Back in January I was in line at Cafe Rio (obviously), and the line was extremely long. So to pass the time I started writing a short zombie story on Twitter, 140 characters at a time. I liked it, and have been wanting to follow it up, but I just haven’t found myself in a really long line at Cafe Rio in a while. I figure I’d put it up here and maybe that will give me the motivation to continue the story. I’ve edited the original text a little since I was typing on my iPhone and I have fat fingers. Enjoy.

Survivor Z. Chapter 1:

As the dust settled from the attack Regina ran her hands down her arms and legs feeling for bites. Blood was on her clothes, but she couldn’t be sure if it was hers or theirs. She looked around for her baseball bat and saw the Z she had first hit in the knee, then right on top of its head, spilling brains on the grass. Behind her was the rotting body she pushed against the wall. A rusty drainage pipe had skewered the head, poking through the right eye.

“That one surprised me,” she thought, even though after 8 months of this there wasn’t much that surprised her anymore.

She used to sing. Sold records. Lived the dream. She hasn’t sung since it started. She’s not a singer anymore. Now she’s a survivor.

She stepped over the dead body of an old woman. It had come back to life with vigor and death in its mouth. She had stabbed it in the back of the head with a screw driver. She left it there covered in the brains of the once dead, then alive, now dead again woman. On her way back to the car she stopped by a small stream to wash her hands and face. She sat there for a while listening to the flowing water.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw something floating down the water. It was a doll clothed in a dirty torn blue dress. She turned it over and over in her hands, examining it like an ancient artifact. It was from a lost world, her old world. On the bottom left foot there was a name written. The black ink of the marker had faded so much it was almost unreadable. She knew what it said. It was a name she hadn’t seen written since she signed an autograph the night before the outbreak. The black read:

Regina.