Cowsill - Zombie 18

About the Author

Alan Cowsill has worked as a writer and editor for Marvel UK/Panini and
Eaglemoss Publishing. He created the award-winning Classic Marvel Figurine
Collection and DC Super Hero Collection and worked on the Marvel Chess
Collection and Marvel Movie Collection. His books include Colin the Goblin,
Stormwatcher, DC Comics: A Year by Year Visual Chronicle, Marvel Comics:
75 Years of Comic Art, Spider-Man Chronicle, Marvel Avengers Character
Encyclopedia and the award-winning graphic novel World War One (Campfire).
He was also one of the writers of Revolutionary War for Marvel. He is presently
the Managing Director of Bullpen Productions.

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Published by Bullpen Productions

All rights reserved

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted
in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other
electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the
publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical reviews and
other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Copyright 2017 Alan Cowsill

Contact:

Website: www.alancowsill.com

www.bullpenproductions.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-9956994-1-0

ISBN: 978-0-9956994-3-4 (e book)

Cover artwork:

Lalit Kumar Sharma (Pencils/inks)

Alan Craddock (Colour)

Contents

ONE

I will not die.

I know its going to happen. I know its going to happen real soon, but Im going to fight it.

I am going to STAY in control. I am NOT going to lose it. I am NOT going to die.

Who am I trying to kid?

Jack died. My folks died. Just about everyone Ive ever knowns died. And Ill die. Thats why Im doing this. Why Im writing this down in one last mad crazy rush before it happens.

Before I become one of them.

Maybe itll help me hold on to things. Or at the very least let you know what happened to us all.

Maybe itll even help you.

I dont really care. Im here and Im about to die and I need to do something so my last few hours arent spent screaming and crying and

My names Alex Stevens and Im seventeen years old.

Tomorrows my birthday.

Tomorrow Im eighteen.

And thats why Im going to die.

I know the old world wasnt perfect, but these days it seems that way. It really does.

Its less than three months since the Change and I miss so much. So many things. So many people.

Still, at least I made it to London. I always wanted to come down here. Used to think Id live down here when I was older.

Older.

Thats a laugh. Today Im about as old as you can get.

I arrived here at first light after taking the walk yesterday. Didnt take me long to find this place. One thing about whats happened, theres plenty of decent accommodation available if you can put up with the neighbours. I can hear them groaning and shambling about down below. Thought I saw some kids in whats left of Parliament earlier but I stayed clear. Ive left people behind me. I dont want to do a Jack and try to kill them. That would be most uncool. Not to mention wrong.

So here I am. Top-floor penthouse and what a view! Im sitting on the balcony as I scrawl these words, looking out over whats left of London. Big Bens just across the river. Its seen better days. Theres still smoke coming out of a hole in the clock face on the south side. The Houses of Parliament seem to have got off lightly. It's clearly seen better days but at least it's still there. The other buildings lining the Thames are pretty much burnt-out shells. In the distance, way over the city, a few buildings and tower blocks are still burning. The Shards gone, snapped in half. Whats left of it a jagged needle on the horizon. All the cities burned after the Change. Guess they didnt have much choice. All that gas and electric running wild. All the dropped cigs and left-on cookers.

Boom!

To the right, I can see St. Pauls Cathedral and it still looks amazing. Okay, so theres a massive hole in the roof, but the cathedral is still there watching over the Thames. Which is more than can be said for the Pineapple or Gherkin or whatever it was called. Nothing left of that at all.

Listen, sorry if Im rambling, but this is more for me than you. Im also trying to work out where to start from. I mean, obviously, here and now. With me overlooking Londons destroyed skyline, the sun rising, a few corpses staggering around aimlessly below. The London Eyes still there. Its stopped turning, but the pods are filled with people who were trapped inside when the Change occurred. Theyre dead, but that doesnt stop them moving. Being dead doesnt stop most people moving these days. At least if youre over eighteen. The living dead will be trapped in those small glass pods until the whole thing eventually topples over into the Thames, or they stop being zombies. Still, at least they have a nice view. Other zombies are occasionally queuing up at the foot of it. How weird is that? They should get a life.

Sorry, that probably wasnt funny.

I can also see Charing Cross station and the dead are there too. A few trains crashed and burned. The hotel above the station pretty much collapsed in on itself. Mustve been one hell of a blaze. A couple of trains are jutting out of the wreckage, melted and charred from the heat. One trains hanging off the bridge leading into the station, almost as if its trying to decide whether to take the plunge into the dark water below. There are a few corpses standing on whats left of the platforms. They shuffle about, chasing the odd pigeon or fighting over some scrap of meat theyve found. They seem to be waiting for trains that will never arrive.

Anyway, Ive got to start before, that much is obvious. Not too far before though. I mean, you dont really need to know about the time I cut my leg open playing football in the back garden and had to have stitches. Or how I used to stay up late watching horror movies with my dad. My mum used to say theyd give me nightmares but Dad said theyd be good for me. Guess he was right about that one. These days I think of those movies as basic training. No, you dont need to know about that, but you do need to know about Jacks birthday and maybe just before that.

When we first met the girls.

Yeah, lets start with the girls. Kim, Molly and Cara.

Meeting them saved our lives.

We were staying at a Retreat in Ilkley. It was a school trip to mellow a few of us out before the exams and a vague attempt to make us feel more religious at Easter after all, the Retreat was run by monks. There were thirty of us on the trip. Four from each year plus five teachers to make sure we didnt get into trouble or in Kegs case more trouble than usual. Our school, Campion, was in St. Helens, a small town about ten miles from Liverpool. Its not a bad school and its not a good school. Actually now its a burnt-out wreck of a school filled with the living dead, but you know what I mean. I was in the sixth form, not much time left at the place. A prized position at Huddersfield University waiting for me providing I got the right grades. (A and two Bs, in case youre wondering. Exams cancelled due to apocalypse.) The trip was only for a few days. A look at York and a life-affirming walk on the moors that sucked big time. It was raining and the moors were all kinds of boring. The highlight was Mr Lee getting shouted out by a couple of Rangers for taking kids out on the moors when the weather was so bad. He got us lost and we all got soaked.