Wednesday, 4 July 2012

Zombie Domain

Hi there,

I've started my second installment of Chemical Z, entitled Zombie Domain.

The first book was a build up to this, and had more of a story, this one contains a lot more zombie encounters.

You'll find it here.

Zombie Domain

Monday, 19 March 2012

If there's anyone still out there waiting for anymore posts, well, I've finished writing this blog and turned it into book form (kindle). It was simply taking up too much time. I seriously was taking it a day at a time. It is available here

I have started the second installment, which hopefully won't take as long as this. But don't hold your breath.
Thanks for reading.

Wednesday, 4 January 2012

I'm back home. I had a bit of an adventure last night, and that's why there was a distinct lack of my posting. I left the flat just before seven because, as far as I know, or thought, it would be quiet at that time. I like to be kept on my toes, sometimes, it helps keep the brain alert and you know you're alive when your heart is pumping, don't you? Whether it's through a simple stroll along the streets wearing a modified tool belt or taking a leisurely jog because a zombie spots you, or even luckier, sprinting as fast as your legs will carry you, blood pumping through your heart – one of the last remaining to do so in this town – as a dozen or so zombies chase you through the back gardens of your neighborhood, in a desperate bid to catch you and bite chunks out of your skull in hope that they can feast upon the soft, grey matter that lies within.
If I'm going too fast for you then I'll start at the beginning.....
As I said, I left before seven o'clock, I headed out toward the high school, taking the route along Ardgowan Street, rather than the direct route of Union Street, it was one of the busiest streets before this virus and it still seems to be pretty popular with the dead residents. I reached Fox Street, which runs down the side of the cricket club, and that's when I heard a voice. I didn't think it was a voice to begin with, even though my adrenaline was pushing all my senses to the limit, it was, as far as I was concerned, just another distraction in the background.
I moved down Fox Street, keeping close to the wall that surrounds the cricket grounds and the voice came again, but this time it was a lot clearer and I heard it. My head had set aside a little piece of brain to sit quietly and listen for the sound to happen again and sure enough, it did. A faint voice was me.
Hey! Mister!”
I was in close to the wall, how could anyone have seen me. If someone could see me, did that mean that zombies could see me? Apparently not, because I could see four zombies at the end of the street, but they couldn't see me. They certainly weren't looking at me, not in my direction, anyway. No, they were looking in the direction of the voice that was in great danger of giving its, and my, position away.
I watched as they turned, slowly, and made their way up the street to the house across from me. If they got close enough to the house they might just see me. And you know what, they did. They promptly changed their direction from the house to me. Yes, I did call the occupant of the house a fucking bastard! I make no apologies, as usual, I could have called them a lot worse had they not opened their front door and called me in. Of course I made a beeline for the poorly lit entrance and stumbled into the hall, almost impaling myself on one of the knives in my tool belt. I pushed the door closed, quietly, but quickly. The zombies may have seen what direction I ran, but they hadn't seen the house I ran to.
I regained what little posture I could, got to my feet and opened my foul mouth ready to turn the air blue when I saw, standing before me, a young girl. I stopped in my tracks. I was speechless, something I that doesn't happen to me that often. She couldn't have been any older than eight years, her face and hair looked as though they hadn't been washed properly in a month. She smelled a little bit, but I tried not to show it. You can't fool kids. She asked me why I was squinting my face, so I told her I had an itchy nose, that's why I covered my nose and mouth every now and then. She took it for what it was...a lie. She stared at me, right through me in fact, then walked upstairs. She told me to follow her, so I did.
She showed me into her bedroom, which I wasn't too comfortable with, I'll admit, but it was all innocent enough. She showed me some of her toys and the bed where she used to sleep on, and now sleeps under. It was a nice little wooden cabin style bed, with loads of cuddly toys under it, and in the corner a pillow and a Spongebob Squarepants duvet, which wasn't very clean looking.
I asked where her mum and dad where but she couldn't tell me. She just knew it was a long time. He older brother and sister were also “missing.” I told her my name and she told me hers. She said she wasn't allowed to talk to strangers, but seeing as I told her my name, I wasn't a stranger any more. She told me her name was Stephanie, but I could call her Steph, because that's what her friends called her, and I was the closest thing she had to a friend. I sat with her, under the bed, she said that's where she felt safest. I let her talk, and boy could she talk. She had wanted to say so much and had no-one to talk to. It was nice. She asked if I was hurt. I said no, then she pointed to the blood on my shirt. When I had jumped through the front door and fell on my knife, it had ripped through my shirt and and cut my stomach. It wasn't a deep cut, just enough to draw blood. It looked worse than it actually was. Still, it was enough for Steph to show some concern. I tried to reassure her that I was fine, but she said that's how her mum started, with a small cut. She went to work the next day, with her dad and brother in the car. They never came back.
I told her I'd stay with her for a while.
It didn't take long for the zombies to work out what house I'd entered. I don't know how good their sense of smell is, but that's what I'm attributing their success to. They didn't bang at the door, not at first, but they stayed at the door, shuffling and banging and scratching, their thoughtless brains trying to figure out a way to get in. They were nothing like the zombies that dragged the soldiers out of the vehicle, thank God.
Steph curled up beside me and held onto my arm. I told her I wasn't going to leave her.
So, here I am, as I said, back home, or to be more precise, here we are.
Steph is staying with me for a while. Well, it's for her sake, not mine. I'm fine on my own. It was quiet this morning and making the way back home was quite easy, Steph already knew that the less noise we made the better.
I must admit, she brightens the place up a little. Not a little, a lot.

Sunday, 11 December 2011


Wednesday 29 June 2011
I'm thinking of returning to the school tonight, to see if the body is still there. I don't know if it's a good idea, but I have to find out if anyone has noticed a corpse lying in a school bin. There's been nothing on the radio about it. That said, there's been nothing on the radio but doom and gloom. Radio 1 is still going, but there's a lot of static when you turn the dial on the old analogue box. Real radio has gone, Your Radio has gone, as well as other stations that hadn't paid their DJ's six figure sums to wax their big fat cat arses. It's not going to make a whole lot of difference, all that money, when the zeds eventually break the doors down and eat what little brains is broadcasting the mediocre chart shite over the waves.
This town is going mental, it's like something out of a movie, and a bad one at that. I remember watching the news a few years ago when people were looting shops in America, yes that's right America, not over here in the UK, so it was ok to watch it and sit back in our sanctimonious armchairs pointing our condescending fingers at the apparently lesser developed societies. Ha, ha, it's happening right here, on our own doorstep.
From what I saw earlier, from a safe distance obviously, the living still outnumber the living-dead. But only just.
I walked to currys electrical retailer down at the waterfront to see if I could get myself a DAB radio (buy mind, not steal) but it was closed. It wasn't shut for very long as I watched four plucky young lads and two girls approach the shop front. They were teenagers, and they'd come tooled with bricks and metal bars. The oldest boy, he looked about seventeen, threw a brick right through one of the glass doors setting off the alarm. His little gang of boys and girls cheered. Where were the police anyway? Pushing fucking pencils, doing paperwork that'll keep them out of harms way until it all subsides. Bah!
The lad who'd just launched the brick stepped into the shop and beckoned the others to follow. Without any question, they followed him into the shop, stopping only for a quick look around to make sure no-one was coming.
I watched the door they'd entered, and wondered how long they'd be, and what they'd be bringing back out.
Five minutes had passed when I heard the first scream. The younger of the two girls came running out of the door, only she didn't quite clear the broken glass of the door frame. She hit it with such force it spun her round and she did a sort of a pirouette before landing face down on the paving stones outside. She was covered in blood, it was horrible, her legs, arms , body and face all a bloody mess. I stood up to make my way toward her and instantly squatted back down when I saw, what I assume was, an employee of the store emerge from the shop. He cut himself on the glass too, but it didn't stop him, it didn't even seem to register with him. The girl was shaking uncontrollably and turned to look at the man approaching her. That was the last thing she saw as the thing lunged at her, biting flesh from her face. One of her eyes came away in his mouth, the eye stalk dangling from his lips. He slurped up the skin and chewed on the eyeball like it was a piece of gum. He held her by the wrist so she couldn't get away, and she eventually stop trying. A short time after that, she stopped moving at all. He started ripping skin from her neck, and I'm sure I heard it even from a distance, that's when I looked away.
I didn't help her. I couldn't help. What was I supposed to do become another statistic just like those idiots. I'm out to survive this outbreak and if that means letting others down then so be it. Even if I did help her, she would have become one of them anyway, and I would have been putting my own safety at risk. That's a definite no-no.

Thursday 30 June 2011
I went back to the school where I killed that girl. Yes, she's still there. The zombie state must have made her body decompose faster than usual, not that I'm any sort of expert on body decomposition, so please don't think that I'm used to such things. The skin on her face, or what's left of it, was quite dark, it was as though her face was one big bruise. The smell was pretty bad too, but luckily I have a strong constitution and was able to hold down the chicken noodles I had for my tea.
I climbed into the bin to get a closer look at the body, I was pretty sure she wasn't going to wake up or come back to life, or unlife. I figured if she was going to move, she would have done it by now. Her skin was cold to touch, which was to be expected, I suppose, considering she's dead.
I crouched down in the bin, for about ten minutes, before making any noticeable movements. I didn't want to get caught sitting in a bin with a dead girl's body. She must have landed awkwardly when I threw her in causing her blouse to rip at the front. A few of the buttons had come loose too. I know how this must sound but, believe me, there is nothing sexual about sitting in a bin with the rotting corpse of a schoolgirl, who could, for all you know, come to life at any moment and bite your face off.
I pulled the collar of her shirt back to see if there was a name on the label. There was: Annabel Holmes.
At least now she has a name.
I didn't stay with her any longer that I had to, in fact, the only reason I went back was to appease my guilt. It didn't feel good sticking that knife in her, in fact, the amount of times I've felt like just sticking it in myself. I constantly tell myself that she was/is dead and probably wouldn't have felt a thing.
Youtube seems to be the media of choice in these times of free and easy access. There are more and more videos being uploaded of zombies being beaten by Joe Bloggs. These videos are vastly outnumbered, however, by Mr. Zed getting his own back with his buddies; him and his ever increasing gang of up to one hundred walking, crawling, stumbling, corpses of very hungry undead.
A few of the videos have been deleted due to, I dare say, the graphic nature of the footage. I don't know if it still counts as snuff. A lot of it is pretty disturbing. I think all the major cities and towns in the UK have been overrun by the “infection” and it's a situation that is, going by blogs and other online sources, worsening or as I've always wanted to say spreading at an exponential rate.
Where are the big guns? Well, they're not doing as well as we hoped. It's one thing fighting an enemy that, once shot, goes down. It doesn't even have to be a fatal hit, just enough to wound the target and the chances are he or she will go down like a sac of potatoes. What happens if you shoot and your target keeps coming toward you? Relentless. Intent on sinking its teeth into your soft, tasty flesh. There's not a lot you can do, run, perhaps. From what I've seen online, the zombies can run too. Not all of them, but some of them can shift.


Sunday, 3 July 2011


I've not had much to eat this morning, I know it's bad to exercise on an empty stomach and all that, blah, blah, but I feel very awake, obviously after my initial tiredness from doing weights on an empty stomach, but I do definitely feel charged now. I'm going to tackle one of those zombie bastards today or tonight, I'm not exactly too sure when, but I do know I am actually going to face one. I have to decide whether it'll be best during the day time when I can see where it comes from or where I can run to, if need be. Or, maybe night time will be preferable, no witness if it does get a bit messy. Then again if I'm odds with my surroundings that could prove fatal, for me, not knowing where to take cover. The point is, I have to do this or else punch myself in the crotch, sit back and wait for the virus to get me.

This is it. The first step towards survival.


Holy Shite!!! What a buzz! I know I shouldn't be on a high, but I am. I can't help it and I'll try to type in a controlled manner but that was amazing! Right, time out brain. I am touching my heart....yes, it's still there. You'll remember my plan for an encounter with Mr. or Mrs. Zed?, well, this is how it went...

I did a few reps on the dumbbells, to get my muscles pumped up, and yes I posed in front the wardrobe mirror, it was a confidence booster then I got tooled up. I'm not saying it's acceptable to carry a knife on the streets of Britain, because it's not, and it's still very much against the law, however on this occasion a knife was very, very much necessary if I were to survive an encounter with a zombie.

I bid my time until 21:00 exactly then left the flat. I've rigged the front door to the electricity socket in the hall, for extra security when I'm out. I can get in without being shocked because there is another handle (more of a small latch) at the top of the door that is connected to the main handle. When this handle is turned it disengages the mains power from the handle, thus letting me in. No-one would dream of looking up for the other handle which, incidentally, is painted the same black as the door.

The streets are getting more and more busy by the day, with zombies at least. I'm noticing fewer and fewer actual human noises: laughter, music, talk, although there are more instances of crying and screaming, which is usually quite short lived. I stayed close to the parked cars, what little there are left, most have skipped the town before the road blocks really kicked in. I felt like a right loony, like I was a little kid again, playing soldiers with my pals. Every now and again I'd pop my head up over the bonnet of a car to look for a zombie, then I would scan the surrounding windows to make sure no-one was watching me make dick of myself. I still have some pride.

It took me twenty-five, maybe thirty-five minutes to walk along to the Academy, it would usually have taken ten at a leisurely pace, but I was taking no chances. I was ready to move on past the school when I saw something move in the playground, near the bins. I only saw a single figure and moved closer, all the time looking around, checking my back, surviving and expecting the worse, always looking, always listening.

The side gate was open so that's where I entered, as quiet as a mouse. It was a zombie, walking about in some sort of trance or something, but it...she just seemed to be walking from bin to bin, head down, bumping off one bin, turning round then bumping off the other. The skin was broken on her forehead but it didn't bother her. She looked no older than sixteen, and was still wearing her school uniform. She had lovely long blonde hair, only the front wasn't lovely and blonde, it was damp and red where the broken skin had spread blood onto it. I had a good look around before getting closer, I didn't want to chance one of those things taking me by surprise if they even had the element of surprise. I sure as hell wasn't going to take any chances.

It was quite a surprise when she eventually noticed me, even though I'd been creeping up on her. Always expecting, always watching, always ready to run or shit my pants.

She moved fast, faster than I expected. I don't know, for some reason I had expected someone with a dead brain to walk, ambling along giving time to think about how to avoid or engage. Not a chance, she fucking flew at me, teeth gnashing, screaming at me like I was the one that made her dead. I turned to run but my legs were like jelly and gave way. I fell and one of the knives I was carrying slid out my pocket, just as well or I may have punctured myself. I turned and she was on top of me, I grabbed her throat, keeping those gnashing teeth at arms length. I somehow managed to overpower her and throw her to the ground, then make for the knife. Bloody thing looked a million miles away. I managed to scramble to it, ripping my good jeans in the process, and turned to see a young girl throw herself at me only to land on the knife. It went right in through her throat and she fell to the ground. There was no screaming, no motion, nothing. But I took no chances and wasted no time in dragging her body and dumping it in one of the bins she and her split head were so attracted to earlier. She looked like a light thing. She wasn't, all limp and difficult to lift. I got my knife back from her throat, wiped it and hid it somewhere between the school and here. I can't say where because I'm still not one hundred percent sure that what I've done isn't murder. She was a zombie, but she was a girl.

I hate to say this but it was a buzz and a half. I'll lie low for a while, and return after a few days, see if maybe she's still there or....God knows what. I don't think anyone has been to that school in weeks and the bin lorry hasn't been round since...fuck knows when.

It's my fist zombie bag and I'm shitting it. I'm going to try and get some sleep, I need the rest before my heart packs in.

Sunday, 26 June 2011

Surprise, surprise, that woman that survived the pile-up on the M8 and ended up fainting all over the wine isle in tesco yesterday, she turned zombie. As it happens she did survive the crash but she neglected to tell anyone that she got bitten by one of those zeds that surged into the carnage of cars and, fresh meat. That may be a bit callous calling them fresh meat but, that's exactly what they were. If a zombie is coming at you and there's no way you can get out of his path, then you're lunch my friend.

A few genuinely clean survivors had seen the woman get bitten before pulling her arm back into the car, and scrambling out the passenger side. She clambered over the wreckage and flagged down a lift then made her way into tesco for a nice bottle of red nerve calmer. That's when I saw her.

The poor shop assistant didn't stand a chance. He must have had the most basic of fist aid training, which was certainly nowhere near enough to prepare him for someone dying then coming back to life again. Poor guy never stood a chance. He was still trying to resuscitate her when she opened her eyes and bit his lips off. The security guard arrived only to see the poor guy lying on the floor, with his throat open while the woman chewed happily on his left cheek.

You understand, this isn't my account, this is what they're allowing on the radio now. This time last year, it would have been “There has been an incident...blah, blah..” but now I think they just want people to know how bad this shit is getting, everyone needs to be de-sensitised to this escalating atrocity, otherwise we're all going to just run screaming at the first sign of a set of grey lifeless eyes. We're all going to turn an run, only to have our hair caught by the dead hands of the ever increasing enemy and have our brains as an appetiser and our blood as a delicious aperitif.

Suffice to say, the security guard bought it as well. People have no idea how to deal with zombies at all. Don't get me wrong, I'm by no means an authority on the undead but if I was that security guard, I would have stolen a pair of running shoes and fucked right off out of there. I'm in this game to survive now.

Anyway, body count at Tesco, Port Glasgow. Forty three, last count. The “situation” is under control.

I won't be going to Tesco, Port Glasgow in the foreseeable future.

Thursday, 16 June 2011


I'm still actually enjoying the exercise first thing in the morning. I just keep thinking on the results; the benefits of have a finely tuned body, a little more fit than just being able to carry four bags of messages (groceries) up the stairs without laboured breathing.


I passed the house where I'd seen that zombie kid in the garden. Most of the houses down his street have had their windows smashed in. I guess that means there's nobody home. Wonder why he's still there? Surely whoever smashed the windows would have seen him and thrown stones or bricks or whatever at him too. His face was all bloody, what was left of it. I think he's been chewing at the gate again, trying to break through to get at something. I kinda feel sorry for him. People are saying that they don't have any feel anything, pain, hurt, sadness or happiness. How do they know? Have the experts learned so much in the past months about something that has come out of nowhere! No doubt there's a lab somewhere with undead specimens tied down and primed for experimentation.