If you have any stories, big or small that you’re working on and would like to have them showcased on the site, send an email to email@example.com
The streets were barren, save for cars long abandoned, barricades which failed their purpose, and countless undead. A lone figure watched from a rooftop high above. They sat patiently, taking a well-deserved break after a narrow escape involving two zombies and a door handle that just didn’t want to work. Alan thought while running up the stairs that the number of close calls he had was too many to count. Peering down over the edge of the building that he had cleared out so many months ago, he stared at the undead littering the street. It seems that no progress had been made at all regarding the horde.
He sighed and wiped his tanned forehead of sweat. A hot sunny July day, with a gentle breeze blowing through his brown hair. It would have been perfect, if not for the nauseating stench permeating every single goddamn area of this forsaken place. It seemed fresh corpses had replaced the ones that he and the others have killed over the past three months. His personal goal of clearing out the city so it would be safe now seemed to be completely unattainable, let alone scouring the undead plague from the Earth.
He opened his backpack and ruffled through what little he had. A bottle of water, an oatmeal bar, a single clip of ammo for his rifle. Most of his belongings were back at the scrapyard, hidden in the van in the pile of destroyed vehicles. It was mainly so if a zombie got a hold of his pack he could quickly drop it and not worry about losing too many valuables. Plus, the scrapyard wasn’t too far away, his only worry there was tetanus, and there was little undead smell all around. A fantastic living arrangement in his opinion.
Alan was contemplating whether to try and take out a few zombies with his rifle or save ammo and go down to fight with a shovel he had found. If he had more ammo, the shovel option wouldn’t even be there, but unfortunately, he was not close by a safe zone to resupply or even have basic amenities. He was far from any contact that was guaranteed to be trustworthy. Just when he figured that killing maybe five zombies would be good for the day, then looking for what supplies were left, he heard a noise through the wind. Glancing over to the next building he could see another figure walking on the roof, looking around warily.
Shit, this is great. Alan thought. He had a nasty run-in with some unsavory folk two weeks ago and was not about to repeat the occasion. Maybe if he had the first shot.
Picking up his rifle, he hurried over to the edge closest to the building he was on. The other roof was much larger, and he could prepare before the figure came closer. If they did of course. Maybe this was a stupid decision but…
“Freeze!” Alan yelled, standing up and pointing his rifle straight at the figure, which was about fifteen feet away.
“Holy fuck! I’m not looking to fight or anything! I got stuff here, just fucking take it. It’s not worth my life.” The figure stammered back at him. The voice was loud and deep, Alan figured it must be a man but held off on identifying until he got a closer look. They held their hands up and stood still. Alan softened his grip on his rifle and lowered it.
“What stuff? Are you a trader?” Alan implored. There were rules regarding trading in the various zones, mostly in safe spots. Generally, you could use regular old cash or barter whatever goods you had on hand. Food fetched a high price, as well as ammunition but even small pleasures like a toothbrush or deodorant can be worth quite a lot. Outside the zones, however, anything was fair game. Alan found that while many travelers and traders would try to screw him over, the majority would be friendly and help. Very different from the individuals that thought each person was not to be trusted. Though, caution is always a good thing.
“No, I’m not a trader. I’m looking for supplies, however. What are you doing up here? Aside from holding strangers up.” The figure replied. Alan thought for a moment.
“I’m doing my rounds for the day, clearing any undead and trying to keep routes open for survivors.
“Ah, so you’re a Clearer.” The figure replied. Clearers were the nickname given to anyone who actively sought out undead to make areas safer. “Must be about the only thing you can do this deep in the black hole.”
Alan shrugged. Black holes were the unofficial turned official name of outbreak zones. Epicenters of the initial outbreak area, or whatever happened. There were four different levels as you got closer, with green being where very little zombies are. These were large patches of land that were able to be cleared out and protected. The three other zones are yellow, slightly more undead than green, but still generally clear. More safe zones in these areas. Orange: More dangerous than yellow, as society is few and far in between, and what is of it is not welcoming. Then Red, once you are in here, it’s considered game over. The zones were named black holes for the fact that the closer you are to it, the harder it is to get out. Most accepted their fate and holed up, waiting for help that would most likely never come.
“Can I come over?” The figure asked, moving closer to the edge of the building they were on. “I was being chased by some undead and didn’t get the chance to barricade, so I would rather not be eaten alive. Only if you set down your rifle though.”
“Fine, you have to show me what’s in your pack though. Fair is fair.” Alan stated firmly. The figure nodded and climbed onto the cement ledge. They pulled off their pack and hesitated before throwing. “You’re not going to grab this and run?” They asked tentatively. Alan shook his head and bent down, setting his rifle at his feet. The figure, satisfied, tossed their pack over and then jumped. They cleared it and landed about five feet away from Alan. They shoved their pack over to Alan, who knelt and opened it.
“Jesus…” He murmured. It was filled to the brim with MRE rations, ammunition, a blanket. There was a pistol as well. “You’re a walking target with this much stuff, and you said you’re looking for more,” Alan commented. “Are you a Retriever?” He asked with interest. The figure nodded. “Huh, you must have switched the standard issue backpack for a random one you found. Smart idea.”
“Yep, I’ve been two months out. Split up with the group around the start of the red zone. Going to see if there’s anyone that wants to get out, or if not, I’ll give this as a care package for some lucky soul and get the fuck out. Considering how few and far they are these days.” They explained.
“Hmm, yes I haven’t seen many at all recently. Nor a bombing run, thankfully. I’m glad they stopped those after the second time.” Alan replied, sweat dripping off his brow. It was getting close to midday and they should find some shade soon. He didn’t have much water. “Damn it’s hot huh?” The figure laughed in response.
“You’re telling me!” The man exclaimed, wiping his brow with a dark-skinned hand. “It kills man, and it doesn’t help with this fucking rot smell everywhere. I don’t know how you live in it. Winter months must have sucked hard.” Alan nodded, zipped up the open pocket, and tossed it back over. It weighed a lot and must be an absolute nightmare to carry around all day. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name sorry.” the figure said.
“Mine’s Alan. Alan Masuda.”
“Nice to meet you, Alan. I’m Kyle Langdon.” Kyle smiled and looked over to the entrance to the stairwell. Alan agreed internally, it would be better to talk and have a snack under shade. They both walked in unison over to the entrance and sat down. It was still warm, but the blazing sun wasn’t beating down upon their heads. Alan set down his rifle and retrieved the oatmeal bar and the bottle of water for his lunch. Sitting down against the brick wall, he unwrapped the bar and took a bite out of it. It was yogurt topped, his favourite. Finding a box of these was akin to finding a million dollars and he was trying to savour every bite. Kyle ruffled through a pocket and pulled out a small bag of jerky.
“That looks good, sweet hot flavour?” Alan asked inquisitively, looking at the label. Kyle nodded and pulled the tab off.
“Mmm. Figured I’d spoil myself today, I like your oatmeal bar though. Yogurt is good.” He responded, staring at the bar in Alan’s hand.
“Thanks, it never feels like I have a filling meal though.” Alan sighed sadly.
“I know what you mean. All I want is a nice salad, crispy greens, cherry tomatoes, cucumbers. Ah man, I’m sad now.” Kyle shook his head sadly. Alan’s stomach growled.
“You sound like Shackleton when you say that, and don’t. You’re making me even more hungry.” Alan replied. Kyle looked at him.
“Shackleton? Like the explorer?” Kyle inquired while scratching his nose.
“Yeah, he and his crew ate large amounts of fish but had no access to any sort of greens because they were stuck in the Antarctic after their ship the Endurance sank. They wrote about it.” Alan explained in detail. Kyle took some jerky out and ripped a piece off with his teeth.
“Huh, pretty neat. I think we talked about him in one of my high school classes, outdoor ed I think. Didn’t him and his entire crew survive the expedition as well?” Kyle asked with interest. Alan nodded but before he could respond a piercing sound of a gunshot rang out through the air, causing them both to jump.
“Oh Jesus, I hate that. I never get used to it.” Alan stammered. “It’s a pretty common noise around here but they always happen when you least expect it. Maybe the horde will have dispersed a bit because of it. Hopefully.” His heart pumping fast, he crammed the rest of his oatmeal bar into his mouth and grabbed his half bottle of water, unscrewed the cap, and took a swig, the water mingling with the oats and yogurt causing a flavourful mixture. He swallowed and glanced at Kyle, who was shaking.
“Yeah I hope no one sees us on the rooftop. I mean, we do have cover but now I don’t feel quite as safe anymore.” He mumbled. Alan sighed, his sleeping bag and the nice safe interior of the van sounded quite good right about now. He wondered if he should bring Kyle back with him, even though he staved off having allies.
“So, Kyle, what exactly are you looking to do?” Alan asked. Wouldn’t hurt to try and be helpful. Who knows, he might need some guidance around. It helped to make friends and not enemies, you had enough of them as is. Kyle took a long draught from his bottle and looked off to the hotel across the street.
“Honestly, what I’m here for. Getting a group of people and getting the hell out of here.” He replied wistfully.
“You do know that’s pretty much a suicide mission, right? On the chance that you have enough food and assuming the group you’re with doesn’t implode from the inside, you still have an army of undead, numerous bandits and a two-month journey to get back to the green. Not trying to be a downer or anything but you got some guts. Any reason you wanted to be a Retriever?” Alan inquired. Kyle shrugged and put his bottle away.
“I just wanted to do something you know? It’s just living life as usual, but with zombies everywhere. No one feels safe and maybe even if I just try it I could make a difference. Bring someone back and give them hope.” He said solemnly. It struck a cord with Alan, who wanted to make sure that any survivor could take the path of least resistance thanks to him.
“Well, if you’re looking for some people to help back, the Lone Children have a lot of survivors. People ready and willing to get the hell out.” Alan suggested.
“The Lone Children? Hmm, sounds odd. Can you take me to them?” Kyle asked meekly. Alan nodded and smiled.
“I’ve dealt with them once before, I’m sure they’ll remember me. But, I think it’s better if we head back to where I’ve set up and then get a head start tonight or early tomorrow morning before it gets hot. We’re a fair distance away from their settlement.” Alan noted, packing up his bag with the garbage and his bottle. He stood up and grabbed his rifle, putting both his backpack on then slinging his rifle over his shoulder. It was a simple two-point carry sling that he found in the gun store, it helped with both carrying and having quick access in case he needed it.
Kyle jumped up.
“Alright, I’ll come with for the night. Better than sitting around here by myself.” He picked up his belongings and did a double take, making sure not to miss anything then nodded at Alan.
“Ready to go.”
Alan smiled and opened the door to the stairwell leading down.
Carefully opening the alley door, Alan peeked outside. There were a few undead hanging out, the rotten stench overpowering his smell. He motioned to Kyle to follow and opened the door, creaking slightly as he did so.
“This way.” He whispered, crouching down. Kyle nodded, his face covered in sweat. The alley was wide enough that if a zombie got the jump on them they could dodge and make a getaway. Suddenly he remembered something. He stopped and felt around to the right pocket, the small folding shovel he found was sitting there. Could come in handy.
“Nice thinking.” Kyle whispered, giving the thumbs up and pulling out his knife. Alan nodded and started moving forward again. When they reached the end of the alley they stopped and surveyed the area. The gunshot had caused some of the undead to have lumbered on, creating more space to move. The amount that was left was still staggering however and any attention drawn to the two of them could cause it to go badly. Alan pointed to the right for Kyle to follow.
They snuck down the street, careful to avoid detection. Alan looked up at the hanging bodies from the streetlamps. It was a grim reminder of what would happen if you were to cross the wrong people in this city. Kyle remained silent as they continued, slightly averting his gaze from the bodies.
“Shit, we’re going to have find an opposite route.” Alan whispered, staring at the barricade that he usually came through. A crowd of zombies covered the area, standing there lifeless, with just the slightest hint of movement. Some shuffled around aimlessly, trying in vain to find some flesh to gnaw on. “Well, we can take the one route through the side building although there might be some left-over zombies…” He wondered to Kyle. Kyle shrugged in response.
“Whatever is the safest route.” He said, looking around at the zombie horde. “Better if we start moving-LOOK OUT!”
Alan jumped and turned immediately, his shovel at the ready. Right there in front of him was a zombie lunging straight for him. The rotten flesh and skull-like complexion accentuated by the unholy gurgle it mouthed. The worst part was the eyes or lack thereof. Only fresh zombies had their eyes intact but eventually lost them very quickly. They didn’t have the same reduced rotting as the other appendages of the body when infected by the disease. Alan used to think in horror movies that creatures and ghosts with eyes and piercing pupils were the stuff of nightmares. However, looking straight into the void holes of the skull where retinal tissue and optic muscles used to occupy was utterly terrifying and caused him to rethink his previous belief. The zombie’s scabbed gamy hands grabbed a hold of Alan’s arm and tried to bite his shoulder. Thankfully, human teeth, although effective against bare flesh was barely enough to break through fabric. He felt the sharp pinch of teeth but was able to push the attacker away from him.
“Get the fuck off me!” He exclaimed, panicking. He smacked it hard in the head with his shovel. The creature reeled back from the hit but was unfazed. It reached towards him once again but was stopped by Kyle, who jammed his knife straight through its cheeks. The zombie grunted with the knife in its mouth and was stunned. Alan took this opportunity to bash the zombie’s head constantly with the blade of the shovel. Bits of skull and skin flew off as the head caved in, the zombie started to collapse and twitch, meeting its end. An unclean kill, but a necessary one.
“Good one, but we got to go!” Kyle yelled. Alan turned and watched with horror as the horde advanced towards them, alerted and hungry for living flesh. He immediately looked over to the barricade and the zombies had left it, instead coming straight for them.
“Follow me! We need to get through that barricade. If you get grabbed do whatever you can to keep moving! Once we’re through there we’re on the homestretch and close to the city limits!” Alan commanded, running forward with Kyle close behind. The sweat dripped off his brow and he could feel his asthma start to act up. He hoped that there was some Ventolin in that bag of Kyle’s. A few of the undead tried to grab them as they passed but they slipped through their bony fingers. They reached the barricade and Alan ducked through the hole that he had made a few months prior. He turned and watched as Kyle crouched through but was stopped.
“Shit, they got me!” Kyle screamed
“Grab my hand!” Alan offered his left hand, free of weapons to him. Kyle immediately grabbed it and Alan pulled with all his might. He managed to pull Kyle through with a loud grunt and they stumbled a few steps but recovered fast. “Keep moving!” Alan yelled, a wheeze to his voice. He wanted to stop so bad for a breather but knew he would be dead in an instant. The office at the end of the street never looked so enticing, he ran straight for it, and smacked a zombie’s arms away as he did so. The paper sign he had taped up greeted him with “SAFE ROUTE” in large ink letters. He burst through the door, Kyle hot on his heels and once they were in he turned and slammed the door shut.
“Jesus, I can’t believe that. That was so close.” Kyle gulped down large amounts of air. Alan nodded but did not respond right away, instead opting to save what little breath he could inhale through his constricted airways. “You do that every day” Kyle inquired in disbelief.
“Not, not quite like that.” Alan gasped, his heart still pounding. “We made it, didn’t we? All we must do now is just walk to the back of the office and go out through the fence, then walk over to the scrapyard.” Kyle sat down, dark skin shining with sweat but other than that no worse for the wear.
“Yeah sure, let’s take a quick break then keep moving?” He asked. Alan sighed and sat down, opening his backpack, and grabbing his bottle. The small amount of water swished around as he unscrewed the cap and greedily gulped it down. The brush with death, although a familiar event to him was still a major shock to his system and he always questioned why he bothers with making the trek back in.
It never got easier.
“So why exactly were there bodies strung up on those streetlights?” Kyle asked with worry. Alan continued walking forward, unsure of what to say. Did he want to scare him but tell him the truth or was a small lie better for the morale? He thought for a moment but concentrated on his surroundings. After the narrow escape, he was on high alert and glancing around every few seconds. He opted for truth.
“They’re a warning, strung up as a means to threaten.” Alan explained. Kyle looked not too shocked.
“I mean, with what sick fucks would thrive in this atmosphere it doesn’t surprise me. Was it a group of bandits?” He asked with interest. Alan shook his head.
“No, it was the Lone Children.” He said simply.
“That’s the group you said had some survivors, are they some weird cult or something?”
“It IS a group of survivors, and it’s mostly comprised of children.”
Kyle took a moment to register what Alan just said. “A group of children did that? Are you fucking serious? And you’re taking me to them?” His voice took on a defensive tone. Alan laughed as they walked along, the scrapyard dead ahead.
“I’m not taking you to them to be killed or anything horrible like that if that’s what you’re wondering. I also don’t agree with what they did to those people, but they are up against a group of particularly violent individuals, so they are desperate to do anything to keep them off their back.” Kyle merely sighed.
“Sheesh, making a statement huh? Disturbing for sure. I still think you’re fucking around with me with the comprised of kids comment.” Kyle watched as Alan didn’t reply and went over to the scrapyard fence. “Is this your home or something?”
“Yep, home sweet home right here. It’s wonderful.” Alan responded cheerfully. His asthma had subsided which brightened his mood a bit. “Safe, full of space, and zombie-free.” He pushed a plywood board over and it revealed a hole. “Go on through.” He told Kyle. Kyle nodded and crouched through. Once Kyle was on the other side Alan surveyed around and saw some zombies shambling about, but they were far enough way as to not pose a threat. Crouching through, he turned and pulled the board over to cover the hole in the fence and wiped his hands of sweat. The scrapyard was a fair size, with a small decrepit looking building over in the corner.
“You live over there?” Kyle asked with great interest, staring at the small building.
“No, I live in one of the vans in the scrap pile. Much less obvious and safer.” He pointed to a pile of various scrap, with some vehicles in the mix. “This way, oh and wait.” Alan stopped. He pulled off his backpack and opened the pocket, reaching in to grab what little ammo was in there. “Ammunition goes in a separate area for safety.” Kyle nodded, following Alan’s steps. They went over to a small box by the service area and Alan opened it, placing his ammo in, and holding it open for Kyle. It was sadly quite empty. Kyle put his few clips in and watched as Alan closed it.
“So, you live in a van, I bet it’s nice and cozy. Too bad it isn’t mobile.” Kyle commented. Alan nodded.
“Yeah, I wish I was good with fixing up cars. But ah well, it would probably be more of a hindrance.” Alan shrugged. He walked towards his little hidden home and climbed up into one of the cars. “Come here.” He motioned for Kyle to follow him, the car was hollowed out with another plywood plank in it. Alan pushed it over, revealing a hole in the bottom.
“Damn, that’s fancy.” Kyle whistled as Alan lowered himself down. He moved out of the way, so Kyle could get down. Once he gingerly came in, Alan pulled over the plank covering the hole and the sunlight. The van was spacious and offered cool respite from the agonizing heat. A single green sleeping bag on the floor was accompanied by a dirty pillow with a battery-powered lamp and a small handheld multi-channel radio next to it. There was a small portable stove with a dirty pot occupying the only burner and some various books lying around. A red food cooler sat alone in the corner, Alan made a mental note to go over what he had to make sure he wouldn’t go hungry. All the windows had been boarded up and fortified.
“How long have you been here for?” Kyle inquired, reaching over to the books.
“About five months now, I’m adding bit by bit to the scrapyard. I’m hoping to trade for some seeds to get a garden going. But I need some more pots for that.” Alan proudly said. It wasn’t much but he loved it, central enough to get where he was going, safe enough for long periods of living. Much better than the backroom in the diner.
“That sounds like a great idea, I have a garden back home, let’s hope it’s still alive by the time I get back. I left my dad in charge of it.” Kyle chortled. Alan smiled at this while kicking off his shoes and stretching out on the floor.
“I guess he’s awful at it?” Alan wondered aloud. Kyle picked up the few books on the floor.
“Oh man, you have no idea. It’s not his forte that’s for sure. My mom always gets irritated when he tries to help and let’s just say the zombies would do a better job. But hey! He gives it his all and that’s what matters right?” Kyle sighed and sat down, following suit with taking his shoes off and placing them in the front of the van.
“True, any effort is something.” Alan replied, reaching over to the cooler and opening it. He pulled out a can of beans in tomato sauce, for their late lunch slash dinner.
“Yep, what you can do counts!” Kyle said, going through the books. “Hmmm, what do we have here…Masque of the Red Death? A Mammoth Book of Best New Horror? Jesus man, this isn’t exactly light bedtime reading.” Kyle said, stunned.
“They were the only books I could find that interested me, and they’re good reading too.” Alan said defensively. Kyle smiled as he opened one up.
“I’m just messing around with you man. It just seems a bit…bleak for what’s going on around us.” Kyle said, his face dropping slightly. Alan shrugged.
“Just seemed more in tune with my mood, I didn’t want to read anything happy or fake, while zombies walk around eating people and I’m fighting for my life every day.” Alan admitted quietly. Kyle tentatively reached over and patted him on the shoulder.
“I get it.” Kyle smiled, then stared at the can in Alan’s hand. “If you want, we can have one of the MREs in my pack. Celebrate a new friendship maybe?”
“That would be great, easy to cook right? I’ve never had one before. You sure you want to?” Alan asked with worry. Food was already hard enough to come by.
“Yeah, of course, I’ve used a couple before, but it was mostly when we couldn’t scavenge anything,” Kyle explained, pulling out a single MRE ration out. “They’re individual meals meant for one but out here they’re almost a feast. Nice and easy to cook as well!” He began prepping the meal, unpacking all the bits and pieces, and readying the flameless ration heater that came with it. While doing so he looked at the radio, a curious look to his face. “Ever take that with you?” he asked.
“Sometimes, but you have to be careful not to alert anyone. I usually have it for my wake-up call from the Broadcaster. Supply drops are also announced sometimes, but I haven’t heard that for a long time.” Alan explained. He missed the excitement that arose from the moment that the announcement would come through. More specifically, he missed it as it was a community event, with all the survivors that could hear it chattering excitedly on the radio channels and wondering what could be in the packages. That was until the Crusaders started taking a hold of all of it and shooting at anyone who would come near. Bunch of fucking assholes. “The Broadcaster is a guy who was working out of the radio tower at the north end of town, basically would relay some news when able to and warning of any potential danger spots survivors in the night would find. Unfortunately, the Crusaders got to him and now I think they just force him to spout propaganda.” Alan said sadly.
“The Crusaders huh? Are they the ones who are up against the Lone Children?” Kyle inquired with great interest. Alan nodded.
“They’re right nasty pieces of work. They beat the hell out of me a few weeks ago.” Alan said grumpily, showing off the dirty bandage that covered his arm. Kyle readied the food and the eating utensils on the floor.
“Yikes man, gotta be careful. Get infected and boom, you’re done.” His brown eyes pierced Alan’s hazel ones and flashed him a stern look. “But then again from today you don’t seem to give a shit, you jump right along into danger.” Kyle picked up the radio and examined it. “What do you think it would be like if the zombies could talk?”
“Like in Return of the Living Dead? Send…more…paramedics!” Alan did his best zombie voice and groaned it out. “So many good parts to that movie. I think my favourite is when the two guys find the half dog anatomical model piece and it’s alive, panting. Then they start beating the shit out of it and it’s yelping up a storm. It’s so fucked up but hilarious.” He laughed remembering the first time he saw it when he was a kid, terrified but giggling in disbelief. Kyle chuckled at Alan losing it.
“Yeah or like when the Tarman uses the chain pulley to pull the door to try and get Tina. Then he says, ‘MORE BRAINS!’ when the others come to save her. Like a kid in a candy shop.” Kyle grinned and took one of the small chicken chunks. He handed the fork over to Alan. “Have some, we also got an energy bar, a tortilla, cheddar cheese sauce, and for some reason hot sauce? Eh, don’t know why you’d want that in this weather, especially with water being so precious.” Alan took the fork and pierced a chunk. He brought it up to his mouth and blew on it, cooling it down. He chewed it and oh, it was delicious. A whole bunch of fat and salt straight into his body.
They continued passing the fork back and forth, eating and chatting about various things. Alan noticed that Kyle seemed to be more open than earlier and the narrow escape from earlier had been pushed from his mind. He never could comprehend why people would make the decision to be a Retriever, except for perhaps suicidal intentions. The state of Tennessee was pretty much eighty percent a red zone, so he couldn’t think of another reason Kyle would come. Whatever the case may be, it was good to have a friend. Especially after…
No, things are fine now. Let bygones be bygones. He thought. Enjoy yourself tonight. Like he always thought, if he had food, water, and a place to sleep at the end of the day, it was a good one. Just need to keep going…
They finished eating and started getting ready for bed. It was best to go out during the cover of night or early morning to stay away from the blazing high heat. Alan set up his radio to the Broadcaster’s channel, channel six and set it next to him. Getting into the sleeping bag, he lied down with sigh and watched as Kyle took out a blanket and set his backpack at his head as a sleeping bag.
“Get some rest, we’ll need it.” Alan stated. He wanted to read but if he didn’t get as many hours or woke up before the Broadcaster’s 1AM wake-up alert he would read more. The one story about the spaceship traveling vampires was getting quite interesting.
“Sounds good,” Kyle replied, shifting slightly. “Have a good sleep Alan.”
“Good night Kyle.” Alan said warmly and with that, he shut his eyes into a deep slumber.
You can check out more of Brett’s writing here
Featured Image: http://www.zgjm-org.com/WDF-237350.html