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    Eh, Zombie: I, Zombie Fanfiction, #1
    Eh, Zombie: I, Zombie Fanfiction, #1
    Eh, Zombie: I, Zombie Fanfiction, #1
    Ebook97 pages1 hour

    Eh, Zombie: I, Zombie Fanfiction, #1

    By David Adams

    5/5

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    About this ebook

    "Canada will NEVER be a safe haven for zombies. EVER." - John Baird, Canadian Minister of Foreign Affairs, 2013

    There are so many things worse than death. Let's explore some, shall we?

    As inevitable as birth, death is just another part of life. No more malicious than the sunset at the end of a day. It isn't some evil bogeyman that preys upon innocent mortals who would otherwise live forever. All good things must come to an end.

    But what if they don't? What is life continued as a rotten parody of its previous existence, left to jerk and move, their mind a pilot unable to drive stick?

    Dive into this confused mish-mash of stories set in Hugh Howey's world of I, Zombie. Enjoy the comedic, the horrific, the stupid and the insightful.

    Still not fit for human consumption.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDavid Adams
    Release dateApr 13, 2014
    ISBN9781498973175
    Eh, Zombie: I, Zombie Fanfiction, #1
    Author

    David Adams

    David Adams served as an Officer in the Australian Army Reserve, trained alongside United States Marines Corps and Special Air Services SAS personnel, and served in the A.D.F as a Platoon Commander of Military Police. He has worked alongside Queensland Police Officers and held investigative roles with The Commission for Children and Child Safety.

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      Book preview

      Eh, Zombie - David Adams

      There are so many things worse than death

      Let’s explore some of them

      1 • Jason

      ☣

      All romantic comedies follow the same basic plot. Guy meets girl. Conflict ensues. Guy devours girl as her horrified family watch on, knowing that they’re next and there’s nothing they can do to escape.

      No?

      Oh.

      I’m not a bad guy. I didn’t want to eat Katie. Her brains, the muscle and sinew that made up her body, her heart that I treasured. I begged the thing controlling me to stop. I begged, I threatened, I pleaded, I screamed out to the universe for it to just take whatever it wanted. I would give it anything in the world except Katie.

      All it wanted was Katie.

      When you’re a zombie you get used to memories like this after a while. At least I did. It’s kind of like seeing starving African children on the news every night; I don’t condone it, I don’t like it, but there’s nothing I can do about it. My screaming at the universe in denial grew to slow acceptance of the inescapable truth. I wasn’t consenting to be a murderer, a cannibal, a living corpse. I was just the viewer. I was the audience to the slaughter of strangers and loved ones alike. It wasn’t me.

      That’s what I told myself, anyway.

      My body, still splattered in Katie’s dried blood, wandered around Vancouver as though the city was my own personal fief. The snow-covered streets were empty even of my kind. There was only ice, debris, and piles of bones, neatly stacked and arranged. The corporeal ghosts of the dead.

      Dead. It was an interesting concept. Before the zombies the division between living and dead was easy; the living moved, the dead rotted. But now the rotting moved too. So what was the difference?

      I had plenty of time to think about this and had solved the puzzle. The answer, in my mind, was agency. When I was alive, my muscles moved due to electrical signals from my brain. Now that I was dead, my muscles moved through some process I had absolutely no understanding of. I knew it wasn’t my brain pulling the strings. Somehow, despite its breaking down around me, my body continued to function on autopilot.

      My life was a Google self-driving car, the spinning LIDAR my eyes, always searching for a beating heart to tear out and consume. For guts to chew. For muscles and skin to swallow.

      Consumption was everything to me now, but thinking back, that wasn't so dramatic a change. Katie and I had been 20-somethings working in office jobs, but we lived with her family rent free. Back in the day Katie and I used to do all kinds of things; things that just seem pointless to me now. Hockey. Tim Horton’s. Watching TV.

      We used to watch zombie flicks on Netflix. Now I was living in one.

      A wall of cars blocked Main Street near 26th Avenue, a fortress of rusted Priuses trying to hold my kind out. The puppet master behind my actions told me to approach. The me within knew they would have guns, petrol bombs, whatever—but it didn’t fear. It urged me towards the blockade.

      I’d eaten Katie. I didn’t fear being destroyed. I feared surviving.

      Frozen foot in front of frozen foot, my body got closer to the snow-covered cars, and I waited for it to be killed. For the survivors in the fort to open fire and waste me. I wanted them to do it. I deserved it. It was right.

      But they didn’t. My body walked right up to the stack of Priuses and, without even pausing, it began to climb. It heedlessly gripped the frozen metal, pulling itself up and over, taking my mind with it.

      On the other side of the wall were corpses, half eaten and immobile, and guns and ammunition half buried in the snow. The desolation continued down the main street, stretching out as far as I could see. My journey would continue.

      How foolish I was to think that the right thing would miraculously happen just because it should. By that logic Katie would have escaped, Vancouver wouldn’t be a graveyard, and we would all be warm and safe in our beds.

      But we weren’t.

      My body jumped down off the wall, the distance far enough to splinter the bones in my shins. They didn’t break—I wanted them to break—but they didn’t. Somehow, my body kept walking on those damaged struts.

      Left foot, right foot, left foot. Down Main Street, over another wall of cars, another ruined and overrun fortification, and onward.

      A kangaroo hopped past me, its back covered in snow. A real life kangaroo. I had no idea how it had reached the wrong side of the world.

      I wanted to save it. It was so out of place, just like my body, broken and dead, wandering through a graveyard the size of a city. We were kindred spirits, that roo and I.

      But it was meat, living meat. Whatever controlled my body wanted it.

      Fuck off, kangaroo! I screamed in my mind. You don’t belong here! This isn’t your home!

      The kangaroo stared at me, confused and frightened, and then it made a nervous hop. That motion was all my body needed. I started running towards the animal.

      It surprised me how fast it could hop. I chased it along the main street, pleading with my brain to let it go. I’d eaten plenty of people, but just like a video of puppies being thrown into a river, the idea of killing an animal bothered me a lot worse than killing another person. People at least had guns. People could fight back. What could a kangaroo do? If I bit it, would it become a zombie too? A shuffle-shuffle-spring ambush predator?

      We ran into an alley, the roo hopping for its life. It leapt up on top of a dumpster—a surprisingly high jump even for an animal known for its ability to jump—and then from there, amazingly, it sailed into the air again, landing on the roof of the building. Fear had turned its legs into springs. I couldn’t possibly follow.

      Nice. Well done.

      My body decided it was done and let the roo go. I began to wander

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