The Devil’s Breath

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by Pauline Yates

 

Tossed onto a reef by a rogue wave, our pirate ship shudders, and a sickening crunch sounds our death knell. Salt burns my lungs when I gulp water, not air, then I’m back on board with my crew, peering through fog that reeks of sulphur.

“What’s that smell?”

“The Devil’s breath,” a crewmate says. “Collecting our plundering souls, he is.”

I clutch my ghostly chest. “He can take it. I never want to drown again.”

“Nay. Caught in a hell loop, I fear.” He points at the ocean. A wave swells, tossing the ship. “Brace yourself. We’re going down again.”

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

 

 

 

From the Deep

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by Michael Stroh

 

I wake, vomiting seawater. I’m shivering and clutching soggy driftwood that’s barely keeping me afloat. A piece of our ship, I realise. I see nothing but empty, uncharted ocean. And bits of debris bobbing indifferently.

What happened? A storm?

It returns in flashes. The Catalina rocking, splintering. Harpoons hurtling. Tentacles reaching. The crew dragged screaming beneath the waves.

It was no storm.

I yank my legs from the blue-black water, searching the depths for movement. Something bubbles to the surface. A torso—bloated and bloodless. Wearing the captain’s jacket.

Around me, the water darkens. A shadow rising from the deep.

Michael Stroh

Michael Stroh is a pastor and writer in the Dallas area. His stories have appeared or are forthcoming in publications including Shoreline of Infinity, Martian Magazine, SQ Mag, and anthologies by Black Hare Press and Shacklebound Books. He and his wife Libby have three kids. Find him on Twitter @pastor_writer.

 

 

 

Cover Your Ears

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by Karen Thrower

 

It’s been a year since the dead began rising from their graves, hunting whatever humans they could find. We tried to get them to eat animals, but there was something about us that they craved. It didn’t take long before we lost hope and shuttered ourselves in our homes. Then one bright day, we found our solution. A happy accident really, during a zombie attack in Switzerland. As someone just happened to run into an old Victrola, the music that spilled forth had the zombies scrambling to get away. Who knew that yodelling would be our salvation against the undead.

Karen Thrower

Karen Thrower is a native Oklahoman, wife, and mother to a rambunctious eight-year old.  She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Deaf Education from The University of Tulsa.  She is also a member of Oklahoma Science Fiction Writers and serves as the Facebook ‘Wizard’.

 

 

 

Season of the Zombie

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by Shane Sinjun

 

“Revenge is a dish best served hot.” Rico turned from the campfire and flipped the pan-fried zombie brains onto Cat’s plate.

It hadn’t taken long for word to get around. Cooking zombie brains altered the proteins in the meat. It tasted rich and salty, but this delicacy offered something even more delectable—immunity.

Cat skewered the seasoned meat and held it aloft. “Here’s to the best zombie chef in town.”

They chewed, swallowed, savoured.

Rico grabbed two burning branches from the fire and handed one to Cat. They turned and faced the approaching zombie horde.

Cat roared, “Bring on dessert!”

Shane Sinjun

Shane Sinjun writes dark quirky fiction from Melbourne, Australia. He has a heart of gold. The rest is mainly base metals. Follow him on Twitter: @Shane_SJF

 

 

 

Joe’s Bar

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by Jodie Angell

 

Joe’s Bar had changed considerably since the zombie apocalypse first broke out. He’d learned rather quickly that there was a shift in the market—instead of Sex on the Beach, mojitos, and piña coladas, his menu offered a variety of Molotov cocktails.

He grabbed his firebombs from behind the bar and positioned them side by side.

“Going to need them today, bud.” Max exchanged cash for cocktails.

“Aye.” Joe grinned.

Together, they strode outside, facing the encroaching crowd of screeching zombies.

They lit the rags, then launched the fiery weapons. Bloodied limbs, severed heads, and guts erupted from the flames.

Jodie Angell

Jodie Angell grew up in South Wales, U.K. She started writing at the age of eleven, entering children’s anthologies. Her first book, Crimson Kiss, is published with Champagne Book Group.

Jodie explores all genres, including dark fiction, fantasy, and romance.

Instagram: @jodieangell_author

 

 

 

The Door

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by Alden Terzo

 

The cellar door creaked and flexed as the hungry zombies outside pushed against it. Alone in the cellar, Olivia sliced a hunk of rotting meat and tossed it through a small opening high in the wall. It hit the ground outside with a plop. The noise and smell drew the zombies from the door.

She’d bought some time. Before her father died, he’d promised her help was coming. Olivia needed the door to hold until then.

Grimacing, she cut another hunk of putrid flesh to distract the zombies. She hoped help arrived soon. There wasn’t much of her father left.

Alden Terzo

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

 

 

 

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!