This Might or Might Not be an April Fools Joke

The Stalking Dead

Unofficial TWD FanFic

“Same horror, fresh faces.”

Written and Edited by JW


Disclaimer: Any names or descriptions bearing any resemblance to real-life people or places are purely coincidental, with the exception of named locations and cities, towns, etc. The writer did not purposely place you or your friends and town in the zombie apocalypse for fun or pure spite. Maybe. Don’t worry, you’re perfectly safe. Maybe. Places may or may not be based on already existing locations, or are purely figments of the author’s imagination in some instances as well. If you do happen to stumble upon one of these locales, beware the Walking Dead. Also, please note that- as with the official series itself, this UNOFFICIAL work of fiction may contain questionable content, so read at your own risk. Enjoy.

Episode 1- “The First Day of the End of Our Lives”


It all began with the sun rising through the feverish midmorning haze. No one recognized it for what it was until it was too late, but by then…well, you know that story. What you may not know is mine. But that is why I am here to tell you. So that you might learn from my mistakes, or at least live by them. My name is Scott Moore, and this is the first day of the end of my life.


Ep. 1- “The First Day of the End of Our Lives”

He felt like he had been run over by a steam roller as he groggily sat up, or tried to, rather. “Goddamn,” he muttered as the whiskey bottle smashed onto the RV floor when he rolled over. He sighed. Reaching for the alarm to see what time it was, he pulled the blinds up with his other hand as he groped around in the bed. The clock was dead. “Hmm…that’s odd. I coulda sworn I left the fucker plugged in last night…” He laughed. Last night was a blur, so he could hardly blame himself if he didn’t remember to plug the stupid thing back in to charge.

He turned to look out the window and bask in the morning glow and started when he noticed the large, blood-red handprint on his window. “The fuck? This some kinda shitty joke or some’at? Some asshole putting pig’s blood on his hand and trying to creep me out or some shit? Well that’s just damn dandy then, ain’t it?”

He started again when he heard a bump and a scraping coming from the other side of the RV. He got up, but immediately fell on his face, his head hitting the floor just beside the shards of glass and spilled whiskey. “What a waste,” he muttered, woozily hauling himself back to his feet. “Damn fine hangover I got this morning,”

He pulled his bathrobe tighter around his dingy drawers and stretched a little, popping his back. He heard the thump another time, and then a sort of wheezing and shuffling accompanying it. “Creep’s still here? Oh, I’ll teach him…” He thought as what sounded like fingernails slid and scraped against his door. “Trying to rattle me, eh? I’ll teach you a fine lesson! And give you a beating you won’t forget!” He said to himself, grabbing an iron skillet off the counter in one hand, and reaching for the doorknob with the other.

Gripping the knob tightly, he silently and slowly opened the door, so as to not alert the prowler/jokester, and peaked out. Not five feet away from him, a man stood with his back to him, leaning heavily against the side of the RV.

“Hey asshole, ya mind getting off the merchandise?” Scott asked, waiting for the guy to turn around and man up. Instead, the man gave a slight groan and a hissing sound and barely turned his head to look back. “Yeah you! You got some issues pal? Need me to clear em up for ya? Cause I got some great medicine right here!” He hefted his skillet and stepped down onto the set of stairs outside the doorway.

The man slowly turned around- shuffled around, more accurately, and he could see the man’s face in full profile now. There were some bloody marks around his eyes, nose, and mouth, as well as some darker stains on his shirt and pants. “Ah shit man! He’s a loony or some shit!” Scott thought quickly, horrified at the man’s disheveled appearance.

“Damn man. You aigh’t there?” He asked, stepping forward towards the man hesitantly. He was obviously hurt, but didn’t seem to be in pain, or too coherent for that matter, dazed as he was. “Need me to patch that up for ya, pal?” He motioned to the bloody wounds with one hand, the other still clutching at his iron pan like a lifeline. Instead of replying, the man stumbled on, a low growl emitting from deep within his belly. That was when his tattered shirt pulled away to show his belly- or what was left of it.

The entire left-most portion of his side had been ripped out, ribs were broken and exposed, and some sort of stinky, squishy, grey material was barely holding on. Scott nearly gagged as he screamed and fell backwards. “Shit man! I ain’t no doctor, but you are past needing help my friend! Dead as a fucking doornail is what you are!” He yelled and pointed, as if that would distract the…thing. “And yet he’s standing right there in front of me! It’s like he’s some sort of fucking zombie or something, but those things ain’t real!”

It edged closer still, panting. “Back it on up motherfucker, before I take a piece of you with my handy little skillet here!” he yelled, voice cracking a little as the thing shuffled closer still. “Why am I talking to it? Trying to reason with it?” he thought, raising the pan above his head- readying himself for what would come next.

“Ain’t ever had to kill a man, and I’m not about to start now… You ain’t a man though anymore, so this ain’t a sin or nothin’.”

As it made it the last few feet, arms outstretched, groping the air, he brought the cast iron skillet down forcefully atop its crown with a sickening thud. With a belated “Duhh…” and a sigh, the thing fell over on top of him and knocked him to the ground.

“Jesus!” he cursed, starting to push it off of him. The thing stirred once more and began to faintly flail and thrash about, clawing at Scott as if in a panic itself. “Shit!” He gave it another wallop for good measure, listening as its neck snapped under the pressure. He got up, wiping the blood off of his hands on his britches and clenching the skillet so hard that his tan hands were past white. It started to stir again, and with an angry shout he began to beat it repeatedly in the head- not stopping until he had bashed the better half of its face and upper head in and the body itself was all but unrecognizable.

With a sob, he sat back and dropped his skillet onto the stairs, eyes starting to water and hands going limp. “What kinda shit is this? Ain’t like no hangover I’ve ever had before… What’s the world coming to? What’s the-“

“Hey! Hey you! Over here!” A far off voice sounded and he ceased his thinking and glanced around furtively. “Over here!” He glanced towards the interstate he had parked off of the previous night, too stoned to keep on a truckin, a thousand years or so ago it seemed. He saw a woman waving from a red pickup, and waved back.

“Come help us! My husband is ill! He needs medicine or something!”

Scott got up slowly, and began to walk towards the woman and her red truck. Suddenly, he saw a man’s head dart out the open window and his mouth clamp down around the woman’s neck viciously. She shrieked and howled in surprise and pain as he gnashed his teeth and ripped at her flesh.

Scott took off running. “Shit! Another one of…those…things!” he thought as he got closer. He pried her away from it, and a long strip of flesh came away in its mouth as she nearly passed out.

He put his hands around her neck to try to staunch the bleeding, and began asking her questions in order to distract her from her predicament.

“M’am? What’s your name?” he asked her as she frantically looked around and her eyes rolled in her head.

“M’am!” He yelled, but it was too late. Her eyes rolled one final time and she lay still in his arms, bleeding all over his already crimson and ragged bathrobe- her husband crawling ravenously around in the backseat of their pickup, working the doorhandle. “He’s a little more than sick, m’am.” Scott whispered as he pulled the knife from her belt and sunk it, up to the hilt, in the ‘man’s’ face. He twitched once and was still.

“Well, that sure stopped him,” he thought before turning around to survey the scene. “What am I gonna do with these three bodies I got now? Guess I’ll have to bury em somewhere…” He headed for the RV to grab a tarp, appropriate for the job.

While he was inside, he washed his hands and changed into more suitable clothing- namely, denim and a flannel tee shirt. “Ain’t no use getting’ hepatitis…” He muttered and washed his hands once more for added measure.

He grabbed the tarpaulin and headed back outside to the couple’s truck, ready to get things over with and figure out just what hell he had woken to find himself in. There was a bloody trail smeared on the ground, but the woman’s body was nowhere to be seen.

“Well shit,” he thought out loud, glancing around speechlessly, “She couldn’ta just got up and walked off now could sh-“ He heard a rustle and a shuffle and whirled around. Sure enough, there stood the woman, dead not five minutes ago, still bleeding profusely from the jugular where her late husband had taken a large chomp out of her throat.

“Goddamn, it’s not a good day.” He searched around for something, anything he could use to defend himself and came up empty handed. “Shit, shit, shit!” he cursed, leaning over the dead man to grab the knife from his wrecked face, having no alternative.

She was upon him before he could turn, moving scarily fast for a recently dead person, and defying all Hollywood principles and rules as well.

She came at him literally tooth and claw, but he managed to fend her off and shove her to the ground. He slashed at her, but she came on heedlessly, ignoring the new red line on her arm as she did. He kicked her in the knee, breaking it loudly, and still she came on- albeit slowly. With a yell, he sunk the blade deep into the top of her skull, and well into her brain. She jerked and fell onto her face, dead for good.

“Damn it woman, I’m sorry I had to do that.” He said, then, “Get ahold of yourself Scott. She’s dead, she don’t care. Probably thanking you now anyway…” He stared at the rising sun and the coming day as he leaned back against the truck, not sure if he wanted to be a part of this new and dangerous world, but sure as hell that he didn’t want to end up dead- or worse…


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