Zombie Moon Rising (A Peter Brannigan Novella)

By Claire Farrell

A Peter Brannigan novella

Set in the same world as the Ava Delaney series

Peter Brannigan had forgotten it was Halloween until he noticed the zombie shuffling down his street.

Before Peter met Ava, before Aiden became a consultant to the Council, unlikely allegiances were formed.

Their world has always been full of magic and darkness, but zombie attacks are out of even the Council’s league. Investigating the appearance of a zombie in his neighbourhood, Peter teams up with Aiden to find the perpetrator of black magic that few in Ireland understand, but he ends up facing choices that force him to question his own humanity.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Claire Farrell
• Release date: Oct 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301857203

Claire Farrell

Claire Farrell is an Irish author who spends her days separating warring toddlers. When all five children are in bed, she overdoses on caffeine in the hope she can stay awake long enough to write some more dark flash fiction, y/a paranormal romance and urban fantasy.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Peter Brannigan had forgotten it was Halloween until he noticed the zombie shuffling down his street. He dropped his house keys, blinked, then bent to pick them up. Terrific costume.

Late afternoon, and it was already dark. The air tasted of winter, and his hands were numb from the chill in the air. He was on his way home to face another night alone, and he probably had nothing in the house for trick or treaters.

When he straightened, the figure was closer, and in the light of a waxing moon, the fact that most of its head was caved in was plain to see. He squinted, pretty sure what he was seeing was unlikely.

Giggles from the far end of the street startled him, and a chorus of Trick or Treat! filled the air. The zombie, or whatever the hell it was, stopped walking and half-turned at the sound.

Not tonight, Peter muttered, inserting a card key into the slot on his door. He didn’t have time to take care of the second lock. Not with that… creature shambling toward his neighbours’ kids. They were pains in the arse and probably the ones kicking footballs at his back wall from eight am on a Sunday morning, but still, they were kids. They deserved the chance to grow up into adult pains in the arse.

He sprinted out of the garden, swearing under his breath. His neighbourhood had to have been built on a cursed graveyard or some shit.

He caught up with the… okay, fine, zombie easily, but he had to hold his breath to ward off the stench coming from the thing. The zombie stared at him, just stared, but its eyes were blank and empty. Up close, its skull was mangled, as if it had been crushed by something heavy. Blotches of green and purple and red covered its face, and it was missing two front teeth. That sparked a memory of something, but Peter didn’t have time to speculate. The kids had moved to the next house.

Apparently, the zombie had noticed them coming closer, too, because he stepped away from Peter.

No!

The zombie froze to the spot. Peter swallowed hard. He hadn’t exactly come up against a freaking zombie before.

They looked at each other for a few seconds; Peter, warily, and the zombie as if it were trying to think really, really hard.

Fuck it. Peter rushed at the zombie and pulled it into a headlock, avoiding the gory open wound. He marched the thing toward his own house and away from the children. The zombie struggled, but it was kind of uncoordinated. Maybe its head injury had done something funky to its reflexes. Who cared as long as it didn’t get to hurt anyone. He wasn’t sure if the brains of children were actually a zombie’s preferred food choice, but he wasn’t inclined to find out.

He dragged the zombie into the garden and noticed his next-door neighbour standing at her window, staring at him with a look of familiar horror in her eyes. The old bitch still swore blind that he had killed his family, and he remained convinced she was the one sending anonymous letters of complaint about lowering the tone of the neighbourhood to his home. He made sure she got a good look at the zombie’s crushed skull before using his second key on his front door.

One last glance at Mrs. Moore caught her blessing herself over and over again. Unable to resist grinning back at her, Peter waved. She stepped back from the window in a hurry. He shoved the zombie into his hallway, tripping it up so it fell flat on its face.

He slammed the front door behind them. The zombie struggled to get up, and Peter stood on the back of its neck, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with the thing. Feeling a little queasy, he leaned over to check for a pulse. Nothing.

He stared at the zombie, thinking hard. Okay, so it was definitely dead, definitely walking around. That head injury was the fatal kind. Now that he looked, he noticed the remains of some yellow powder on what was left of the zombie’s forehead, and around its neck hung a leather pouch. The creature was dressed in a suit and tie, the likes nobody wore except in a coffin.

So what was it doing on his street, in his neighbourhood?

He fingered the pouch, wondering at its significance. The zombie freaked then, clawing and grabbing in a frenzy. Blocking the blows, Peter yanked the pouch from its body. Instantly, the body froze, lifeless, the way dead bodies are supposed to be.

Peter removed his foot hesitantly, keeping a careful eye on the dead body. Sniffing, he gagged at the smell. The eyes were open but milky, and it was as if the body was drying up before his eyes.

Weird shit, he said aloud. Always me, right?

The house never talked back, but he sometimes felt as though it were listening. Especially at night when he drank himself to sleep. That was when the memories came. Maybe the visions. All of the blood, the dead bodies, and his son… held in the arms of a creature everyone insisted didn’t exist.

On those nights, it felt as though the house itself relived every second of pain and fear, but it never revealed the faces he needed to see, the ones he was desperate to find. Only the people he knew and loved, begging for their lives. Only their bodies, empty shells he barely recognised. He fought hard against the dark memories threatening to overshadow the living versions still held safe somewhere in his mind. But over time, the good memories had been blocked too well by the final ones.

He rolled his shoulders, that dry ache in his throat again. Maybe he was drinking too much. Well, fuck it; he deserved it for the shit he was put through. The zombie sprawled on his floor was proof of that.

He needed an explanation, help, another person to acknowledge what he had witnessed. Not many options when it came to it. No friends anymore, nobody he could depend on. All he had were the beings he couldn’t allow himself