This zombie’s a killer.

  Don’t get me wrong — I knew zombies were taking over the world. It was exciting. The thought of killing without consequences turned me on. So as a human, I was a builder by day and serial killer by night. So the way I saw the end of the world was like Merry Christmas to me. Everyone was like boo-hoo, poor me. Get fucked and deal with it. That’s what I say. That’s what I said, and that’s what I did.

  Okay, I fucked up a few things. First of all, when I first started to feel sick, I went to bed. Now yes, I know that’s all well and good if you go to bed feeling a bit sick and then the next morning you wake up. You wake up and you can control your arms and legs. But when you wake up dead and you’re only wearing boxers, then it’s a little bit embarrassing.

  My wife hadn’t turned into a zombie — thank God for small mercies. God, what the fuck am I talking about? Ha! Anyway, there she is making coffee and there I am: nearly naked, starving, and seeing the start of a perfect day. The day to get rid of this walking, talking fucking waste of skin — and she would be the first of many.

  Out of nowhere came a low, slow, guttural groan out of my own fucking traitorous mouth. The bitch heard and spun on her heels, looking me dead in the eye. Excuse the pun, or don’t — I couldn’t give less of a fuck.

  The bitch was making me work for a kill that I had been looking forward to for years. She was fast as well. Me, not so much. By the time my body had begun to react to her taking off like a bat out of hell, I had turned my head. She was already out of the room, and I could hear her fumbling with the keys to get out of the house. Finally, a lucky break. Somehow my legs were now working and I had found some speed, but this woman just didn’t give up. She swung the door to the outside world into my face and was on her toes again. A door to the face hurt a lot less than I expected. When I say hurt a lot less, I mean I felt nothing. Yet another win to Team Zombie.

  I was out the door, charging down the garden path after my fucking wife, and she wasn’t hanging around. I hadn’t eaten any of my victims before, and now I was salivating at the thought of it. She was looking like a drumstick with arms and legs.

  My luck seemed to keep coming my way. The street was quiet — no cars whizzing about to lend an unhelpful hand to her. While the chase was going on, I noticed something else that was going in my favour. I wasn’t getting out of breath or slowing, but she was. If I could laugh, I would be bent double now, and if that happened the unthinkable might happen: I’d lose her — and not in the romantic way. Just for your clarification: she would escape, and someone else might get to eat her. Oh wow, I really do want to eat her, don’t I? I’m not even repulsed in the slightest by these thoughts. That’s something for further consideration.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  My wife ran around a corner and was out of sight. She was only out of sight for maybe two seconds when the scream came. No, not her. She is my kill. I picked up my knees and pushed harder. It didn’t seem to make any difference. My movements were still stiff and awkward. I just needed to be the one to kill my wife.

  I burst round the corner like a zombie chasing down its meal to see my wife holding a zombie’s face inches away from hers. I wasn’t too late. I ran, closing the gap between me and my wife. Come on, lass, hold on for just one more second.

  I dived, knocking the zombie off her, and then proceeded to start smashing his head to a pulp on the ground.

  When I finished, I turned to see my wife. I had forgotten all about her in my frenzy. She walked towards me, her hand stretched out, and she spoke gently.

  “Are you still in there?”

  “Oh yeah, I’m still here,” is what I tried to say or maybe even think, but what she — and anyone within earshot — heard was a few short groans.

  She still came closer, and when she was close enough, I pounced on her. My teeth ripped into her throat. Some of the veins, tendons, or whatever they were surprised me with how tough they were. I really had to pull on them and bite. If I lost my teeth, then life would get increasingly difficult.

  It angered me that other zombies were coming for my kill, but at the same time, there was enough of my wife to go around. I could imagine that from above we would look like a pack of lions fighting over a carcass.

  A few days after eating my wife, I started to notice other side effects to being a zombie. One thing that was getting annoying was how short my attention span seemed to be. Other zombies took my attention. Animals took my attention. And it was hard to keep focused on the kill in hand. I was starting to think I was not only in my element but would hunt the world into extinction. Literally anything that was alive made me want to kill it, and there was no reason not to.

  I mean, take this for example: I’m stood staring at a wall one day, minding my own business, when this stunning woman walks out of this alley next to me. She got the shock of her life when she saw me. She started running but didn’t get far. Some loud cracks went off around me, but I paid them no mind. I was hungry, and pain was a thing of the past. Zombies came running from all directions and the gun shots rang out. Some zombies fell as they ran. As I ate more zombies came wanting a bite. Before things got silly. I got up and walked away.