The Zombie Catastrophe

Kevin Santorini sat in his old but still running car— one of the only good things he had in his possession while eating a sandwich he had just gotten and listening to the news on the radio. He was still a struggling artist, and few things gave him joy except for his art, the car, his girlfriend Gina, and the house they co-owned after he had saved up for months on end to buy. It was quite shabby, but he liked it and was proud to say it belonged to him. With an exhausted sigh he reached for the knob, just about to change the radio station when a new headline came in. “Breaking News. The Institute for Health Research in Middlestown has announced the escape of a new virus called the Q-21 Zombie virus from one of its laboratories earlier this morning. Everyone is advised to stay indoors until the virus can be controlled.” Laughing at the news, he took the final bite of his sandwich. “Sounds like the gamer's dream come true. Nothing real.” He said to himself, throwing the paper it had b

“They cannot… they cannot touch me.” Kevin Santorini whispered to himself in realisation, his breath coming out in excited huffs from his nostrils. The feeling in his chest was a healthy mix of joy and wonder as he watched them try to reach him without success, held off by this barrier that even he could neither see nor understand. Now, he even dared to look them in the eyes, staring into the rotting, ashen faces. He could not believe his good luck when for the second time that day, the zombies left him alone. Still, he remained where he had woken up, convinced that there was something about that place protecting him and afraid to leave its safety. He checked the bite on his leg and saw that it had healed, leaving ashen scars. Was he dreaming? He wondered to himself, feeling the scars on his leg and pressing his fingers on them. There was absolutely no pain, no itch, and nothing to remind him that a zombie had bitten him there except for the scars, and even they seemed perfectly n

“So what is your story?” Max asked, finishing his beer can and throwing it aside while Kevin had barely taken any sips. “Go first. Mine might be more painful.” “You think?” He asked, the smile leaving his face. “I don't even know why the bloody hell I've been trying to stay alive. It feels fruitless now.” “Vengeance.” Kevin mused. “What?” “Vengeance is the reason why I've been trying to stay alive.” “And being eaten up by those things too.” Max finished, opening another beer can. “I did not think about it before, but now I realise that there's the way they come at you, grabbing and trying to bite with their smell filling your nostrils. Like ants. Nobody will want to die that way.” “You were in the military, you said, and it shows. There's a way you make death feel poetic.” Kevin noted. He was thinking that he and Max were going to be good friends, if they would live past the night. “And the beer too.” He smiled, throwing the second can. “It wasn't exactly the military. I am,

Max Johnson awoke the next morning to bright sunlight pouring all around him. He was half convinced that he was alive, until he pinched himself and felt himself respond to the stimulus. He tried to sit up, but doing so hurt his chest so bad that he fell back. Slowly and even more carefully, he sat up, managing the pains before running his arm around his chest and back, holding in the pain and feeling for any broken bones or swellings. Finding none, he decided the pain was most probably not serious and would heal eventually. Had it been a haemorrhage, he would probably not have woken up. Silently, he cursed his luck. He was in dire need of painkillers, but that was the one thing he had not scavenged with all the things he took from that house. His eyes scanned the room around him, observing with his military eye, and then he remembered the guy he had found the previous night… What had his name even been? He tried to remember. Kevin Santa… Sanctus… Santorini. He saw the man lying

He watched in horror as they clustered around him on all sides, yelling, shrieking and making whatever horrifying sounds they could. With a yell, he started to run towards a small space they had not yet occupied in a feeble attempt to survive, only stopping when he saw that space filling up. Quickly, he took a grenade, pulled out its pin, and threw it at one approaching horde. The explosion rang out and took several down, giving Max some time to position himself and shoot, which he began when the air cleared, shooting sporadically. Realising that they died faster when he shot at their heads, he raised his beam higher and continued shooting. The zombies coming to him had stopped running now, but were only coming close, creeping, seeing that he was a danger. One by one, he stopped to shoot, killing any one that dared come close. Nothing matched his relief when they began to step back, and he took out his last grenade and threw it at them to ensure they would see he was not one to be