Archive for May, 2014

Beau G

Beau G

We’ve been posting zombie fiction written by student writers. Here are two final excerpts for your enjoyment. Beau G is a student at Polaris Expeditionary School—a school of choice option for Fort Collins, Colorado students. The following excerpt from his zombie short story focuses on a death scene. Well staged, horribly…executed.

Chet and I rushed to the back door. We could hear them around the corner, still shrieking in agony from the sound of the grenade. We had to get out fast; there were definitely more of those things on the way.

“Go, I’ll cover you” I whispered. Chet nodded and swung the door open and stepped out. I followed him step for step, moving along the edge of the old, brick building to the opposite corner. From there we could see the exit. Chet started towards it, moving like a bat out of hell. Just as he left the safety of the wall, he tripped, face first into the dead grass, and let out a grunt of surprise. I ran past him, booking it to the exit. I screamed at him to get up. He was stunned. He just sat there like he was rooted in the ground, staring up at the sun. Prowlers came around the corner, faster than they ever had before, trampling one another to find meat.

Suddenly, Chet snapped back into consciousness, but it was too late to get up. Not thinking, he pulled the trigger frantically, hitting one in the kneecap, but it kept crawling towards him. Its legs separated from its torso at the hip as it tore towards Chet. Chet knew he was finished. He looked over to me and gave me one last nod and I nodded back, tears in my eyes. As the crawler began feasting on his leg, he let out a bloodcurdling scream that seemed to even make the fiends hesitate, if only for a moment.

He shouted, pulling the pin out of his last grenade. I turned around and ran. I couldn’t stand to see it.

But I was too late. I could see more creeps running towards the building, coming up both ways on the road. That’s when I gave up; but I wasn’t about to get eaten.

One in the chamber… That’s enough.


Simon MSimon M. is also a student at Polaris. Simon’s take on the zombie genre uses an old trope—the introduction of danger as a relationship begins to bloom. But Simon’s tale of a teenage ne’er-do-well and the object of his attention has a twist:

A few days after the trial, I started to feel a little guilty about what I’d done. All I had to do was give them a few alligator tears and a sob story about how I was lonely and some bad childhood BS and I was home-free.  Suckers. The looks on their stupid faces told me exactly when I had them around my finger. After that, I felt much calmer. Still, there was still this guilty feeling in my gut that made me question my morals. I shut those morals up with a cheeseburger to celebrate my victory.

The court had “suggestions,” of course. They gave me a dog to help me gain control over my emotions and make me feel less lonely. I had to play the part if I was to convince anyone, so I acted like I was oh-so-happy to be receiving a brand new puppy. The truth was I hated the thing. I detested it. It crapped everywhere. Puppies are high maintenance, and there was already myself to worry about. But most of all, I hated it for the way it could make me do it’s bidding  with it’s droopy sad eyes.

But as time passed, I started to like the damn thing more and more. I even took to calling it Cody. Soon, I didn’t mind cleaning up after him so much. Then one morning, I woke up and I couldn’t find him. I stressed for hours until I realized that he’d just gone into the garden to play. The sense of relief I felt told me that I loved him, I loved my dog Cody.

As Cody grew, I started to notice a change in myself as well. I was less aggressive. I had more energy, I’d even gotten a job. In fact, it was while I was at work that I starting hearing the reports about people getting sick and attacking other people in the streets. I heard from one of my co-workers that the CDC had been called to investigate. That was the day they sent us all home early.

When I got home, Cody was waiting for me, trying desperately to jump into my arms like a little Scoobydoo, I ignored him and turned on the television. Every channel was either down, or issuing emergency report saying to stay in your home due to attacks being made by the LIVING DEAD! Those words sounded like some pre-Halloween prank put on by bored newscasters, but as more and more channels went dead, I had to entertain the possibility that the stories were true.

Sensing that something was wrong, Cody nudged his nose under my hand. I stood and briskly walked into my kitchen, grabbing all thing canned foods I had, as well as a bowl and can opener, then grab a couple of bottles of water, a flashlight and some batteries and some food for Cody. As I exited the kitchen and headed for the door to the basement, I heard some glass shatter and a bloodcurdling scream come from the next door neighbors. I peered out my window just in time to see a woman’s face peeled off her skull. A serpent of fear coiled itself up my spine. All the hairs on the back of my neck stood up, I thought I would faint or vomit—or both. I shook myself out of it, and in a shaky voice, called for Cody.

Together we descended into the basement.



Posted: May 2, 2014 in Dark Silo News
Amp, firing at a zombie archery target.

Amp, firing at a zombie archery target.

Ever wonder what it would be like to turn into a zombie? How would your perception of everyday events change? What would it feel like? That perspective, often ignored, is the focus of one Fort Collins, Colorado Polaris school student (Amp). What makes Amp’s story so extraordinary is the seamless way normal events become quietly horrifying. Below, you’ll find an excerpt from what could be a novella, written by another one of teacher Ryan Grindel’s students. Each year, Dark Silo visits the Polaris school, and each year, we come away amazed. Read on. You’ll be amazed, too.


“Papa!” Laurence yelled as he ran to embrace me.

“Son!” I yelled back as Laurence plowed into my shoulder as fast as his legs could carry him. His short Brown hair flopped into my face.

“I missed you so much papa!” he said, big green eyes staring at me.

“I missed you too, son. My word, you look so much bigger. I think I might be holding someone else’s child. Why you look to be at least 10.” I spoke in a serious voice with a laugh at the end.

“Silly papa I’m only 7. Say, papa, did you get one for me, did you?” Laurence grinned so big I thought he might hurt himself.

“”Get what? What do you mean?”

“Come on papa!” He punched my chest with a frown on his face.

“Do you mean this?” I said as I pulled out a bar of chocolate wrapped in aluminum foil. “I got this from a merchant down by the docks.” I handed him the bar of chocolate. As Laurence’s grin came back, he hugged me very hard and said thank you countless times.

“Alright Laurence, get off your father, he must be exhausted.” A woman joined them, standing behind Laurence.

“Nora!” I walked up to her and gave her a kiss on the check as Laurence was occupied with the bar of chocolate. But staring at the bar of chocolate didn’t occupy him for long. He began asking if he could eat it right now. “Ask your mother first,” I said as I patted Laurence on the head.

“Look mama, look” Laurence said as he showed Nora the bar of chocolate. Nora looked at me with a face that would scare the devil. I could tell that she really didn’t want Laurence to eat it. All I did was give her a puppy dog face while Laurence begged. Nora sighed and looked at me, then at Laurence, then back at me. She closed her eyes and put one hand on her hip and the other on her forehead. When she looked back at Laurence she sighed again. “One piece only. You can have the rest after you finish your chores.”

Laurence’s grin got even bigger—I thought he just might end up hurting himself. He started to unwrap the aluminum foil. Nora told him to, “be careful, that’s sharp,” but by that time it was too late. Laurence burst into tears, and Nora glared, saying “See I told you so.”

She knelt down and looked at his finger. I walked over to see it as well. Just a little cut, barely enough to redden the the index finger. Nothing to cry over. Laurence squeezed it, and blood started to come out of the small cut. The crimson liquid began to pool, and finally started to stream around his finger. The crimson red trail made its way from the tip of his finger, staining everything that was under the blood. Laurence’s crying and Nora’s talking grew faint, as if they were leaving somewhere, and as the voices got quieter and quieter the blood on my son’s finger got brighter and brighter. I could smell it—such a sweet smell and it seemed like it would taste very sweet as well. The thump of Laurence’s pulse became as loud as cannons and as his heartbeat got louder, so did the whispering in my head. I couldn’t make out the words. The blood pooled up on the tip of the finger and what should have taken seconds took minutes as the blood started to swell. Bigger and bigger it swelled, and the more that accumulated, the louder the voices became, until the pool of blood had gotten too big and stretched towards the ground and broke free in a thundering crackle. And as the tiny ball of crimson red started to fall for what seemed like hours I felt something on my shoulders and I started to sway back and forth. And as the blood plummeted towards the ground, my wife’s voice started to get louder and louder—muffled so bad that I couldn’t make out what she was saying. And the closer the drop of blood got to the ground the louder the voice became until the drop of blood smashed into the tile floor and everything came back to normal.

“Honey? David?” Nora said.

I looked at her and said that I was fine. Just fine.