Stone Colds

About a boy who is a survivor in a zombie apocolypse. Several undead hordes attack the poor teen and he ends up in a not - so - good state.

Read on to see the outcome of this horrendous horror short story...

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1. Stone Colds

     I used to wake at 5:00 AM, shower, dress and style my hair.  I would walk to the station at a quick trot and join the mass of businessmen and woman.  Nowadays I still wake at five and get dressed, but I don't shower or style my hair.  I'm too busy fighting off the undead hordes.

     It all started when a meteorite crashed down into an amusement park in Watford.  The first to change were the news reporters who rushed to the site.  They were meant to burn up in the atmosphere, but when it penetrated through the Ozone layer they attracted nitrogen and increased in size.  The didn't even have to touch the fallen metiorites, the dust in the was enough to metamorphosise them into 'Stone Colds', they called them.  I watched the mutations on the news.  The zombies looked exactly as you'd expect: As soon as the reporters got within 50 yards of the meteorites, they fell to their knees and mouthed silent screams.  Soon their heads became shrunken and smelt of death, flies hovering around the undead figures.  They were hunched groaning and slow, their decaying hands pawing at the air searching for something living to snack on.

     I was out late - usually the best optian for the zombies regularly attacked in daylight - when a female zombie lumbered out from a club, stained with the food of the night: Flesh.

     She spotted me and signaled a few other walking corpses to come with her.  The main zombie led the hungry trail of her followers to me.  They encircled me from all sides, I had no escape.  I sprinted towards the weakest looking zombie, drove my elbow into its disfigured face and abdicated through an adjacent backstreet.  The mob lurched after me at an unsurprisingly slow pace.  I passed a looted D.I.Y store.  I stopped and clambered in.  It would have been easy to find something useful if it wasn't for the zombie manger and his staff.

     The fight was an adrenalin-fuelled blur, with the throng of living dead from before trundling in and joining the battle. The manager and his staff were simple to deal with, but the other freak shows were a different story.

     My stone-like fists battered the first zombie's decomposing face until it had been beaten down to a decrepit and ragged skull.  I hadn't a chance.  They out-powered me and pinned me to the floor.  As I fought one off, another corpse took its place.  Two zombies held down my struggling legs and another clamped its grimy, lichen-covered claw over my screaming face.  A ravenous zombie wrenched my helpless arm from its socket.  My stomach was soon on the menu as several pairs of undead hands reached in and ripped out my lungs and kidneys. 

    

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