Dave Rowlands
Bio
Author and Creator of Anno Zombus, but don't let that worry you; I write more than just zombie stories.
Discover more about Baby's parents role during the Auspocalypse at amazon.com and come and join us at the Anno Zombus facebook group.
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Stories (52)
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Would You Like Some Cake? It's To Die For...
The dinner had been lavish, several courses of the entire family’s favourites. Roasted meats of various beasts dripping with their own juices, an enormous pile of mashed potato sitting in the centre of the table, looming over the rest of the food. Bowls of vegetables, roasted, steamed, raw… it seemed as if any food imaginable rested atop that table. There was far more food than the six people present could have eaten in a week.
By Dave Rowlands5 years ago in Fiction
The End
This was the end. He knew it. There was no doubt in his mind, he would live out his last moments in this dilapidated old barn. He checked the door once again, it was securely locked, the bar in place. There was no way whatever it was out there was getting in at him, not this time. Was it really what it had looked like? The fur, the teeth, the sheer size and bulk of the creature that had savaged him that couldn’t possibly have been what he thought it was.
By Dave Rowlands5 years ago in Fiction
I Thought You Would Have a Scythe
You see the world as it truly is, as it always has been. It is washed out compared to your memories, though everything exists in minute detail. The vehicle that struck you, now motionless, hangs above you mere millimetres from the surface of the road. After some time spent in observation, you realise that it isn’t actually motionless at all; it only appears that way, the same as everything else. You stand up, passing through the vehicle as though it were no more solid than vapour. No other beings exist in this world, not as far as you can see. You are in the world between heart beats. This is the moment you realise that you are dead.
By Dave Rowlands5 years ago in Fiction
Baby's Locket
“What have you got there, Baby?” She hated the nickname. She was ten now, and far too old to be called Baby. Her name was Barbra, and she let him know it. A grin split her Uncle Vik’s blonde beard as he raised his hands in surrender. She laughed at her uncle’s antics. “Sorry, Barbra. Can I see?”
By Dave Rowlands5 years ago in Fiction
