The Returned

His memory splinters whilst binaural rats scavenge in the dead tunnels of his mind.

A surge of rebirth punctures his non-existence. The agony of breath supplants a previous death. His scarred brain flows into erratic thought. Memories, new and old, meld into a vortex of vivacity.

He remembers.

"If you see anything, move, just fucking shoot."

The soldier nods. They meet nobody. A green flag is thrust into the earth in triumph. He is the first to hear the rumble, faint then rising to the thunder of a thousand tornadoes. Base instinct tells him to run. He knows the action is pointless. Death comes fast from on high. Foreign fire deletes the fighter and all his brothers in arms.

He looks down. His body is in pieces. His spirit weeps and turns away from his wife, children, and every trace of his old existence. He rockets through a ghost veil and into the black rainbow, diminishing into a few haunted atoms. He waits, waits in the liminal space where all things go.

His eyelids part. Every pore of his skin screams in pure pain. He is cosseted by several dashing white angels.

"We need to stabilize him. Come on people make it happen."

The agony abates. His dry eyes focus. Before him stands a stranger shining a torch into the soldier's retina. "That's better. What's your name?" "Charlie Purser, what's happening? I didn't know I survived." Charlie tries to study the odd man's face. "You didn't. No-one did. We just put you back together again." The light dissipates. Charlie gasps in despair when the lifeless face of a dead doctor stares back. "What the hell is this?" "Defiance." The doctor thrusts shiny metal into Charlie's hand. He catches his reflection. Charlie understands his purpose with one awful sickle drop of a glance. He sees the confused face of one fresh zombie. Gary Hewitt