Back from the Dead: A Collection of Zombie Fiction by C.M. Saunders & C.M. Saunders

Author:C.M. Saunders & C.M. Saunders [Saunders, C.M. & Saunders, C.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-07-22T22:00:00+00:00

Human Waste

I

Fucking zombies. They were everywhere. Horrible, shambling, rotting husks of humanity shuffling around looking for brains to eat. Dan Pallister didn't know where they came from, or what had happened overnight to send society so far down the shit tubes. He'd woken up that morning as usual, glanced out of the window of his ninth-floor council flat, and there they all were. Legions of them swarming the rainswept streets below.

He blamed the fucking Mudslime terrorists. Maybe they'd detonated a dirty bomb polluting the atmosphere with some kind of virus, or somehow poisoned the nation's water supply. How they did it was irrelevant. Their objective had been achieved. They'd finally succeeded in bringing western civilisation to its knees.

And here we are.

Luckily for Dan, he'd been preparing for such a cataclysmic event virtually his entire life.

Of course, he hadn't always known exactly what he was preparing for. Just that he was preparing for... something. While other kids had been out playing football in the streets or splayed out in front of the TV watching cartoons, he'd been making supply caches and teaching himself survival techniques, like how to make a shelter and find water in the wild.

His parents thought it was a phase he was going through, and probably hoped he would grow out of it. But the 'phase' had not only continued through his teens and into adulthood, but intensified. He was a proud prepper. As in, he was preparing.

No, scratch that.

He was PREPARED.

Yeah, people thought he was a bit weird. At school, some of them even laughed and poked fun at him. But who was laughing now, suckers?

Obviously, it would all be easier if he’d been born in America. There, he could have easy access to guns. He could build an entire arsenal, and settle in an isolated cabin way out in the woods. Maybe next to a lake. He’d put up signs around his property warning people to keep out, and lay tripwires and bear traps around the place to make sure they fucking listened.

But he hadn’t been born in America. He’d been born just outside Leeds. An economically deprived, decaying city in the industrial north of England. Lucky him.

It didn't take a genius to work out something big was going to happen. It had been building for years. The turmoil had been taken to new levels in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Syria. There’d been a coup in Turkey, China was teetering on the brink of war with the Philippines, or Japan, or maybe Vietnam, Russia was flexing its Commie muscles again with America in the other corner, the whole of Europe was fragmenting and being pulled apart, and through it all there was the omnipresent North Korea, like the weird psycho kid in the playground nobody wanted to play with. Except this weird psycho kid had an arsenal of nuclear weapons and his finger was permanently caressing the button.

All this civil unrest added to the scattered ISIS strikes and lone wolf attacks designed to spread terror through the western world could only mean one thing.

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