Authors: Theo Vigo
Tags: #adventure, #zombies, #apocalypse, #zombie, #living dead, #undead, #walking dead, #outbreak, #teen horror
By Theo Vigo
Copyright © 2013, Theo
Editing by Theo Vigo
Cover Design by Gabriel Ponce de
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This book is a work of fiction. The
names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the
writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to
be considered as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead,
actual events, locale or organizations is entirely
Published in Toronto, Canada by Theo
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
*Disclaimer* As it is
stated on the previous page, this is a work of fiction. Although I
chose to use real locations/destinations in this book, their
characteristics have been altered as I see fit to suit the plot.
Any medical information is skewed as well, although, I did my fair
share of research on specific medical procedures and equipment. The
best way to think about the world in this novel is that it
in another dimension.
This is my first attempt at
self-publishing and believe me when I say that I worked hard at it.
Throughout is journey there have been unexpected obstacles around
every corner. There is always some problem that needs to be fixed,
and I expect there to be many more. I welcome feedback of kinds.
Whether good or bad, if you feel the need, leave a comment, because
I need to know what I'm doing right and wrong. It's the only way I
can get better as a writer and self-publisher.
I came up with this story
in the summer of 2011, about a girl who trains a zombie. During
that summer I wrote the premise and brief descriptions of the parts
I saw in my head, however, I left it at that and didn't start
writing on it again until May 2012. Ever since the idea's
conception, the characters and events of the story never stopped
tumbling around in my mind, so when I started taking it seriously
in May, it was easy for the many ideas I had to be transmitted on
to my laptop.
My initial plan was to have
it written by October 2012, just in time for Halloween. Oh, how
naive I was. I had no idea how much work had to be put in when
writing a novel, especially when you're working on it by yourself.
I am a man of little means at this point in my life, so looking for
professional designers and editors was out of the question for me.
I didn't have money to spend of them (and still don't), so I put in
hours of extra work editing and formatting by myself. It had its
moments of extreme tedium, but I learned a lot and I think I'm
better off for it.
At first, I didn't really
care what people might think of this work, but the more time went
by, the more seriously I started taking the process. I still have a
thick skin, and I expect comments both good and bad. I think the
most important thing is that I am
satisfied with the story I
am about to share with you. Thank you to those of you who continue
to read on. Whether you end up liking the story or not, at least
you took a chance on me, and for that, I am appreciative. For those
of you who choose not to continue, that's fine. Go find a book that
you can fall in love with.
A special thanks to one of my most
talented friends, Gabriel, for taking the time to discuss this
story and help create its awesomely distinctive cover page. May its
simple image be burned into the minds of all until the actual
zombie apocalypse comes to fruition.
Thanks to my mom and brother for a
their support, both financial and sentimental.
To my dad, for always stressing the
importance of reading. R.I.P
To zombies, the writers who scribe
their tales, studios that make their movies, and everyone else who
celebrates the zombie experience.
To my friends, any who have played
a part in keeping me laughing and properly motivated.
My friends and family are like my
And lastly, thank you to my-self. I
wouldn't have been able to do this without you, dude.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
His second life begins in
an empty dark room of a hostel, where a single tube light on the
ceiling flickers, and the dust never seems to settle. Ironically,
this windowless room in which a man is given a second life, a
cursed life, but a life nonetheless, is rank with the foul stench
of death. He lays on the only bed in this small room, flat on his
back with his eyes closed, looking sickly, yet peaceful. He is a
handsome man, probably in his forties, but most likely in his late
to mid-thirties. His skin has gone pale, chalky and dull. It is
much more grey now than the dirty peach it had been before. His
hair, however, is still the same dark auburn, only sweat through
and messed from the trauma and fever. There is no way of knowing
for sure how long this man's body has been inoperative, but we meet
him at a special time, where in a matter of moments a
transformation will come into complete fruition. He opens his
Had you a chance to
converse with any of the members of his family, they would tell you
that this man's eyes are the most vibrant shade of hazelnut anyone
has ever seen, but now they are greyed. So much so that not a hint
of their nutty brown hue can be seen, and anyone not knowing him
prior to this transformation, could ever guess that they used to be
such a color. Even his pupils have lost a considerable amount of
opaqueness. As if getting used to them again, he remains on his
back, blinking and staring at the ceiling.
Even though he is covered
up to his waist by a dirty blanket, we can see that he has been
partly undressed. A white dress shirt sits messily on the floor
beside the bed, and the man has been left wearing a white t-shirt.
His feet are also uncovered wearing no shoes or socks. His left arm
has been wounded, and has been wrapped up amateurishly with
bandages that have already been bled through. Beads of sweat sit on
the undead man's forehead, possibly from the fever that took his
life, or maybe from the room's insufferable heat. His body cooks in
this, his personal tomb.
Possibly, it is this heat
that prompts him to swiftly sit up in his bed. Staying seated, he
takes a moment to scan his surroundings. Beside him, on a bedside
table sits an empty picture frame, and all over the room items are
scattered; a couple of chairs beside the bed, an opened backpack on
the floor, a few shoddy medical instruments on the opposing bedside
table and a dresser drawer at the foot of the bed with a few more.
Whilst scanning, a soft rumbling becomes apparent to the risen man.
It is coming from somewhere else inside the building. His eyes roll
to the left, staring at the door. He head slowly follows
With a goal now set in his
mind, he attempts to ease himself off the bed, but his injured
appendage fails him. He must have forgotten about it in this new
state he is in, and the weakened left arm falls out from under him.
On his way down to the floor, the undead man smashes his forehead
on the bedside table, causing it to wobble. The picture frame that
stood on it comes tumbling down after him, hits him on the back of
the head and lands on the floor next to him.
Laying face down, it is
seen that he wears a pair of black dress pants to go along with his
white tee. Our zombie slowly pushes himself up with both hands and
turns to look at the picture frame. He stares blankly at it until
more muffled crashing noises call out to him from inside the
building. They manage to take his focus away from the broken frame
that he seems to be so lost in, and he continues to lift himself up
from the floor. A normal man might've felt the pain from that
bloodied arm, let it beat him, but zombies don't feel physical
pain. When he is up on his feet, he makes his way out of the
He begins walking down one
of the long dark hallways of the hostel. It looks quite lived in,
run down and is just as dusty as the room our zombie woke up in.
The hallways are, however, lit slightly better, though some lights
still commit to flickering. Some of the rooms he passes by have
been boarded up by 2x4s, some with signs that read, "SICK ROOM",
"DEAD INSIDE", and "LEAVE US ALONE". Some doors are completely
open, but no one is around or in them as our zombie walks down the
hall toward the source of the resonating racket.
After some wandering, he
finds that not all of the corridors are well lit. Lights have
either been broken or blown in some areas, leaving them almost, if
not completely dark, but the undead man walks along unbothered by
his frightening surroundings. More and more the unsettling sounds
grow louder as he is most definitely getting closer to wherever
they are coming from. He comes upon another one of the darker,
badly lit corridors, and turns the corner to see what should be a
There is a man at the
other end. He is stooped down and leaning against the wall of the
far corner. His back is the only thing that can be made out, but it
is easy to see that the man is breathing deeply and shaking
distinctly. He seems to be distracted by something that is going on
around the other side of the corner he is hiding on, constantly
cautiously checking around it as if to make sure no one or
following him. Unfortunately for the troubled, preoccupied man, he
doesn't hear our zombie approaching him from behind, and by the
time he does, it is too late. This is our zombie's first taste of
human flesh, and it is good.
He feeds vigorously on the
back of his victim's neck and torso. You would think that he hasn't
eaten in years. He may have picked the man to the bone if not for
the fast approaching footsteps that run up and make a squeaking
stop on the tiled floor in front of him. They get our zombie's
attention, and he lifts his head from the corpse of the distracted
man to see a teenaged girl with short blond hair and dark eyes. She
wears a grey hoody that is two sizes too big, with the sleeves
pulled up and a black short skirt. She is standing several feet in
front of him, and her face turns from one of terror to hopelessness
when she sees the now reddened face of our zombie.
To him, she is nothing more
than his next meal, a much fresher meal. He gets back up and starts
hobbling toward her, quicker than one might expect a zombie to
hobble, but instead of running, the hopeless girl slowly backs
away, shaking her head and sobbing.
No… no… Please stop… Please.
But he doesn't listen to
her. Comprehension of the English language is just one of the many
faculties lost to the disease that stole his normal life. He
continues walking to her, quickening his pace the closer he gets,
as if his first taste of flesh has made him eager for his next. The
girl finally comes to her senses seconds before she is within our
zombie's reach and runs away, back to where she came from. He
watches her run around the corner, and a door can be heard being
opened and then slamming shut. He follows her round it and sees
that the girl truly has run through a door; a double door into
another room. The sounds of screaming and disorder become louder,
plural, and frenzied, as our zombie gets closer to it.