Ficlets

“Prepare the masses, because this means war.”
“What? What is he talking about? War?”
“This is not a joke. They’re here, and they thirst for our blood.”
This can’t be happening, he has to be joking but the pictures showed it all. The dead rising from their graves and taking up arms, attacking any who’s heart still beat in their chest. Was it Armageddon? Dead rising- check, but were they supposed to be blood-thirsty?

”... and if it’s a fight they want, we’ll bring the hell they’re looking for.” Strong words, but how do you kill what’s already dead? And worse yet, every life taken would rise shortly after and join the enemy’s side.

“We hate to say the zed word, but zombie seems to be the only appropriate term,” the anchor looked sober, and the picture in the top right played true to his words. “Another tally on the body count, how many more until we’re all bled out?” From sober to scared, he distilled an equal amount of fear in his audience.

“Stand up and fight like men, let God decide who scores.”