Monday, May 12, 2014

Story a Day, Glimpse of Zombie Work-in-Progress

Today for Story A Day, I thought I'd share a short excerpt of part of the zombie book I've been working on. Here's a little glimpse of the main character's first encounter with someone known to her... but now unknown and changed--why she doesn't yet understand.  Some parts may still change later, as her understanding, reactions and actions toward these creatures grows and changes.

Zombie Work in Progress
By C.A. Verstraete

    She shuffled faster toward me. It's when her cold fingers latched on to my arm that it hit me.
    She showed no emotion, no sense of recognition, no sight. The only utterances she made were those strange low moans.
   As her fingers grabbed and held my wrist, her coldness seeped into me like a deadness of the soul. I shivered and pushed her away, wondering what had made her this way. . . was it disease, a plague?
    She acted like one possessed.
   With a low growl, she moved in closer, her teeth, once so neat and straight, now tinged with red, biting and chomping like a rabid dog's. I screamed as she lunged and grabbed at me again, her mouth snapping within inches of my neck.
    "No-no! Stop!"
   Despite my yells, she bit and scratched at me like a thing gone wild. I fought her off, but she continued like someone with inhuman strength. I'd push her away and she'd come at me again and again, her arms grabbing, her teeth seeking my flesh.
   We grappled and wrestled around the room, my panic growing as I felt my own strength wane. I was surprised that no one had yet heard the commotion, but I didn't call out again, not wanting to put anyone else within her reach. Still, I feared that I couldn't go on much longer.
   Once more she chomped at me. As I reeled back, my spine touched the fireplace, sending up a flood of panic. When she came at me again, I didn't hesitate. Seeing no other way out, I whispered a prayer for forgiveness, grasped the fireplace poker in my hand, and swung as hard as I could.
   It hit with a sickening thud, the iron sinking into her skull with a crack, yet she attacked. Tears streaming down my face, I sobbed and hit her, again and again and again. My blows raked her face, scraping deep furrows into her flesh. The metal pounded against her shoulders and arms, the bone giving way with a sickening crunch. Her broken arms dangled, they hung limp and ugly at her sides . . . and yet dear God, still she came at me.
   Uttering a cry, I raised the poker over my head. With every last bit of my strength I brought it down hard on top of her skull, my stomach jolting at the loud crack. It is then she finally crumpled and lay unmoving at my feet. 
(c) C. Verstraete/CAP

  * For another view of zombie horror, you can also read what Becca, my younger part-zombie character encounters in GIRL Z: My Life as a Teenage Zombie.

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