“Can’t talk right now! I’m busy making friends with the locals!” There are times when even I can’t guess which of those options applies to Shaun. You don’t go there unless you’re suicidal, stupid, or both. His current buddy might be sick enough to be nearing its second, final death, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a healthier pack roaming the area. “Stop antagonizing the locals and get back on the bike,” I said, glaring from behind my sunglasses. I’ll give Shaun this much: He knows not to bother the fresh ones at close range. It had obviously been in a state of full viral amplification for some time and didn’t have the strength or physical dexterity left to knock the stick out of Shaun’s hands. The zombie gave a low moan, swiping at him ineffectually. “Hey, George, check this out!” he shouted, giving the zombie another poke in the chest with his hockey stick. So what do we have now, in this enlightened age twenty-six years after the Rising? We have idiots prodding zombies with sticks, which brings us full circle to my brother and why he probably won’t live a long and fulfilling life. The initial shock was followed by running and screaming, which eventually devolved into more infection and attacking, that being the way of things. This was upsetting for everyone involved, except for the infected, who were past being upset about that sort of thing. One day, things were normal the next, people who were supposedly dead were getting up and attacking anything that came into range. There was no warning before the outbreaks began. The only surprise was that this time, it was really happening. When the infected first appeared-heralded by screams that the dead were rising and judgment day was at hand-they behaved just like the horror movies had been telling us for decades that they would behave.

It hasn’t been a surprise for more than twenty years, and if you want to get technical, it wasn’t a surprise then.

As if we didn’t already know what happens when you mess with a zombie: The zombie turns around and bites you, and you become the thing you poked. Our story opens where countless stories have ended in the last twenty-six years: with an idiot-in this case, my brother Shaun-deciding it would be a good idea to go out and poke a zombie with a stick to see what happens.

Feed by Mira Grant