Welcome to this short story post. I decided to start a story on Medium to give me something to write on that platform. It really will be a short story. I don’t usually write in first person but oh well. I am also letting you go to read the first part by clicking the link at the end of this post. Hope you enjoy. This is an ongoing story.
The foul stench of death breezes under my nose and the woman cradles my torso. Lingering fear slips beneath my shallow breath and tickles my throat. “We fight to the death,” I add. She sits up and slumps her head on her hand and gazes into my eyes. I feel the doubt creep into my mind. We should fight, and we must. But the nameless wanderer like me, had that pale look of desperation and weakness.
“I can’t fight, I’m too weak,” she says, her thick European accent is hard to figure out, could be French. I was not in the mood to ponder such thoughts so I just glared back hoping she’d go to sleep. But sleep was not easy, wolves howled, seemingly closer than before, and seemingly in larger numbers.
“Don’t worry, we will be okay.” She lays back down and huffs. I know I can’t keep myself from worrying and have to open the tent netting. The fresh cool air brushes my face and the smell of mildew is already filling the fields. There is nothing to see and nothing to do but wait. Sunrise was many hours away, and they’d have to endure the isolation just a little longer. But no, through the thick black and slivers of moonlight I see not one but several corpses sway toward us. I go to move, and the stench creeps around the tent and claws inside…
Read the first part on Medium now 👇 All feedback is welcomed. Criticism is welcomed.https://medium.com/@thomas_maxwellharrison/fist-fighting-the-undead-4f63b257b79?source=friends_link&sk=ac5ef2189a1655f3fb046b983ea83e49: Fist Fighting the Undead (Cont.)
Find the back cover and blurb for the upcoming novella – Beach Town: Survivors – due for release over the summer period (aiming for August latest).