The Zombie Chronicles, Book 1: The Daywalkers



  The Zombie Chronicles, Book 1: The Daywalkers

  Copyright 2016 Mark Mulle

  Author’s Note

  This short story is for your reading pleasure. The characters in this "Minecraft Adventure Series" such as Steve, Endermen or Herobrine...etc are based on the Minecraft Game coming from Minecraft ®/TM & © 2009-2013 Mojang / Notch

  Table of Contents

  Day 1:

  Day 2:

  Day 3:

  Day 4:

  Day 5:

  Day 6:

  Day 7:

  Day 8:

  Day 9:

  Day 10:

  Day 11:

  Day 12:

  Day 13:

  Day 14:

  Day 15:

  Day 16:

  Day 17:

  Day 18:

  Day 19:

  Day 20:

  Day 21:

  Day 22:

  Day 23:

  Day 24:

  Day 25:

  Day 26:

  Day 27:

  Day 28:

  Day 29:

  Day 30:

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Other books by this Author

  Day 1:

  The main problem with being a zombie is that you live your life in bits and spurts. One minute you are wandering happily in the middle of a field of beautiful wildflowers, and the next you find yourself on fire sprinting toward the nearest source of shade or water to quench the blaze.

  It is not as if the process of respawning is difficult, to be exact. The real issue comes with reappearing in some unfamiliar location and trying to find your way back home. Zombies are not known for their sense of direction.

  My name is Damien and I am a zombie.

  I am here to let you know that we are not as bad as we are often made out to be. All right, so maybe we do moan and groan as we walk around the vast landscapes of our neighborhood. Maybe we prefer the darkness in the scarier portions of the world. Maybe we like to battle the daylight walkers who steal our resources and harm even the most peaceful zombies.

  We are not monsters. At least, I do not consider myself a monster.

  Yesterday, I was slain by an extremely energetic daylight walker named Barron. Barron reminds me a lot of the stories that I have heard of a man named Steve. In fact, they look strikingly similar. It is only their behavior that sets them apart, for Barron is a ruthless hunter.

  There I was, minding my own business, when Barron rushed up behind me with his golden sword and caught me unaware.

  I felt a deep tingle that ran from the tips of my toes to the very top of my head. Everything turned black and I was gone.

  It was not until night fell that I reappeared a long distance away and began to make my way back toward my home. At least, I think that I am heading in the right direction. Follow the moon, my mother always says. It will lead you home.

  This was a pretty regular occurrence. Barron has been slaying zombies from our clan for as long as I can remember. For as long as anyone can remember.

  The elders say that he is in search of the most unobtainable treasures. Carrots and beets.

  Now, we zombies like to laugh when we hear this tale. Carrots and beets are our favorite things. We collect them by the chest full. Our stronghold boasts hundreds and thousands of these tiny treasures. When we find them in the wild, we carefully make our way back to our village that lies buried, hidden, beneath the ocean. There, we hide them and protect them with our most fearsome warriors.

  On the off chance that a day walker might come across a zombie carrying one of these items, it is because he has not yet made it back to the village. In these unfortunate circumstances, we zombies will band together to attempt to reclaim the prize.

  Additionally, we find it extremely amusing to carry chunks of rotten meat that these individuals might collect. We have absolutely no use for them. Being zombies, we do not eat at all. But as the day walkers search for carrots and beets, it never ceases to amuse us that we only intentionally supply them with useless items.

  I have gotten off track. Back to my story.

  Yesterday I was slain by the fearsome man named Barron. I dropped a chunk of meat in an attempt to distract him from a nearby friend who was carrying a beet back to our home village.

  Though I hope that the distraction worked, I am saddened for another reason.

  Here I am, searching through this endless world, attempting to return to my home, and missing one of the most important events of the year in our zombie culture.

  Each year, during the season when the moon sits highest in the sky, the elders gather together and tell the tales of our world. There is a great festival, with many celebrations. We celebrate our triumphs, mourn our losses, and prepare for yet another year of battling those who walk in the daylight without protection and steal the precious resources from our lands.

  The festival is my favorite time of year. All of the monsters gather together in our under-water fortress to share our history and encourage each other on the tasks that lay ahead.

  In all of my life, I have never known a non-monster to attend the event. For that reason, it is extremely special.

  Tonight is the first night of the festival and I am missing it while I slowly make my way back home. I cannot help but be disappointed when I think of all the fun that my siblings are having without me. Tonight, the greatest warriors of each species will compete to earn the rare, and coveted, armor that will be awarded by the great Enderman.

  Skeletons and Zombies will show their skills with weapons and tracking, while spiders reveal their perfection of the element of surprise, and slimes practice attacking as a team.

  I had overheard that there has been an alliance between the spiders and the skeletons, where a spider might allow a skeleton to ride atop its back like some great horse or donkey. I am not certain that I believe this rumor, however, if it is true I hope that the spiders have made a similar agreement with the zombies. I would love to race into battle mounted atop one of the great eight-legged beasts.

  It would only be fair, of course, that zombies be allowed this privilege as well.

  So, tonight I will walk on. I truly hope that I will make it home in time to enjoy the festival. It usually lasts a few nights depending on the number of creatures who gather.

  This year will be the first year that my younger brother, Devon, will be allowed to attend. Devon has been talking about the festival for months. When he grows up, he says, he wants to join our elite forces and wear the shimmering enchanted armor into battle.

  I, on the other hand, have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.

  I suppose that I have plenty of time to think about it as I walk through the night.

  Day 2:

  I do not know where to begin when telling you how difficult, and frustrating, this day has been.

  As the sun rose over the horizon I found myself in the shelter of a densely wooded forest. This made me happy for two reasons. The first is that the shade provided by trees allows a zombie to move freely during the daytime without fear of the sun. I could run from tree cover to tree cover without fear of injury. That is, permanent injury. I did temporarily catch on fire several times but never had any actual fear for my progress.

  The second reason that I was happy was that I recognized the forest I was in. In fact, I was not very far from the entrance to our underground village.

  I felt a sudden surge of excitement as I rushed onward. I just might be able to make it to the festival on time.

  I am certain that anyone watching would have never have seen a happier zombie in the daylight.


  Except for Barron, that is.

  Barron saw me. He saw me long before I ever caught sight of him. I was practically skipping, leaping, jumping with joy that I was so close to home.

  The forest was noticeably empty today, as often happens when we have our gatherings, and Barron must have been suspicious of the change.

  It appeared to me that he thought that we were up to something which, of course we were. Barron must have decided that if the monsters would not come to him, he would go in search of us.

  And of course, he found me.

  Suddenly, the madman jumped out from behind a low growing tree and pointed his bow and arrow at me.

  I was defenseless. I had no place to run and no one nearby to help me. I could not lead him back toward the entrance to our village, for if he ever located that we would be in big trouble.

  I tried to call for help but all that came out was a low groan. You see, sometimes when we are afraid, really afraid, we lose our ability to speak. This was definitely one of those times.

  Barron just laughed.

  “I found you,” he cried.

  For a moment I considered running in the other direction, but then I remembered that I had nowhere to run. Instead, I rushed toward him