By Scott Wilson
Word Count: 485
“It’s going to be a great day for a picnic. I wonder why I don’t feel good about it at all.” Beth said.
“She’s apple luv,” her husband Jeff replied. “We’re almost over the danger zone.”
Beth looked out the window of the shuttle, cringing at the sight of the zombie infestation in the area previously known as Brisbane. Twenty years after the initial breakout and the virus was contained to the major cities, which were now sealed off and heavily guarded.
“There we go,” Jeff said, pointing to the Stradbroke Island beach. “Just in time to, looks like the barge is arriving. We should get a prime picnic spot before the crowds get there.”
Jeff landed the shuttle in the old car park and opened the door from the cockpit to the hull. Beth followed him and bundled up the picnic basket, while Jeff picked up the Esky and rug. They left the shuttle, walked down the sandy path to the beach, and set up under a shady tree on the grass just before the sand began.
“When do you think they’ll clean up the cities?” Beth said.
Jeff played with his wife’s hair as she lay with her head on his lap.
“It’ll take them years, hon,” Jeff said. “To save the buildings and environment, they have to take the infected out individually. Can’t bomb or nuke the infected zones or they’ll be uninhabitable for us.”
“I don’t know if I’d want to live in any of the old cities now. You know, knowing those creatures lived there.”
“I don’t think people will start moving back in our lifetime. They’ll have to exterminate the infected, dispose of the bodies, clean up the streets, then buildings.”
A scream interrupted Beth. It sounded close, too close. Jeff leapt to his feet.
“Get back to the shuttle!” he yelled, then pulled the corners of the picnic rug together to carry everything back to the shuttle.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know, Beth. But I don’t want to find out.”
They ran back along the sandy path, Beth in front by a few meters as Jeff clumsily ran with the swag over his shoulder.
“Look, there! On the road from ferry.” Beth yelled.
Jeff slowed down and looked at the crowd of pale, lifeless bodies staggering towards the car park.
“Zombies!” Jeff yelled.
“In the front, that guy is wearing a military uniform. He must have been infected on duty and didn’t report it. Bastard’s going to set the whole thing in motion again.”
“Come on, we should be able to make it to the shuttle before they get here. We can report it; maybe they can contain it on this island.”
“Great, another part of the world lost to the living.”
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Here at The Fringe Magazine we publish Short Stories, Flash Fiction, Poetry in all genres and reviews of books, roleplay games, music and movies.
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Our variety seems to be hiting the mark with over 100,000 views of our Online Magazine with a good spread across all articles.?xml:namespace>From surveys we've conducted, our readers are like most people and enjoy reading all kinds of books, both fiction and non-fiction.
With over 350 readers visiting our site each day, we listen to the voice of the masses and try and procure books in all genres to review. To date, we have reviewed over 600 books, including; non-fiction reference, music, art, photography, gardening, cooking, Self Help, architecture, design, biographies and roleplay games.
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