Hope Loud screeches interrupt the serenity of the room. “Lindsey, grab Hope and shelter yourselves in the living room closet,” my voice was low, although vehement. I ran to the door, the cacophonous sounds becoming nearly intolerable. They were here. A single voice haunted me, filling me with despair. You will never fend off this many zombies. Never.Remember Brenden, your childhood friend? He died in front of your eyes. How can you save your family? I took a look at Lindsey and Hope, their innocence churning my courage. Grabbing a AK 12 out of the closet, I prepared myself to open the door. I had an omniscient knowledge of these beasts, I could do this. My hand reached for the cold knob, quivering. I bit my lip and tightened my grasp. Taking a shallow breath, I opened the door. Just as the door opened, the stench of rotting flesh slapped me in the face. I stepped back, and unleashed an artillery barrage. Blindfire was no …show more content…
I looked at Hope’s face. I had made a promise. Her face shined in the moonlight. She was beautiful. I ripped a large square out of Logan’s clothing. With some difficulty, I cut into Logan, my hand getting covered in blood. I took a large chunk of his insides, and pulled it out. I swallowed down my vomit, throat and nostrils burning. I took the organs and put them on the cloth. I tied up the cloth into a sac. I took Hope and put him into the bag I had, and put on the the backpack. I attached the sac to the spear, and hung it over my shoulder. The backpack held down the spear. I stood up, and the bag of guts was hanging in front of me, out of my hands reach. I had a couple minutes minutes before I changed into a beast. As I turned towards the nearest major road, I felt an intense pain in my shoulder, and it spread all over my body. It was happening. The world went black. I was gone. I had lied to Hope. I couldn’t protect her. Not anymore. I felt her breath warming me up, one last
... middle of paper ... ... Works Cited Bateman, Daniel. A. “Dead Easy to Fight Zombies.” Townsville Bulletin 29 Mar. 2008: 441.
All in all, this book is a definite must for those who seek a bone chilling zombie apocalypse theme, those who enjoy short stories, a good spook, or a realistic feeling. The variety shown in the different vignettes illustrate Brook’s mastery over different kinds of people, which feeds to the realism aspect of the novel. The realistic feeling is what makes the story so spooky - readers are left wondering what they would do in the different situations posed by the interviewees.
I knew what this meant. The walls were down. Señorita Rodriguez yelled at us to get ready, get into the right stance because as of this moment, we were to fight for our survival. I spin around and whip out my katana, Kian whips out his pocket knife and we move cautiously to the door, knowing full well what we were to be greeted with. Kian yanks the metallic door open, the muscles in his arm extracting and retracting. He takes a huge stride out into the open, he was vulnerable. I had to help him. I step out next to Kian and am faced with death. The rotting flesh melting off their faces, the clothing they once loved battered and torn because the plague hit Earth like a hurricane. All at once. Every country was infected. We both spun and twirled around each other as the sounds of groans from the monsters surrounded us, I could feel how introverted and cold he was just standing with him against the monsters. A shout filled my ears as Matt came running, his scalpel already tainted red from the blood of the poor souls that were taken too soon from this world. Kian’s icy demeanour diminishes as he heard Matt and his will to fight grew stronger. The schools bundle of ice melts away as Matt stood by him and fought, Matt, Kian’s personal ray of sunshine that killed the ice cold beast within
The Creature That Opened My Eyes Sympathy, anger, hate, and empathy, these are just a few of the emotions that came over me while getting to know and trying to understand the creature created by victor frankenstein in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. For the first time I became completely enthralled in a novel and learned to appreciate literature not only for the great stories they tell but also for the affect it could have on someones life as cliché as that might sound, if that weren’t enough it also gave me a greater appreciation and understanding of the idiom “never judge a book by its cover.” As a pimply faced, insecure, loner, and at most times self absorbed sophomore in high school I was never one to put anytime or focus when it came time
This whole reading uses numerous metaphors to illustrate its idea. The author Eric King Watts unfolds his thoughts step by step. And all of his ideas begin with the book Zombie Survival Guide (ZSG).
A thick plume of black smoke and ash hung in the air in a heavy haze, almost completely obscuring the lurid red glow of the waning sun. Below, a cloud of grey plaster dust twisted and writhed amid the sea of debris as intermittent eddies of wind gusted by.
Bang! Crack! Screech! Pop! These are the sounds that interrupted me from playing with my cousin. My mind raced to see what exactly had happened. I run out of the house and to the courtyard. My cousins want me to come back in, they said zombies were walking the streets and that the government sent troops to kill them. I denied it, so I ran out to the street to see what happened. My heart pounded and my stomach grew anxious as the aroma of bacon and engine oil filled the air. As I grew closer to the scene, men shed blood from their eyes alike the woman. As I walked closer and cut through the crowd, a cold and simple wind had ripped the thoughts out of my head. It was a grieving mother over her son's body. His body fresh and mutilated from the crash. Shattered ribs and guts exposed. His head had exploded and his
she always used to wish for a way to escape her life. She saw memories
The streets of New York were glisting with the glow of street lights that shone down on the wet pavement as Elena Gilbert made her way out of a small bar she'd been hanging out in for the last few hours, which had smelt of stale ciggerates and regrets, but it mattered little to Elena. After several rounds of shots she'd spent most her time dancing and teasing the men and women into falling for her, compulsion was never needed. She could simply flash a smile, bat her lashes and they'd be hooked to her. There was a time Elena would have cringed at the idea killing people like this, not now. Two years had passed since Katherine Pierce had killed her younger brother, Jeremy Gilbert, two years since her humanity had been switched off.
For my first piece of original writing I intend to create a piece primarily written for entertainment however, I also want to portray an interest into historical and political persuasions. I aim to write this piece for an audience of teenagers to young adult who are aged from around fifteen to twenty-five and are male, I also wish to identify with those interested in political thrillers within this age range. The genre of which shall be a short fiction story consisting chiefly of narrative and written in the third person. I picture this piece as being one of a collection of short stories concerned with the political-thriller fiction sub-genre. Despite being a fiction text I aim to tie in real world non-fiction.
The garish sun illuminated the sky, and in the horizon there was a faint figure gallivanting through the fields, my sister. No place anywhere else in the world lies more peace and serenity than in the suburbs of Reykjavik, Iceland, a place full of wonders and where a zombie apocalypse is never a possibility. For this reason alone my sister and I had settled here in the suburbs after our parents had passed away back in Vienna. Post mortem indicated that they had died of a heart attack, “presumably old age had taken the best of them”, they had said, but my sister and I knew the hospital staff and the Vienna troopers weren’t conveying the truth behind my parents death. I had seen the zombie myself in quarantine surveilled by the Vienna state troopers
I stood there with my AR in hand, I stepped forward, knocking all pebbles around my feet, leading my few men towards what seemed to be certain death. We all were a bit edgy now. After a week of fighting and adrenaline, the body seemed due to failure. No one could predict what had happened in the past few days.
, my voice croaked out, barely audible to the uncaring ears of the men surrounding me. “Oh good, she’s awake,” His voice was gruff, low pitched, and almost
A group of bikers had rumbled down the road. The large group of zombies we had drawn to this area, along with others who had heard the loud bikes, met the motorcycle riders in front of our building. The undead blocked the way so well that they forced the motorcycle gang to stop and were even now engaged in battle. Shots ripped through the air as the two groups clashed. Some of the bikers fired guns, while others preferred handheld weapons.
A Town Called Hopeville I awoke early to a cold and rainy day. I could sleep no more for this was the day I am removed from childhood and thrust into adulthood. This is the day that I shall learn what fate I must endure for the rest of my life. On this day, all thirteen year old girls and boys are taken to the arena to learn what the elders of our town, Hopeville, have decided shall be our place in society for the rest of our lives. What they feel is best for society.