Death Role 10, The Beach
The Beach
Exhausted, Colin stumbled and fell onto the sand. Behind him most of the city burned and what wasn’t on fire was dead anyway. He used the back of a hand to wipe sweat from his brow and as he did, the strong scent of gasoline wafted into his nose. Some of the fires that licked the cityscape were started by his own trembling hands. But he had to forget all of that. They only thing that mattered was what lay ahead. He crossed the wide strip of beach and knelt at the ocean’s edge. Using the coarse sand, he scrubbed the skin of his hands and arms with salt water until they smelled like the sea instead.
The undead were behind him too, somewhere within the burning city. He needed to find shelter to protect himself from them, yes, but also from the sun. It had refused to stop rising and now, midday, it beat on his skin relentlessly. He looked down the beach in both directions. Abandoned beach towels and children’s sandcastle buckets were scattered everywhere. A quarter mile South, Colin could see a lifeguard tower. It was a long shot, but going back into the city wasn’t an option and he couldn’t yet see any boats on the horizon.
He made his way to the elevated shack, picking up unopened water bottles and other drinks he found along the way and stashing them in a hot pink beach tote that he’d also acquired.
At the base of the stairs he looked up. The lifeguard tower didn’t seem inhabited, but the dead could be very quiet when they were dormant; when they didn’t know food was on the other side of a wall. Adding to his inability to access the situation was the fact that two large wooden covers had been pulled down over the windows. A weapon, he thought. But what? Everything around him was either fabric or child safe and therefore, harmless. He had passed one or two beach umbrellas stuck in the sand. A large pole from one of them would work well enough, certainly better than a towel.
Ten minutes later, his skin nearing first degree burn status, he stripped an umbrella from its pole and he hefted the hollow tube back to the shack. He walked slowly up the stairs, each one creaking generously under his weight. The umbrella pole stuck out in front of him and he held it underneath an armpit, tight against his body like a jousting lance.
He swung the door inward.
The smell hit him before the first of the two zombies hit the pole. The inside of the tower was covered in waste and rot. Food wrappers stuck out here and there from the shallow cesspool that was the floor. Zombie one and two had survived for a while, alive in this place. A plan similar to his.
“What happened to you?” Colin asked the first zombie, who had now, in her persistent forward pursuit of his flesh, succeeded in forcing the end of the umbrella pole through her rotting chest. The second, a man from what Colin could tell, hit the end of the pole so hard it pushed Colin backward down the stairs. The new angle of the pole sent the first zombie sliding toward him. A dark liquid ran from her chest and down the pole towards his hands.
He raised the pole up to stop her descent, dropped it and ran around the other side of the tower. The two zombies struggled to move after him as their paths were intertwined. They looked like a human shish-ka-bob and they would cook like one too if they stayed out in the sun.
A few circles around the shack, he lost his pursuers and made his way back into the guard tower. He wrapped a towel around his neck and face to help cut the stench. It wasn’t livable, but from there he could signal one of the boats he knew were out on the water.
Colin opened the windows of the shack, blocked the stairs with a stack of ice-turned-water-filled coolers, and waited.
West, the salty tide came in. East, a wave of zombies was approaching.
My friend and fellow writer, Megan Beals, posted a far wordier (read: impressive) post about her writing process last week and tagged me to do the same. I’ve selected T.J. Tranchell, my co-editor for GIVE and writer at Warning Signs to continue the digital sharing circle next week!
Here are my answers:
What are you working on?
Last Night While You Were Sleeping is a collection of writing ranging from poems and flash fiction to longer short stories. It will start with Mirielle, a finalist in the Crypticon 2014 writing competition, and end with a follow up to that same story. In between, one can expect to meet a range of characters and story lines (from bridge trolls and ghosts, to Bigfoot, and a dying town) and greet every emotion.
LNWYWS will also have a handful of art pieces by people who can draw much better than I.
Mistakes I Made During the Zombie Apocalypse is my next novel, already overdue. It tells the story of a teen struggling with the decisions he was forced to make that left him starving and alone in the ZA.
I can’t decide where to end his story.
It may end up a novella.
If you know me, bother me about completing this!
GIVE: An Anthology of Anatomical Entries is an upcoming anthology with stories and poetry on the topic of organ donation. Writer T.J. Tranchell and I are co-editing it and will also be announcing a second anthology in the series, appropriately titled TAKE. GIVE focuses on stories from the donor’s perspective, TAKE, the recipient’s. We are still taking submissions! Wow us before October 1st! More info here.
By popular request, there is a second When the Dead in the works. I have no idea when it will be finished, but readers who enjoyed the first one can delight in knowing they will meet the residents of Willow Brook Apartments again. And Cheddar. ☺
How do you differ from others in your genre?
I write the real world with a twist. Many writers say they feel like their characters are real, or exist in some alternate universe. I enjoy writing stories that could happen next door, characters that could be YOU, or your family. We enjoy things more if we can relate to them, so I try to write relatable content.
Why do you write what you do?
Because it keeps me up at night when I don’t. If I didn’t get it out, my brain would never quiet. Because the world is a shitty place we all deserve an escape from. Because my parents raised me to be creative and think outside of that confining “box”. Because the characters talk and the things they say just have to be recorded. Because I’ve always loved the horror genre and what better way to honor it than contribute to it?!
How does your writing process work?
It’s late at night. There are shadows all around me. I’m trying to fall asleep like my husband beside me already has. I’m getting scared and trying not to psych myself out. I’m wishing for sleep before the paranoia forces me to wake my husband. An idea pops into my head and won’t go away. I desperately grope for the notebook on the floor beside my bed and the pen not far from it. I scribble the words in the dark, trying to not write over what I’ve already written.
Alternately, I’m dirty. I need a shower or bath. I turn the water on. The ideas spill out. I desperately grope for a towel to dry my left hand. I reach for the notebook set on the toilet, in danger of dripping water on the paper.
But seriously, I write often when ideas rise to the surface of my mind and write until I’ve gotten them out. I like to have multiple works in progress so I have the option to skip around and follow the inspiration. Though when a deadline looms, I will push through the blocks and finish what I need to.
I sometimes listen to music. Tea or coffee helps, a lot.
When the rough draft is finished, I send it to three people usually, two of them being very objective family members and the third, another writer/editor.
I make most of the suggested edits and then submit or prepare for self-publishing.
About T.J. Tranchell
T.J. Tranchell was born on Halloween, has worked as a journalist, horror movie columnist, pizza delivery man, warehouse worker, haunted house monster, customer service clerk and other less glamorous jobs. Since starting Warning Signs, Tranchell has become a father, finally graduated from college and is now pursuing a Master’s degree in Literature with, naturally, a focus on the horror genre.
