Nathan Hoyle was a former office worker, fiscal conservative, bachelor, and weekend alcoholic.
It wasn’t much to reflect on, now that he had a couple of hours to live.
​Fuck it.​
He picked up the gun and put it to his head.
Nah, wait.
He’d read once that a human bite was a bad injury, like a burn or a busted stomach. He looked at his arm, at the small black crater there. He took his best bottle of scotch and poured half on the wound and half down his throat. A last hurrah for the apocalypse.​
Later, the sun felt higher in the sky. The murk and fester in his swimming pool was ripe.

Still alive.
​There had to be a cigarette somewhere back inside.
Nathan checked the en suite, the kitchen drawers, the study. His father’s prized football helmet sat in its case. An inheritance, of sorts. Nathan put it on and checked himself in the mirror.
‘Fucking super zombie,’ he whispered. ‘Hell yeah.’
He took his pants off, leaving only his shirt.
He gaffer taped knives to his hands.
Die Hard zombie.
Anti-fragile zombie.
Alpha-zombie.
Undead, but forever himself now.
This story appears as part of Dystopia, a PUNK NOIR Magazine series.
Bio
Iain Ryan is an Australian crime fiction author, noted for his hard-boiled noir stories. With a background in DIY music and a catalog of self-published and traditionally published novels, his work has been twice shortlisted for The Ned Kelly Award (Australia’s prize for crime fiction) and recognised for its gritty realism. His most recent novel is The Dream (via Ultimo Press / Lamb House Books).
PUNK NOIR, the online literary and arts magazine that looks at the world at its most askew, casting a bloodshot eye over the written word, film, music, television and more.
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This was great
The opening sentence was great! Solid zombie stories are always appreciated.