The Cellar

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by Tracy Davidson

 

My arms ache from swinging the scythe so often. Must have decapitated fifty already today, and it’s not even lunchtime.

They outnumber us now. Most human survivors shelter offshore. Zombies don’t seem to like oceans. But I’m still a hundred miles from the nearest coast.

Dammit, here’s another one, drooling at the sight of flesh. My scythe’s by the door. I throw the nearest object, running for my weapon. But don’t need it. The zombie’s head melts away.

A salt cellar? Salt! No wonder they avoid oceans.

I stock up. I’m gonna make it after all. Maybe we all will.

Tracy Davidson

Tracy Davidson lives in Warwickshire, England, and writes poetry and flash fiction. Her work has appeared in various publications and anthologies, including: Poet’s Market, Mslexia, Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, A Hundred Gourds, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.

 

 

 

I Guess Grannie Will Be Fine

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by Greg Beatty

 

After Johnny’s parents died, Grannie raised him.

She helped him with algebra, bullies, and dating. When the zombies came, it was time for Johnny to return the favour.

“Grannie’s tough,” he told his wife. “But these days she just sits and knits.”

When he got to her cottage, Grannie was sitting on the porch. Knitting.

“Careful!” she called. “Only walk on the white stones.”

Johnny did, joining her on the porch just as the zombies broke into the garden…where they fell to pieces, dropping arms here and heads there.

Grannie said, “I used some of your grandpa’s special monofilament wire.”

Greg Beatty

When he’s not writing, Greg Beatty walks with his dog, dabbles in the martial arts, plays with his grandchildren, and teaches college.
You can find a number of his stories on Payhip: https://payhip.com/GregBeatty

 

 

Drained

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by Pauline Yates

 

Desperate to stop the zombie apocalypse, the latest plague to afflict humanity, I draw my knife across Annie’s wrist and fill a bucket with her blood.

Annie sways. “Will it work?”

“It better or we’re dead.” Grabbing the bucket, I open the door and throw the blood over the advancing zombies. It’s an insane idea, but attracted to the blood, the zombies mistake their festering bodies for fresh flesh and rip themselves apart in a feeding frenzy.

“It worked,” I shout, euphoric. “Annie, they’re dead. Annie?”

Anne lies on the floor, white-faced and lifeless. No blood drips from her wrist.

Pauline Yates

Pauline Yates lives in Australia and writes horror and dark speculative fiction. Links to her publications can be found here: https://linktr.ee/paulineyates

 

 

A Zombie’s Guide to Alcoholism

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by Sophie Wagner

 

I was bored; what can I say? Not like there’s anyone to judge me besides Martin, and he doesn’t do much.

The first day I ran out of realistic solutions to cure him of the zombie virus, I injected him with orange juice. No result. Same with pineapple juice. However, vodka might do the trick.

At first, he was still. Then, he hurtled towards the desk and began to bash out his brains until they joined him on the floor.

Interesting. Either I’m going to need an ocean of vodka to save myself, or I’ll just follow in his footsteps.

Sophie Wagner

Sophie Wagner is an emerging student author who has had multiple short story and poetry publications. You can find her work at The Macabre Ladies, Black Ink Fiction, Eerie River Press, Iron Faerie Publishing, Black Hare Press and more. She hopes you have a horror-filled day!

 

 

Instructions to My Past Self

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by Liam Hogan

 

Don’t study microbiology at university.

Definitely don’t take Dr Meadow’s course on recombinant DNA.

Whatever you do, don’t volunteer to look after her lab rats during summer break. Certainly don’t name one of them “Nipper”.

Take July the 13th off. Any excuse will do. Someone else can feed her damned rats for one miserable day.

Don’t let the mail-boy stick his hand in Nipper’s cage. And DON’T mix up the iodine solution with Dr Meadow’s untested serum.

If you do end up doing all of this (again), at least make sure you’re wearing a good pair of sneakers. And RUN!

Liam Hogan

Liam Hogan is an award-winning short story writer, with stories in Best of British Science Fiction and in Best of British Fantasy (NewCon Press). He’s been published by Analog, Daily Science Fiction, and Flame Tree Press, among others. He helps host Liars’ League London, volunteers at the creative writing charity Ministry of Stories, and lives and avoids work in London. More details at http://happyendingnotguaranteed.blogspot.co.uk

 

 

Payload

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by Ria Rees

 

The last city sprawls below—a hodgepodge of rooftop slums. With the deafening thump of helicopter blades pounding in my skull, I radio the pilot. “Target below. Keep us steady.”

One finger trembling on the switch, I repeat my mantra. We tried everything.

A small group hails us from a hospital helipad, arms flailing madly. Leaning out, I spot a single child, starved and dirty. My breath catches. The remains of a plushie dangle from their hand. I swear they look right into my eyes.

I swallow my guilt, convince myself they’re infected, and drop the payload.

We tried everything.

Ria Rees

Ria Rees writes from her cosy cottage in Wales, praying that her creations will never become sentient. www.riarees.com 

 

Death By Cake Pop

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by Jodi Jensen

 

“Almost ready, dear.” Joslyn ignored the growling in the corner and focused on her batch of cake pops.

Humming a cheery tune, she picked up a homemade squib (God bless the internet!) and rolled it in her dough. She poked the stick in, then dipped it in melted chocolate and voilà!

Her undead husband’s teeth gnashed as he struggled against the ropes binding him.

She shoved a cake pop into his mouth, then dove behind the counter.

Boom!

She jumped up to find his exploded head coating the walls.

Grinning, she rolled another cake pop…she had neighbours, after all.

Jodi Jensen

Jodi Jensen, author of time travel romances, a biopunk novella, and over eighty speculative fiction short stories, grew up moving from California, to Massachusetts, and a few other places in between, before finally settling in Utah at the ripe old age of nine. The nomadic life fed her sense of adventure as a child and the wanderlust continues to this day. As a natural born storyteller she has a passion for old cemeteries, historical buildings, things that go bump in the night, and sweeping sagas of days gone by. 

 

Brain Waves

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by Laura Nettles

 

Months after Z-Day, scientists finally discovered the zombies were hunting us by tracking our brainwaves: higher brain functions, specifically.

Coma patients and people in deep sleep remained unnoticed by those who had risen from the dead. There had to be a way to harness that. Tweak it. Adapt.

Icepick in hand, I tapped into the eye sockets of my captives. My patients. Trying different positions, angles, depths with each. The undead ignored my experiments when released, but the patients were more vegetative than living.

Inhuman screaming arose outside.

One more chance! I placed the pick to my own eye. Tap.

Laura Nettles

Laura Nettles is a California girl living in Canada.  She lights special effects for films by day, and pens terror by night. Snuggles with her dog Roy, and warm cups of rooibos tea sustain her. Follow her journey and read some of her fiction at lauranettles.com.

 

The Weight of Alone

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by Alden Terzo

 

Melek was alone. The mortals, her late mother’s people, shunned her. Her father—banished from Shamayim for siding with the Adversary—passed this banishment to her at birth before abandoning her. Melek had no place in Heaven or Earth.

But there was another place.

The rabbi, eyes wide, cowered and prayed at Melek’s feet. No longer able to endure the weight of alone, Melek raised her sword. Her great wings unfurled, obscuring the stars, as she brought the sword down, cleaving the righteous man and saturating herself with sin.

Better to serve in Hell, she’d decided, than to be alone.

Alden Terzo

When Alden Terzo isn’t reading, he’s often writing. Or procrastinating. There is usually coffee involved. Find him on Twitter @AmbassadorAlden 

 

Like Father Like Son

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by  Kai Delmas

 

My father was an angry man. He took what he wanted, convinced it was his due for the wings he had lost. The power he had been stripped of.

Before dying he whispered in my ear, lips aquiver.

“The sky is your birthright. You’ll grow strong. Take it. Reclaim the heavens.”

I slid my blade out from between his ribs and looked to my mother. Finally safe.

Yet his words lingered, and as I grew and grew, I understood that I was special. That I could take what I wanted. But I didn’t want the skies.

I wanted the world.

Kai Delmas

Kai Delmas loves creating worlds and magic systems and is a slush reader for Apex Magazine. He is a winner of the monthly Apex Microfiction Contest and his fiction can be found in Martian, Tree and Stone, and several Shacklebound anthologies. Find him on Twitter @KaiDelmas.