Ficlets

Keep moving. Two months after Z-Day, and I’ve observed some rules. Rule #4: Keep moving. Click.

Staring up the business end of the double barrel 12-gauge though, I can’t help but stop and laugh. Dual O’s, like a damn infinity symbol. The farmer spat. “It’s better this way.”

Can’t blame him. Rule #3: Post-bite, you’ve got 6 hours.

“No it isn’t,” I reply as I adjust the bloody rag on my shoulder. All he sees is a soon-to-be zombie. But this isn’t the first time I’ve been bit. Rule #2: Jack doesn’t do zombie.

Doesn’t matter. Won’t be the first time I’ve died. But I’ve gotten fond of this body. Fast runner. Rule #1: Jack doesn’t do death.

No death, no undeath. Just a lot of temporary possession. See, isn’t infinity hilarious?

Then I see it. Shiny blue swiggles on the gun barrel. Runescript. “You fucking Hick-Witch!” I yell, anger boiling inside me.

Or is it fear? Who knows what teen-wicca-new-age-bullshit he has carved on there. Shit. Maybe this is the one I don’t come back from.

Bang.