A note from the author: To those of you out there who are sane, try and enjoy the story for what it is, and sleep safe at night knowing that the living dead are nothing more than tales to scare the young, folklore and hollywood gloss.
For those insane ones among the readers, like myself, try and imagine that one day - as we know - this will all be fact. The undead arecoming and it is up to us to prepare - any inaccuracies and inconsistencies regarding Zombie behaviour and outbreak patterns should be reported straight to me with as much furor as you deem necessary, as I would like to make this as faithful to Romero's intended "Zombie Stereotype" as possible.

Any mistakes in grammar, spelling, or plot inconsistencies if you get that far would be well recieved and corrected as soon as possible. And remember, if you read, you might as well review, yeah? Anyway - to the story. Enjoy...if you dare :P

THE SURVIVOR'S ARMY

Chapter One: Simon's Plan

"Get up" Simon ordered, harshly. He had only been trying for about twenty seconds, but already he had become impatient. "Ed? Ed!" he repeated, frustrated. His friend rolled over, grumbling. To be fair to him, Simon reasoned, Sleep has been rationed round here...
He stood and admired the view, quickly noting there wasn't much to admire at all. Simon McCarthy was standing on a battered roof somewhere in Botston, and looking down into the chaotic scenes below him. Burnt-out cars littered the street, bodies were strewn across the pathways and the stench of death hung heavy in the air. The past week had been horrid; as things appeared to quiten down, both of them firmly believed that, in their little corner of the world anyway, they were over the worst of it - help was coming. I guess it's fair to say, at the start of Simon's fruitful attempts at survival, he was half right.
Help was coming, but not what he expected. And the worst of it? Well...there was plenty more left of that.

"Bird flu number two, they're calling it" she laughed, "Yes, yes, I know. Vaccination's out soon. No, no, I can't believe it either. Some bloke in China having it off with a dead ape, that's what I heard. Do you believe that, Mo? Yeah, absolutely nothing to do with us. I really don't know why we have to be bothered, in all honesty!"
The phone was put neatly back upon the reciever. "That was your Aunt Maureen, Simon. We were just agreeing - nonsense, isn't it? Absolute nonsense"
Simon nodded. It was five o'clock in the afternoon and he was winding down another lazy day on his holiday to Boston. He and his family were from England, and were taking some time off to come visit their american relatives.
"Does it cost much for her to call from back home then?" he asked.
"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter, does it?" his mother asked, before answering her own question. "What with the family riches lying up in her fancy Manor, of course..we had to scrape and strive for this, she could've just flown over her own jet..."
She continued to grumble as Simon took a look outside. "Eddy was asking after you, Simon" she continued as she walked out of the room. "You know, the cousin you've been trying to avoid? Yes, that one" she droned, dissaprovingly. "Well look, you might as well pay him a visit and get it over with. He's family, you really can't be doing this"
Truthfully, Simon had no desire whatsoever to "hang out" with his slobbish, american relative but seeing as he was being forced to, he thought he might as well give it a go. He thought momentarily of protesting - he was 23 after all, and only really "tagging along" on this last holiday together, he assumed, before age took it's toll and they went their seperate ways. He still lived with his parents, and was very much a self-promoted drifter, having finished college only to drift between jobs, and never taking the all-important step of going to university to fulfill his "potential" as a Doctor - to him, that potential never existed.

His cousin, meanwhile, was the right side of 18 and was living what he believed to be the high life. He was getting smashed every night, failing to bed beautiful women, and failing to remember everything else. All he remembered was waking up the morning after and struggling to put a sentence together- some might say he didn't get the best deal. Simon would say that he couldn't put a sentence together anyway, but he never really had liked his cousin much. His cousin's parents believed that their nephew would be a good role model for their work-shy son. Their plan was to give them a little bonding session in their Boston home, while the four parents would go on a little "vacation" of their own. It was all planned out, and that night the McCarthy family would go from their hotel room to their house and their plan would be set in action. This was a week before Simon was suddenly awoken atop that same, suburban house. Things, it must be said, went a little askew from there...
On the Tuesday, Simon's parents decided that, upon hearing the new virus had reached Montreal, it was best to return home as soon as possible to merry old England, where safety was - as yet - assured. The US had been suprisingly slow to seal their borders, which meant that Simon's family were unsuprisingly fast in catching the quickest plane back. Unfortunately for them, apparently their third ticket was void - Simon was intent on letting his parents go before him. The nearest next flight was three days away, on the Friday. Unluckily for him, it was a bit too late.

Ed's parents had decided, with their nephew and son bonding so wonderfully, that they should pay a visit to their quaint retreat in South Deerfield, some distance west of Boston, completely content in both their safety, and that of the country - this mystery virus would not, and they were sure of it, have any effect upon them. Their foolishness was rewarded only with misery.
And so it was, merely a day later, that a full blown epidemic was announced. Victims that had apparently suffered long and arduous deaths after coming into contact with those already infected, were now rising to life. This new "species" as it was being touted, composed of reanimated corspes, had now amassed an army of the marching dead. Military forces were being quickly recalled from overseas, but many had already deserted to try and flee with their own families. Those employed to protect felt an enormous decrease in morale and numbers; hysteria spread to the forces their to protect the people. It was then that the criminals began to truly thrive, like bacteria in slowly boiling water - soon enough, it would get too hot for them.
Riots took place everywhere, people were scared, distressed, angry. Discipline was at an all-time low, and the United States, as with many other countries across the world, approached the upcoming Friday in a state of turmoil and chaos. On that friday, Martial Law was declared within the United States of America. Freedom was gone; but the living dead remained.
Nothing could ever remove their threat.

It was on that Friday morning - very early in that Friday morning - that we now begin Simon's tale. Despite his worst fears, Simon is not alone. There are many people he will encounter in his journey; some will help him, other's hinder him, and some he will not know for very long. But Simon's journey through a world no longer governed by our rules, began on that fateful Friday, the 21st of April, 2006.

"Ed!" Simon half-yelled, forcefully. With one final grunt of discontent, he sat up, rubbing his eyes. "What?" he asked, bewildered.
"Look around" Simon said, painfully. "Everything's gone, Ed. We've been camping out on your roof for three days. No-one's coming...you know, I think-"
Ed rolled over, plainly ignoring Simon's doomsday advice. He shook him again, uncompromisingly, before continuing. "...I think we'll have to make it out alone, Ed. We have to leave now"
An eerie mist plagued the streets - not exactly eerie, quite normal for this early hour, the air thick with morning mostuire. But with the inexplicable threat that had now sprung up, every hour he spent on the windy roof, his bawling cousin doing nothing much but sleeping, everyting seemed more and more eerie to him. He knew sooner or later, their short supplies - a few nibbles here and there - would eventually run out. He doubted his troubled mind could last much longer either. He needed safety and security, and he knew he would find none here.
"There aren't many...many of those things around here, Ed. Not now, anyway. We need to leave soon" still no response from his cousin. He pressed on, determined, "Fine then. I am going to get ready now, and I will leave in an hour. You can stay here if you like, and rot, or whatever it is you americans like to do. I think I'd rather stay alive"
"No, please" he suddenly broke through, whimpering, "I...please, one more night?" he noticed the dissaproving look on Simon's face. "Please, tommorow morning, dawn, straight away...I'll go then, I promise...just one more night here, someone could come!"
Simon considered this carefully, and Ed saw his chance, "I mean, what was your plan anyway, hitch a ride to Rhode Island with an "Eat Me" hat on and take the happy boat back to England?" he asked, thinking of an absurd example. "At least now you'll have a chance to plan, yes? It can all be ready for tommorow, I mean it. Just give me one last night...to...to see if someone comes" he added hastily. It seemed as though he had been sucessful, as Simon bowed his head, deep in thought. "Alright then" he concluded, lifting his head up with an awkward smile. "I'll get to work. Crack of dawn tommorow, we go. You're with me, yes?"
Ed returned it with a weak grimace himself, "I'm with you" he confirmed, nodding.

"Now then" Simon said, with more purpose about him now a target had been agreed. He looked about the dirty rooftop; empty beer cans, chocolate wrappers and two deckchairs adorned it - that was where Ed had lazed through the attack, seemingly unaffected. Simon had stayed awake for countless hours, keeping ever-vigilante watch, but so far nothing had troubled him. Nothing had managed to get up to their "safe-haven"; they had barricaded the doors, although rather speedily, before retreating to the attic with some supplies. Desperate for some fresh air, they withdrew the ladder and smashed through onto the roof above, where they had been camping out. Two days had passed since they had moved up there, and Simon had been growing ever more impatient with the situation. As he considered all that had happened in the past few days, he knew what he had to do. "How many cars do your parents have?" he asked at last.
"Why?" Ed questioned, before quickly realising his stupidity. "Two. They took the Jeep up to Deerfield...I wonder how they're doing..."
He looked mournfully out onto the horizon, and was silent for a moment, before continuing. "They have two, yes, the other one is down in your place, I think"
"It's what!" Simon exclaimed, disbelievingly. "The hotel? Jesus...how are we supposed to get there?"
"Go figure" Ed replied, reclining onto his deckchair. "And that's another thing, once we get the car back, we're going to get my parents - don't worry, I know the way-" he silenced Simon's quick response, adding, "-don't argue with me on this, I have the keys. We're going, whether you like it or not"
Defeated, Simon slouched over to the hole they had knocked through the roof a couple of days earlier. "Ed?" he enquired, "Watch the place for me. I'm going down"
Ed bolted up, looking shocked. "You...you be careful" he tried to say, as calmly as possible. "Wait, wait, no" he said, shaking his head, "No, I'm coming down with you. This is my house, I know the way around. Besides, two pairs of hands work better than one. We've got to get alot of stuff together, I know that"
Simon smiled, for some reason, alot happier. "Thanks...thanks alot, Ed"

"Looks all clear to me" Simon whispered as he came out of the bathroom.
"Upstairs is clear then" Ed replied, nodding. "What do we need from up here, then?"
"Always the basics" Simon answered, "Toliet roll, any disinfectant or medicene you might have...bedding to sleep on...and of course a bag to put all of this stuff in"
"I think there's enough of those up here" Ed confirmed, "What else?"
"We need to go downstairs, I expect, for the rest. Food, water, electrical equipment...we definately need some radios, to talk to each other and listen out for other people's signal, broadcasting places of safety...or asking for safety" he added, shuddering.
"You expect to ride into hell and pluck out a few old ladies left behind? That I most certainly refuse to be part of. We're looking after number one here"
"And our families, or do you expect just to leave them? What if one of us is hurt - would you leave me?"
A strange look came across his face, before he resigned to defeat, saying, "You're right...I'll look out for you, as long as you've got my back, alright? I guess we're in this together, now...whether you like me or not"
Simon went red at the last comment, but tried to hide it. "Humanity" he corrected him, "Is in it together, don't you forget that. We should all be looking after each other"
"Yeah...right" Ed muttered. "Come on, downstairs. We might as well get it over with first, then retreat upstairs, don't you think?"
"Good idea" Simon agreed. "You look for food, fill up as many water bottles as you can, find a two-way radio if you can, or at least one that can pick up medium-range frequencies and-"
"-guns?" he finished.
"What?"
"Guns..won't we be needing guns...?"
"Why...yes...but..." his face split into a broad grin, "Americans, I love you guys - there are none in England, I'm afraid"
"...None?" Ed asked, flabbergasted. "Well that just ain't right, is it? Don't worry I'll get it all, and anything else we might need. I'm not stupid, you know"
"...Yes, of course" Simon agreed, but not with much heart. "I'll make sure everywhere's clear downstairs. You gather everything up here, then come down and we can get the rest"
Ed nodded, and Simon proceeded cautiously down the stairs. A cold breeze whistled through the house; the lower he went, the louder it got. His heart began to beat faster, and he was gripped by an unexplainable fear. He hadn't seen or heard anyone enter, he was sure of it, yet terror was suddenly creeping through him. Things began to be burred, and darker than they really were.
He rubbed his eyes; he hadn't slept in three days. Maybe it was too much for him? Maybe-
There was a screech as he stumbled further through the hallway. A plate smashed and Simon tripped back, gripped with terror. Something whipped past him, but for some reason, he grabbed it and pulled it back. It tried to lash out, and seemed as terrified as Simon. He lifted it up by a furry claw, full vision and alertness returned, he looked right at a slinking, hissing, ginger cat.
"What the hell was that?" Ed called down, his voice fluctuating between high and low. "Simon? Are you alright?"
"Yes, yes, I'm fine" he said, his heartbeat slowing down, a smile returning to his face as he stroked the cat. Both of them seemed to be calm in each other's prescense. "I didn't know you had a cat" he shouted up the stairs, standing and walked back to the foot of them.
"A what? No, we dont...what...what's that?"
Simon was puzzled, "Not yours? Well...she looks frightened. I think we should keep it; I think it came here to hide away from them"
"Or to lead them here...how do you know it's not one of...one of them? I'm getting my dad's revolver. I'm going to shoot it"
The cat pawed ruefully at Simon's shirt. "No, don't!" he ordered. "Look, it's alive, it's normal, I know it is. I can feel it. Take it from me, will you? Please? I've got to check around"
Ed looked extremely displeased in recieving the animal, but recieve it he did, explaining, "I've found an all-frequency radio, we can't send but we can recieve. I've got blankets and a few big bottles, some aspirin and penicillin...two revolvers, and a vintage rifle" he added, smiling. He looked pleased with himself, "Still in working condition, of course. It's mine, I polish it every day. Did you know it came from-"
"Tell me later" Simon instructed, wishing to fully rid himself of fear and doubt. He moved even more cautiously now, not wanting to risk another scare. He examined everything closely - the bolted door, the broken window nearby (That must be where she got in, he deduced, thinking of the cat), the large amount of rubbish littering the floor. Two bachelors that hadn't cleaned in a week; normal. Two bachelors that hadn't cleaned in a week while the living dead feasted on flesh while gun-toting looters raged through the city? That wasn't so normal.
"That's lucky" he murmured to himself, "No-one's got in here..."he noticed his auntie's expensive jewellrey, their prized television and state-of-the-art surround sound. Curiosity got the better of him, and he edged into the living room. It was big, adorned by that same, enormous television. The window was uncovered, yet unbroken. He looked out onto the wrecked street, feeling quite alone and depressed, before picking up the remote and switching it on - forgetting the last time he used the television...

-URGED DO NOT LEAVE THE HOME UNDER-

The volume boomed out, from where they had left it - raging loud as they listened to the music channels and danced around in a drunken daze, something that seemed so long ago...

his senses heightened once more, he snatched at the remote and turned the volume down, but not off. He could hear the voice eminating from it now without waking everyone in the neighbourhood. The music had been replaced by a steel-faced newsreader, and in clear surround-sound Simon could hear him talk.

This is the National News Federation broadcasting through every channel and television frequency throughout the country, the words read along the bottom of the screen, while underneath scrolled dozens of reported "hotspots & safehavens". The man began to speak again.

The US President was again unavailable for comment, the White House being officially broken up and replaced by State Libertas, "Freedom State", a Martial Law government established in the early hours of this morning, controlled by many generals and army commanders. With bandits and pirates, unbelieveably, being deemed as much as a threat, the amalgamted "Freedom Force" has been granted the power to shoot any criminals on sight. It is recommended that people seek to fortify their homes and find adequate supplies to last for perhaps a month or two while the cleansing process begins. General Sacho, one of the leading figures in the new Freedom Force, said that, "The threat would be extinguished soon" and urged people, "Not to panic, this will be dealt with, and normality resorted soon enough". Many sceptics aruge that-
A cold hand gripped Simon's shoulder. He let out an inordable shriek, and several other creatures - quite a few blocks away - were alerted to his prescense. The undead being squeezed tight, and his other hand coiled round his neck, trying to drag him back. Simon elbowed the creature in the face, producing a groan and a slight lapse in the incredible grip. Simon struggled out of it, and turned around.
The creature stank of rotting flesh, that was plain to see. There was a greyish tinge to his skin, and his eyes were unfocused and wandering, Simon assumed from the blow he had just dealt him into the face. His hair was thick with blood and dirt, and he stood not with the cold swagger of a hunter, but more of a dazed insanity, foam brewing in his half-open mouth. He struggled for a moment, before turning to Simon - his eyes remained listless as he moved forward.
"How did you get in here?" he demanded, as the television went on.

"They don't understand us, you say, Proffesor?"
"Not at all. Personally I wouldn't class them as humans, more of a sub-species, created by some virus we have yet to determine. Anyway in answer to your question, definately not. They retain no cognitive functions, except the absolute basics - kill or be killed...although in truth I don't think that applies either. More like, kill for an as yet undetermined reason. They feed on flesh, yet do not require it in a nutritious way, sacrifice it to any God, or gain any pleasure from it.."

Simon took a step back. "Who are you? What do you want with me?"
"No, I'd have to say that they kill because they were made to by this mystery virus that I mentioned. Something is hardwired into them, if you like, that keeps them alive - for all intensive purposes, they are in fact, deceased. But the desire to devour human flesh whereever they can find it is absolute. Destroy that desire and you destroy them, do you understand? Destroy their brain, and you destroy their mind, soul, body; their primitive mind is the key-"
Simon stumbled back, terrified. He tried to stand, but the creature was on him, leering down over him, the foul stench lathered all over him...this was it, as he had seen before on films, the adventurous ones would always-
BOOM. Blood spewed over Simon's huddled figure, the Zombie fell forward over him, he struggled and writhed, trying to get away from the creature, but it was immobile anyway. It made no attempt to hurt him as he finally crawled away, gasping for air.
"You should check the news" Ed said, nodding at the screen. "Radio just told me the same thing - right through the head"
He held aloft a small pistol in his hand, "And you English should really get some of these" Smoke rose softly out of the barrel, the head of the creature having exploded over Simon's forlorn figure. He tried to scrub and scratch himself, shaking uncontrollably. "Wash up" Ed ordered, "I'll sort this out"
A new-found confidence seemed to have been instilled within his cousin, and Simon saw him in a new light - his first kill had changed him. He was too shaken to discuss anything, and hurried upstairs and out of sight. The experience, far from instilling confidence and pride, had left him with one of the worst feelings of his life - helpless terror, but not on some lonely mountain or desert plain, or at the whim of some deadly beast in a foreign jungle - in a place quite close to home. It was then he realised, nowhere from then on could be called home; it was just another place to hole up.

A golden sun glistened over Boston in an unusually warm and pleasent day - especially given the circumstances. Lying comfortably, and cleanly, on top of his cousin's roof six hours from where he had awoken so painfully, Simon McCarthy was enjoying his cousin's rendition of their checklist. "All-frequency radio.."
"Check" Simon replied. "Look, I think we pretty much have it all...Food for a week, ten bottles of fresh water, blankets, medicene, two revolvers and a rifle, two knives, batteries, a torch...we're set"
Ed looked thoughtfully down at the list, checked it again - then checked the pile of goods next to him. "Alright then" he said at last. "Let's start packing"
"Do me a favour" Simon asked, a little sheepishly, "Could you do it for me? I...I still need some time"
Ed looked at him for a moment...then burst out laughing.
"Try and pull that one, eh?" he said - even Simon couldn't help but join in, his cousin seeming so much at ease. "Alright then but you get the heavy pack..and I get the pillows!" he kept on laughing. "You know, I've got a good feeling about this" he continued.
"This?" Simon repeated, unconvinced, as he inspected the destruction around the house to see if it was all still there.
"No, I mean...I mean survival, finding my parents. I think we'll be alright, you know? Nothing can stop me today" he said, smiling, as he stroked the cat that had recovered earlier.
"Alright then, Action Man, you get packing. I think we should finish off a few of those bottles tonight, get ourself reading for the trek tommorow. We can fill them up later"
"Water's still working, so we might as well make use of it" Ed agreed, "You got a nice shower after all...hey, you know, I don't think things are that bad. The water's working, people are still broadcasting, we still have power...have faith in the US, Si. We're much better equipped than your lot"
He laughed again, and began humming some tune that Simon caught little of. In the midday heat, fresh and clean as he took a gulp from water that was also fresh and clean, he lay back and closed his eyes - and Ed's words seemed all the more believeable.

Cold fingers gripped at his throat. Those same listless eyes had changed - they bore down on him now - they honed in on him, desperate for his flesh. They missed their first chance but they would be back, he should've just gave himself straight up...they'd never stop...the teeth came for him...

Simon awoke with a jolt, covered in sweat. This time he made sure not to make a sound, or any indication he was even alive. He didn't want them to find him...
The bent figure of Ed looked intently across the horizon as the last rays of the sun began to descend out of sight - it was dusk, and Simon had slept for many hours. Still he did not move. Ed stroked the cat in his lap absent-mindedly, a beer can in the other hand. He took a glum sip, then set it down again, and began humming to himself. He suddenly stopped.
"I don't think I'll ever see this place again" he whispered to the cat. She purred, not understanding a word. "I don't think Mom or Dad made it either. It's pretty bad westward..I think we're pretty safe by the coast. What do you think?" he scratched her ears, hoping for a response.
"Do you think I'll make it far, eh?" he pursued. "I don't...I wonder whether it'd be best-" he stared at the handgun with awe, "whether it'd be best to just...end it now...make it easy for myself"
He looked down at it with even more intensity, then began to laugh. "No, no. Then what would you do without me, eh?" He took a large swig from his can and rubbed the cat enthusiastically, "Oh we'll make it out fine, you and me" he said, rocking back and forth.
"Time is short but our thinking's long,
we'll make it through with a good old song,
and we'll live forever in memory -
the daring boys of history!

And we'll sing some songs out from the hills,
no fear for us but loads of thrills,
and time will tell whether we'll make it through,
but if we keep loyal and we keep true,
anything is possible for me and you" he concluded his song, took one last gulp, and fell asleep.
Simon smiled, trying to repeat some of the words himself. He checked his watch - it was 7.30pm and daylight was fading. He wondered whether he should put it off for one last day, for Ed's sake..he seemed to love the place...No, a harsh voice called out in his mind. You'll both have to leave, if you want to survive. You know that.
He felt sick again - he had thrown up numerous times after the zombie attack. Why me? he thought, questioning his very existance, Why do I have to do this?
The voice returned. You're one of the lucky ones...you must know that now. If you want the easy way, you can throw yourself off the roof. You can feed yourself to them - you were so close before. This is your chance for survival. Take it now because it might not come again.
That much was true, he agreed with himself - although the hotel was a mile away, it was not out of sight - and they had found the keys to the car in the parent's bedroom. Ed had packed, too; two huge, chock-full backpacks would be their other companions, as well as - and Ed had personally insisted - their new-found chum, the Cat. He turned over to face the leafy trees in Ed's garden, and considered his luck - they had food, water, and a better chance than most. And yes - he was going to grab that chance with both hands.