Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #19 October 2015 | Page 15

without realizing it before it was too late, looking up
at the stars and seeing nothing familiar. They had all
fallen upon this island, slain by a protective community of former slaves and their current zombie slaves,
forced to join the horde of the undead.
Here, time passed much like the world’s time.
There were 24 hours in a day, which made the calculation of years easy, even though this dimension’s
chronological order seemed completely separate
from the old world. The moon always remained full,
as watchful as the stars, blood red and golden. The
waters turned an eerie blood tone during sunrise and
sunset. The weather was hot during the day and warm
at night.
As the zombies moved past trees and rock,
their ripped shoes possessing holes and slits as they
waddled through the dirt, one of them stopped in its
tracks. The others followed suit. They cocked their
heads and looked around, realizing that they heard
someone. They sniffed the air, catching the whiff of
living human flesh. With curiosity and slower steps,
the zombies wandered forward.
The trees shielded them as they crept down the
road, following the noise. Soon, a glow from a torch
made itself known. A man held it, some frightened
looking sailor with fearful eyes, trying to find his way
through the dark.

only a few feet from the man.
The man screamed as his frantic hand fanned
the torch at the beast. He was more frightened to see
two more zombies crawl out of the shadows, then
four. More zombies showed themselves, snarling and
gritting their teeth.
The man ran. Tripping, he shrieked. The torch
fell face down, extinguished.
The dead men leaped upon him, fingers digging into skin. He hollered until his throat grew
hoarse, wishing he had died before that point. The
hands of the undead pried him apart, pulling arms
from sockets, guts from sides. Luckily, he had died
before they finally pulled off his head, plucking out his
eyes and gobbling them.
The man tasted well enough, his flesh soft
and tender. Yet, there were many zombies, and they
all couldn’t share the feast, especially the delectable
brains oozing from his busted cranium.
More of the zombies descended towards the
beach, scavenging the jungle terrain. Another wandering sailor held a torch, possibly sent to find the recently lost party of one. He glanced up too late, screaming
as zombie fell upon him.

The man immediately heard the guttural
sounds in the dark. He gasped, holding up his torch.
Careful steps led h