the head of the zombie at your feet?

The sound of shouting was the first thing they all heard as the door slid open. Berta and Tatiana both chanced a quick look at the other two.

Someone was alive up here.

“Hello?” Tatiana asked. It was dicey, her voice could attract the undead, but she figured that was going to happen anyway since someone was already shouting.

“Help me!” The frantic voice called back. “Help me, there’s so many of them!”

Oh shit.

“How many?” Tatiana called back. The four women followed the sound of the voice, all their weapons at the ready.

“I-I don’t know! Lots!”

Tatiana huffed with irritation and kept moving forward. There was only one open door along this corridor and they all assumed this was where the voice was coming from.

“Wesley?” Pippa called out with excitement. She wanted to rush forward, but the other three blocked her way.

“Pippa! Oh my god, Pippa!”

Tatiana was level with the door now and she carefully leaned forward. The door was wide open and the sight of a horde of angry undead welcomed her, their moaning was frantic as they threw themselves at the bars of what appeared to be a human-sized cage. Quickly she did a head count before stepping back against the wall.

“There are eleven of them,” she said quietly.

“What do we do?” Rosalyn asked.

“Can we kill that many?” Berta asked.

Pippa quickly checked the barrel of her gun. “I could take out six of them.”

There was silence from the women.

Inside the room, Wesley yelled and the zombies moaned.

Making a uniform decision, all four women quickly put together a hasty plan.

Finally, leaping forward, Rosalyn leaned into the room and poked one of the zombies with her pitchfork, attempting to lure them out into the wide corridor.

The zombie turned and Rosalyn screamed.

“Walter!”

Going to Hell in a Hand Basket

The moans of the undead filled the hall. Tatiana pushed Rosalyn behind herself and waved her crowbar around. Pippa stepped forward, also covering the distraught woman and levelled her gun at the mob of zombies in front of them. Her shaking hands made the gun swing around wildly.

“Walter!” Rosalyn’s screams were raw and jagged, similar now in tone to the moans of the hideous creatures they faced. Walter paused every time Rosalyn bellowed. His nose lifted to the air, his mouth open, devouring the scent of his still living wife.

Berta stepped out from behind the women and aimed her spear gun. She was scared, but her hand was steady, she’d done this all before.

“Get outta my way, Tatiana!” she shouted just before pulling the trigger. Tatiana ducked as she swung her crowbar, busting the kneecaps of Walter in the process. Walter dropped to the ground. Berta had been aiming for Rosalyn’s undead husband, but instead killed another white coat behind him. One yank of her spear and the sickening crunch of breaking skull assaulted their ears.

Yet, it was still better than the sound of Rosalyn’s keening.

Tatiana jumped up again and swung her crowbar once more. The comforting thunk of metal against bone resulted. The splat of old gloopy brains against the nearest wall followed.

This was fun, Tatiana decided.

The count was currently two down, one injured, but the number was climbing. Pippa’s shaking hand settled and she got lost in the excitement of the kill. She stepped out, away from her friends and came face to face with a woman in a lab coat. Her brown hair, once long and straight and caught to one side with a hair clip, was now tangled and bloody. Pippa pulled her arm up quickly and bought it to the forehead of the woman, then pulled the trigger. She was not prepared for the recoil. It shot up her arm and she actually dropped the gun. Jumping back, she checked to see if the lab woman was dead.

Three down.

She ducked down and grabbed the gun. As she stood, she looked around. Tatiana had killed another zombie and Berta had killed two more.

That just left five zombies. This was so doable, Pippa decided as she rubbed the squirmy little child in her belly.

“Walter.” Her voice was feeble now as she crawled across the dusty hall towards the man she married as soon as she’d turned eighteen. His marbled eyes heard her voice; his head lifting once more, mouth open, catching the scent of her.

He still remembers me.

“Walter, baby.”

He moaned in response and started dragging himself towards her. Dark, thick blood oozed out of his shattered kneecaps but there was no pain etched on his face.

Rosalyn reached out and held his hand. It was cold and rough, dead skin chapped and ragged from tasks that Rosalyn didn’t dare think about.

“I love you baby,” she said quietly, tears trickling down her cheeks.

Walter moaned in agreement and then ripped out her throat.

Pippa saw the whole thing. Her feet moved, yet not quickly enough. Her hand was raised but she was not a good shot, so never even had a chance to pull the trigger.

“NOOOOOOO!”

Tatiana turned and saw her newly found friend lying in a puddle of her own ooze. Warm blood still shot out of her severed artery. Walter drank it like it was the elixir of youth.

Berta, who was the closest, was horrified by what she saw. It still didn’t stop her from plunging her fully loaded spear gun into the head of Walter though. He slumped next to his wife.

“How long before she reanimates?” Berta asked.

But there was no time for a reply. Four more of the undead had to be dealt with.

And these four meant business. They huddled together, shuffling, hands outstretched. The three women also pulled themselves together, unsure of how to approach them.

Berta pulled her spear gun free from Walter, thankful that she didn’t have to reload. She cocked the gun and shot.

It was the first time that day she’s missed her target.

The zombie she hit yowled in frustration as the spear hit him in his shoulder. One arm automatically dropped as its severed nerve gave way. She threw her weapon to the ground, not risking pulling the live zombie closer to her in order to wrestle her spear free.

Tatiana swung her crowbar and also missed.

The group separated, Tatiana went to the left, Berta to the right. Pippa hugged her gun and shook in fright. The group of zombies howled in excitement and lunged at Pippa, she jumped back, tripped over Rosalyn’s outstretched arm, and fell on her behind. The zombies flew into a frenzy.

Well, two of them did. Berta and Tatiana had disposed of the others.

“Wesley!” Pippa shouted as she cowered on the ground.

“Pippa!” was the returning scream.

“Shoot Pippa!” Tatiana called.

This was possibly the dumbest suggestion she could have given.

Five shots popped off in rapid succession. Not one of them hit their target. Two whizzed close to Berta’s face though.

“Stop it, Pippa!” she’d shouted, but the gun was empty before she’d finished her sentence.

And still the zombie’s descended.

Berta raced forward and pushed the two zombies. They toppled over like a pair of macabre dominos. Tatiana took advantage of their confusion and swung her trusty crowbar. The force behind it was so strong it took the zombie’s head clear off its shoulders. If their lives didn’t depend on their quick reflexes, the group would have laughed at the sight of the head as it rolled down the hall, bouncing off a wall and then coming to a stop at the door to the elevator.

The last zombie panicked. This surprised Tatiana, since she thought they had no other emotion than ‘feed me’. And then she remembered Peter. He’d remembered her.

This chicken shit zombie must still have a thought or two left rattling around in his empty head, she thought as she sprinted after the retreating figure. Before she had a chance to swing her crowbar, Berta fired her spear gun and ended the war.

The silence was golden as they stood around and grinned. They’d done it!

“Hello?” It was a feeble whisper that caught in Wesley’s throat as he spoke.

“Wesley!” Pippa was up and off that floor as quick as a pregnant woman can be. She staggered across the hallway and into the room that held her boyfriend.

It had taken longer to find the key and free Wesley from his cell than it had taken the women to kill all the zombies.

None of them had been game to shoot Rosalyn in the head either, so Tatiana had dragged her body into another room and shut the door. She hoped Rosalyn didn’t reanimate like Peter or the chicken shit zombie had, with thoughts still in her head. But when they left the forensic unit, there still wasn’t a peep from that room, so they didn’t have a chance to find out.

Each woman had to live with the guilt of that.

Wesley explained what had happened to him while they drove home. Berta cried and didn’t listen. Tatiana tried to listen, though she was still too numb to comprehend his words. Pippa was the only one who paid him any attention. She held his hand and stared at him with adoration as his story unfolded.

And Rosalyn was lucky she wasn’t there to hear it - since it was Walter who had originally locked Wesley up.

He’d discovered Wesley’s journal and the fact that he had withheld the possible cure from everyone. Walter thought he was doing the right thing, or so he kept telling Wesley. The whole time though, Walter took blood samples and manipulated Wesley’s immunity. The cure had been discovered, but not before Walter had been bitten by the chicken shit zombie.

Pippa should have made them turn back then to retrieve the notes and vials of unused vaccine against the undead.

Instead she continued to stroke her boyfriend’s hand and rest her head on his shoulder.

That night they three women cried and cried. Rosalyn’s death shook them up more than they realised. Berta clung to her cat, ignoring the wheezes and snuffles as she stroked him. Tatiana raided the surrounding houses and found enough booze and cigarettes to keep her happy.

Pippa cried, but she was also thankful for the return of Wesley. It was their joyful reunion and early resulting early retirement to their room that kept Pippa safe. Wesley, of course, was immune.

Tatiana had finished the entire bottle of whiskey. Everything was now funny as well as being viewed in double vision.

So the sight of Martin jumping from Berta’s lap and digging his fangs into the throat of his owner was at first something for her to giggle about. She pointed and laughed some more before she felt the warm, wet spray of Berta’s blood against her cheek.

Her giggling stopped as she wiped her hand across her face. Looking at the red on her fingers confused her, so she raised her eyes once more to Berta.

All she saw were the marble eyes of Berta’s cat and then the pain as he tore into her face.

Diary of Pippa Roscoe to her unborn child

February 23rd

(73 days after the first reported outbreak)

Little One,

We have reached the farm that the four of us first set out to find: Berta, Tatiana, Rosalyn and I.

They didn’t make it. But, instead, you have your daddy back!

It’s so peaceful up here. The house we picked isn’t actually a farm, but it is set high on the side of a hill, so we can see danger coming. There is only one road in, which sometimes worries me, but at least there are now a bunch of paths tracked through the trees, so we have plenty of escape routes if need be.

Life is quiet, peaceful, restful, sad.

I wonder if you will be immune like your dad.

I think that you are.

I think that is what is keeping me alive.

Love always,

Mamma Pippa.

That was the conclusion of Zombie Apocalypse Now! Feel free to visit me at
www.racheltsoumbakos.wordpress.com
and tell me what you thought of the ending.

Why not drop me a line and tell me what you thought of Zombie Apocalypse Now!

Email: mrs.zoomby@live.com.au

Or visit my website:

www.racheltsoumbakos.wordpress.com

If you liked what you read here, why not try one of my full length novels?

Emeline and the Mutants

(Genres: dystopia, post-apocalyptic, horror)

What would you do if your whole family mutated into hideous creatures?

Would you have the courage to do what had to be done when they threatened your life?

Emeline Hart is faced with this horrifying decision when the miraculous Haum vaccine changes into something monstrous. When the mutations start, there is no way to hide the fact that the world is now filled with people who are no longer dying of cancer, heart disease or diabetes. Instead, they are becoming werewolves, vampires and trolls.

In the midst of this, Emeline must search for her missing brother and unravel the conspiracy of events surrounding his disappearance.

The heart pounding action intensifies as medical science goes wrong in EMELINE AND THE MUTANTS.

Currently FREE and available from

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Please enjoy this excerpt of Emeline and the Mutants…

“Only the Dead have seen the end of War.”

-Plato

Chapter One

It was one of those beautiful spring days. The sky was a new shade of blue. Small, crisp white clouds sailed across it at a snail’s pace. A gentle breeze picked up the hairs that had come loose from Emeline’s ponytail.

A bird or two chirped in a nearby tree. Emeline Hart glanced quickly towards it. Ever since the world went crazy five years ago, it was always wise to check that chirping came from real, live birds and not ones that were infected. She sighted the first bird. It was a sparrow and even from this distance, it was easy to see that it was normal.

The second chirp came from higher up in the tree. This in itself was a fair indication of it being a live and non-mutated bird. Full zombie amplification resulted in a loss of flight in birds. Of course, if the bird were bitten within the last eight hours, flight would still be possible. Emeline eventually caught sight of the second bird.

It was a mutant, for sure, but still in the early stages of mutation. This bird had originally been a magpie. Its feathers were still black and white, but its beak had faded from its normally darkened point, to a washy shade of dishwater grey. Eventually feathers would start to fray and fall out. Its skin would blister in places and fall off in others. The bird’s eyes would water to start with, but over the next two hours, that water would turn to drippy yellow pus as the infection took a strong hold.

It was at this point that a bite from mutated creature would result in infestation at a rate of nearly seventy per cent. Eight hours after a bite, mortality was nearly guaranteed. The magpie was newly contaminated, but infection from it was still a real threat.

Emeline knew that she would have to kill it now before it could spread its contagion. It was highly unlikely, but not impossible, that this animal could have infected others.

Before

Emeline Hart’s Journal

(Found in the roof cavity of the abandoned Hart residence)

January 8

Things I never want the world to forget about Angus:

He’s smart, but studies for fun

I met him at Uni. We were both studying ancient cultures

His father expected him to follow in his footsteps and become a media tycoon

He’s stinking rich, but he’s not pretentious about it, not one little bit

When he eats ice cream he always ‘accidently’ gets some on his face - just to shit me

His favourite pet was a dog named Minnie

His hair is brown and curls up over his ears when he needs a hair cut

I love him

January 9

I met Angus after work today. I needed a beer something fierce! Right from the moment he walked into the bar, I knew something was up. He looked like crap, that’s for sure and if I didn’t know any better, I would think he’d already started drinking without me. I quizzed him, but other than saying he had a headache, he insisted he was okay.

January 10

I’m hiding in the roof cavity of my house.

I should have known better last night. Angus was sick, not drunk. But not good sick - Haum sick.

This is my first encounter with zombies. Sure I’ve met a whole bunch of vamps and weres - most of them being my family - and I even know a bit about merpeople (well, actually ‘people’ is no longer correct since all the mermales seem to have been eaten by their spouses), but zombies are new to me.

I am peering down through a small hole I punched in the ceiling with my biro. Angus can smell me, but he can’t work out where I am. I wish I didn’t have to do what has to be done. I wish Angus was like me - immune.

I don’t want to shoot him.

I still love him.

Chapter Two

Emeline had never thought that her life would come to this. It was not that long ago that an average day for her involved freely walking the streets of her hometown, Ingot and kissing her boyfriend regularly. Neither of these once common activities was currently advisable. Ingot was now a ghost town. The same could be said for most of the towns and cities across the world.

Before van der Haum’s new miracle cure, Emeline’s family had been predisposed to diabetes and high blood pressure. After, she had seen her father’s side of the family mutate into merpeople and her mother’s family turned into werewolves.

While all people, male or female, had the capacity to turn into werewolves, merpeople were an interesting breed. Mermaids were the only form there were no mermales. Instead, the mermaids bred with human males to produce offspring. However, when all the mutations had occurred, there were some mermales produced initially. There were humans that were predisposed to the mermaid gene, but were born male. These males lived a short amount of time and died once they had mated with a mermaid.

Emeline and her brother, Warwick, were the only survivors of the family. They had seen and done things normal people would not. Only war survivors could be compared to the Hart siblings.

It had fallen to Emeline to be in charge of dispatching her mother’s side of the family. First, she drew the short straw. Also, she was the only one who could shoot a gun with great accuracy, at that stage anyway. Warwick had certainly obtained a reliable strike rate now, due to all the recent practice. Since guns were not common in Australia, Emeline was not the norm.

She was now a wanted person, since she was one of the few left who could kill werewolves from a distance. Vampires were no issue for her either, but in their case she preferred to hunt with a bow and arrow. While silver-tipped bullets could be shot quite easily from guns, vampires could only be killed with wood and garlic. The arrows were coated with a garlic mixture as a double whammy for the prompt disposal of these creatures of the night.

By the winter, Emeline had killed half of her family. It did strange things to her well-being. Luckily, Emeline had learned early on in the piece that shooting from a distance turned out to be some kind of blessing in disguise. She could almost pretend that she was just target shooting. From faraway, zombies and vampires were just people-shaped things that needed to be hit.

It was only in the middle of the night that those images came back to haunt her.

Some people saw this as a blessing, since she could channel that grief into aggression and then vent her spleen on vampires, but not Emeline or her brother. Instead, she locked her grief away where no one could see it. She was now an effective killing machine.

The death of her father’s side of the family had fallen to her brother, Warwick. Needless to say, he was affected differently. Warwick grieved openly for his actions. He had no nightmares and was a quieter person as a result. His pain was etched across his face for everyone to see. In many ways, the siblings had traded genders. Certainly, Emeline wasn’t able to work through her emotions or process them.

Warwick had a theory on that. Normally men used guns as weapons. Emeline now used this weapon extensively. Originally, she had gotten a gun license only because she was female and it was not expected of her. As a result, she had been affected in a masculine way.

Warwick, on the other hand, had to deal with merpeople. So far, the only known way to dispose of a mermaid was either to skin it and burn the skin before the mermaid had a chance to regenerate a new one, or to confine them. Confining them prevented them from entering back into the water of a nighttime. Without the regenerative properties of water, the mermaids would eventually dry out and die. Warwick, being male, was not able to approach the mermaids due to the reaction their siren song had on men. He had to set up traps at night, when the mermaids were sleeping. In the morning, the mermaids would usually trigger the traps themselves. Curiosity was high on their list of character flaws.

Now these two damaged siblings were all that they had left of their former life.

Chapter Three

It was just Emeline and her brother now. It had taken two months tops to infect the whole world, except for a precious few people like Emeline and her brother. Back before all the mutations occurred, both of them would have belonged to the elite group of long-living people, the types who could live to be one hundred and ten, even though they smoked a cigar every evening and had a neat scotch with every meal. Now they were members of a quickly shrinking population.

Many people died at the hands of those creatures left. Most zombies now were the result of short-livers that had been bitten. Zombies were the only other creatures who appeared to have a shorter life span than Emeline’s unique little group. And, if all the urban legends and fairy tales were anything to go by, all the other creatures had the potential of outliving humans by tens, if not hundreds, or thousands of years. Since they had been spot on in a lot preventative and elimination methods, this was looking more likely by the day.

That is how Emeline came to be sitting in a field looking for zombie mutant creatures.

Now instead of working in job that paid in money, most people now worked within their little sheltered communities. Payment came in the form of protection and food.

Emmy and Warwick had deserted their hometown of Ingot which lay low in a gully. They moved to higher ground that could be fortified and used as a lookout. Every night, as the sun set, Emeline looked down on the old town. Every day it got a little bit greener, as Mother Nature reclaimed it. Sometimes it got a little blacker too, as buildings burned.

An entire village of necessity had sprung up on one of the smaller hills that surrounded the town of Ingot. Originally, there had been a hospital up on the hill that housed the mentally insane. It was perfect for the survivors’ new needs. A huge brick and wrought iron fence surrounded it. Iron kept the fairies out.

The first thing on their agenda after people had started to move in, besides growing food, was to dig a moat. Luckily, one of the short-livers had owned a dirt moving business. It had been a much shorter task than they had originally thought, once the big trucks were bought in. They nearly completed it before the petrol ran out for the first time.

The hospital was called Daisy Hill: Home for the Mentally Unstable. It was lucky that the electricity had never failed them yet. But then again, Daisy Hill had its own power supply, as well as solar back up. One of the new residents had run their previous home on solar power. They were now able to maintain and add to the existing solar system, so the facility ran without too much difficulty.

Around the perimeter, and in the gap where the moat did not meet, garlic grew. Both the water and the garlic were deterrents to vampires and merpeople. There were other measures to keep the compound safe, although many of them were superstitious in nature. However, it was better to be safe than sorry, or so most people believed. Where possible at least two deterrents were used against any one mutation.

All the houses had newly installed corrugated iron roofs. It made them hotter in summer, but it made it virtually impossible for fairies to land within the compound. Fairies would die upon contact with the iron, but more importantly, the huge concentration of it gave any fairy flying overhead a severe migraine, of sorts. Sometimes the pain was so great that the fairy would drop from the sky. This created a spectacular display for those lucky enough to witness the rainbow explosion as the small creature hit the iron and burst into flames.

The roofs were reclaimed from the deserted village below. It had been a dangerous and time-consuming task. Lives had been lost, but now more people could be saved. It was a hard decision, but one that had to be made.

Some people believed that Daisy Hill was haunted. Emeline didn’t believe it for a second. She thought that the nighttime screeches and moans most likely came from the mutants that surrounded them. Or, possibly, they came from her tortured dreams and not from the ghosts at all.

Thursday

The Sun Herald

YOUR FAVOURITE LOCAL NEWSPAPER

AIDS Cured!

AIDS: It’s been the scourge of the sexual revolution. Now a cure is mere months away! While certain demographics of the community are affected by this devastating disease more than others, a universal fix-it-all is currently being developed in Africa, a country that is fraught with suffering as a result of this destructive illness.

Dr. Peter von der Haum, a leading viral bacterial researcher is leading the way in this exciting new breakthrough. An Australian scientist, von der Haum has moved his life’s work to Africa stating that it is important to research and test in a country that has the highest rate per capita of AIDS sufferers.

“To see small children and pregnant, breast-feeding mothers suffering from what will shortly be a curable disease is something that cannot be expressed in words.”

~ Dr. Peter von der Haum

Some health organisations, notably several groups in Australia, are requesting that more rigorous testing be done before the drug is released to the general public. While there are some concerns surrounding the short length of time between final human testing and the suggested release date of August this year, these have been muffled by the general consensus of world leaders saying that the benefits of a cure for AIDS far outweigh the slight risks involved

So what does this mean for the general public?

Starting from August, a rollout of the vaccine will begin in Africa. All AIDS affected people will be able to visit their doctor, free of charge, and obtain the variant of the vaccine that is able to correct the HIV virus. All people that have been blood-tested and are considered AIDS free will have the option of the AIDS vaccine. This inoculation will also be made available free in a bid by the African leaders to eradicate an illness that has devastated their country.

Following the successful rollout in Africa, Australia and the US will follow. While Australia is listing the vaccine on their Pharmaceutical Benefits Scheme and therefore making it available countrywide at a discounted or free cost, the US is still under negotiations in regards to costs.

Chapter Four

Emeline lifted her head and took aim at the zombie magpie that was still attempting to make a strangled warble in the top of the tree. She watched as it hopped stiltedly from branch to branch. It was beginning to lose its ability to fly. If it fell out of the tree, it would never be able to sing from the treetops again, not that its future looked remarkably long or eventful anymore.

However, Emeline was planning to dispose of it before then. She could see exactly what it was trying to do. It was trying to reach the non-mutated sparrow, which were now only a few branches away. Emeline needed to kill it now before it had a chance to infect the other bird.

It would save her a bullet.

A bullet wound to the brain could kill zombies. In fact, any form of brain damage could kill them. So could total decapitation.

Emeline took aim. She had a sniper rifle, so she could shoot from a safe distance. That was how she spent her days. Thursday was zombie-watch day.

The magpie jumped onto the branch above the sparrow. It staggered and lurched but managed to regain its composure. Emeline had to strike now, before it could contaminate the healthy bird. She steadied her weapon and took careful aim.

The sparrow never even knew that it had been in danger. It watched with skittish surprise as the magpie fell from the branch above. The dead bird bumped its way down through the tree, hitting the ground with a wet, splodgy thunk.

Emeline’s job was not yet complete though. She still had to burn the body after confirming that the zombified bird was dead. This was the dangerous part.

She nodded back to Warwick who was watching her through binoculars from behind the iron fence. They always worked in pairs. One was designated dispatcher, the other watcher. There was always a decent gap between the two people. In addition, usually there was some form of barrier in the middle. Today it was the iron fence. Emmy also had the water between her and the rest of the world. You can never be too safe in this new and deadly world of theirs.

Warwick nodded back at her. She waited while he put down the binoculars and picked up his own sniper rifle. He was not as good a shot as Emeline, but then again, he wasn’t aiming for the small bird. He was aiming the gun at his precious sister.

If it turned out that the magpie wasn’t dead and it infected Emeline, Warwick would be the one in charge of dispatching her. So far, they had been luckier than some of the others. Normally they refused to work with each other. No one else liked them working together, but there had been an outbreak of gastro amongst the people of the compound. Any able hands were either tending to the sick or collecting water for the community - another task that was fraught with unnecessary danger.

Warwick lifted the gun and took aim. Emeline nodded curtly again and lowered her own weapon. She still held it at the ready, but she was now concentrating on approaching the bird.

The creature hadn’t moved since it had hit the ground with its sickening thud, but Emeline knew from experience that she should never drop her guard.

The bird was only ten metres in front of her now. It was time to don her facemask. Occasionally the wind was brisk enough to whip a feather into action, Emeline had started to raise her gun twice already because of this. It was always such a fine line between caution and stupidity.

The body turned out to be well and truly dead. Emeline stuck her gun into it and poked it with enough force to break bones. There was not a croak or a squawk from the infected animal.

Once she had confirmed its death, Emeline leaned her gun against the truck of the tree from which the bird had fallen. She left the safety off. The quick or the dead was the common catch phrase now.

From her back pocket, she removed an aerosol can. From her front pocket, she retrieved a lighter. It was the only way to stop a predator making light work of an easy, but possibly highly infected, meal.

Once the body was burnt to a crisp, Emeline removed the mask from her face. There was no proof that zombie germs were an air born contagion, but Emeline refused to take any chances.

She was now able to return to the compound. It was still a slow and steady process though. Many people were caught unawares on the return trip. They had dropped their guard and assumed that the danger had been taken care of properly.

There was no such thing as properly these days.

To read the rest of Emeline and the Mutants please go to Amazon.com

Metanoia

Definition: n. an awakening, a spiritual conversion or a fundamental change of character

Etymology: Greek 'to change one's mind, repent'

Marli Anderson has just one task: assassinate Oscar La Monde, the man she once loved.

As assassin for hire for the prestigious Merrick’s Inc., she is sent back to her home town to kill the man she now loathes beyond all others—her husband. Considering they are on opposing sides of the uprising, Marli anticipates an easy task; ‘closure’ they call it. The fact that she can exact her revenge for his past discretions is just the icing on the cake.

When she arrives, the town has changed. The man she hated is unexpectedly welcoming. And the town’s folk—well, they’re just… different. Someone or something has transformed them all into a bunch of zombies. They appear to be harmless - but are they?

As she begins to uncover details of who may be behind the townsfolk’s’ metamorphosis, Marli is left fighting for the truth. Will she and Oscar be able to unravel the web of deception before it’s too late?

Should she trust her heart or her head? Which is less likely to get her killed?

METANOIA is a heart-stopping zombie apocalypse adventure filled with twists and turns to keep you guessing until the very end.

Available from:

Amazon

About the Author

Rachel Tsoumbakos is a stay home mother of two.

Her main passions are writing, reading and organic gardening. Rachel lives with her husband, two kids, three cats and seven chickens in suburban Melbourne, Australia.

While she has had several articles published through mainstream magazines, she has also written extensively for True Blood Net and now writes news and entertainment articles for The Inquisitr.

Emeline and the Mutants is her first published novel and available on Amazon. The Ring of Lost Souls is set in an abandoned mental institute on the outskirts of Melbourne, is her second novel and also available on Amazon. Unremembered Things is an edgy paranormal trilogy about a woman who is in charge of saving the world even though she suffers from amnesia. It is the first novel in the Wood Nymph Chronicles

Her newest endeavour is Zombie Apocalypse Now! This is a zombie apocalypse serial written entirely from a female perspective – and boy do these gals know how to kick some butt!

Find Rachel online:

Facebook:

http://www.facebook.com/rtsoumbakos

Twitter:

http://twitter.com/#!/mrszoomby

Blog:

http://racheltsoumbakos.wordpress.com

Table of Contents

- PART ONE: In The Beginning…
- In The Beginning…. ROSALYN
- In The Beginning…. BERTA
- In The Beginning…. PIPPA
- In The Beginning…. TATIANA
- PART TWO
- Tatiana Runs Out of Cigarettes
- Berta Escapes
- And What of Pippa?

- Secrets and Lies and What the Apocalypse Brings…

- Welcome to the Funhouse Forensic Unit

- Going to Hell in a Hand Basket