Gary gazed at the screen in front of him, unsure of how to react. Aside from the madness of everything that had just occurred, his designation as a Basic Zombie (Herder) was his most immediate concern.

Gary hadn’t died at any point, he was sure of that. To confirm he was alive, he checked for a pulse on his wrist and found it steady, if elevated. Not surprising, all things considered. However, he also noticed that his previous sense of fear had vanished. He still felt scared, but no more than you would normally expect when a weird magical slug had crawled inside you, a necromancer had fallen from the sky and the graves all around you were spewing zombies.

The Fear Points had vanished, along with the sense of being restrained by them. The Mana points had also gone. Presumably as a zombie he had fewer abilities than if he’d remained categorised as living.

Speaking of zombies…

Gary cowered as a grey-faced figure lurched into view overhead. Its skin was withered and rotten. The suit it’d been buried in was tattered and grey. The pale skin around its mouth was pulled in a horrific grimace, revealing yellow teeth.

“Shit!” Gary shouted and grabbed his shovel, ready to fight.

The zombie paid him no attention, however.

Instead, it shuffled past the grave where Gary was still standing.

Right, Gary thought, of course, I guess that makes sense. If I’m registering as a zombie, other zombies wouldn’t be interested in me.

It was a theory, but one he wasn’t willing to bet his life on it just yet. Cautiously climbing out of the grave for what he hoped was the last time, Gary crouched down and looked around.

He was at the far south end of Bidlington Cemetary, which had a capacity of around five thousand bodies, with room for another thousand. The church was to the east of the cemetery, with parking (and Gary’s van) on the west. The village of Bidlington was mostly to the north.

All around him, graves had opened, and the undead had risen in various states of decomposition. Some were no more than skeletons, with no flesh or clothing to speak of. As Gary gawped at them, he saw message bars across their heads declaring them to be skeletons. Others, the more recently buried, were coming back as zombies like himself – except not like himself, of course. They couldn’t think and reason, and had no pulses.

The undead that had broken out of their graves began shuffling towards the church to the east of the cemetery.

Heading for the funeral goers at the church, Gary thought.

More zombies shuffled past him, and a couple of skeletons too. All of them completely ignored him as they passed by. Gary kept crouching, gripping his shovel tightly just to be on the safe side.

After a few more minutes, he was persuaded that the undead were ignoring him for the reason he had assumed. By then, all the graves near him were open, with most of the undead heading towards the church. Some of them were clicking and shambling towards the village of Bidlington instead.

Anyone stuck in that church is finished if the undead get there, Gary thought grimly. There must be a few hundred of them at least.

He couldn’t think about that now. Instead, he grabbed his jacket and rifled through the pockets for his phone. He tried dialling his parents, then his brother, then his sister. It was futile. The phone displayed no signal.

Everyone has probably overloaded the networks trying to make frantic phone calls everywhere. Assuming phones still work in this new reality. Maybe they don’t, if magic does.

He tried switching to wi-fi calling instead, but that was just as pointless.

“Dammit.”

Okay, his van was nearby, and the undead were happy to ignore him. That was a win in a lot of ways, except one.

The system had informed him that there was an experience reward for killing him, which Gary assumed meant if anybody living killed him. As far as he could tell, it was possible to find out what someone’s class was simply by looking at them. Which meant when people started fighting back, they might target him. If they thought he was a zombie, then Gary’s problem wouldn’t be the undead. It would be the living survivors.

He noticed his teeth felt longer and sharper. The nails on his hands had grown in the meantime. He pressed on them and discovered they felt stronger than nails usually do.

All the better for scratching and biting, I suppose

So he even looked more like a zombie.

The undead horde had almost made it to the church now. There was a low wall with a metre and a half high railing which separated the cemetery from the church itself. Gary doubted the barrier would be of much use. Once the zombies started pressing against it, their combined weight would eventually force it down. Or perhaps they would just climb over it? They didn’t seem intelligent, but who knew?

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

Who knew, indeed? That was the real question here.

All Gary had were suppositions and guesses about what was going on and what the parameters were. He was doing what he could, but he had limited information.

But there was someone here who should know what was going on, and have some answers.

Gary swivelled round to where the necromancer had stood a few minutes ago, around thirty feet away. He was still standing in the same spot, but had pulled his hood back and was observing the undead as they pressed towards the church. Whilst his gaze was fixed north and east, Gary was to his south, and had escaped his attention. Presumably, if he had noticed him at all, he just thought Gary was another zombie.

The sky was still overcast with unnaturally dark clouds, causing the light to be far closer to night than day.

Right, Gary thought, if I can sneak up behind him, maybe I can give him a good old whack with Simon here and knock him out. Then I can tie him up and get some answers?

Simon was what Gary called his shovel. He’d had it specially made for the job, a sturdy piece of wood and metal, suited to his strength and size. It was a dumb nickname, made up in a flippant moment.

He looked at the necromancer, half-turned towards the church. Gary surreptitiously mimed the action of hitting someone in the head. It wasn’t something he’d ever done before, or seriously considered. He wasn’t a violent person at heart. Far from it, in fact. Gary had always preferred reason and negotiation in real life to confrontation of any kind. Video games were one thing, and if this had been on a computer screen, he wouldn’t have thought twice about attacking the necromancer. In real life, it was harder.

What if I accidentally kill him? How will I get any information out of him then?

The other option was… trying to talk to the guy?

Come on Gary, pull it together. Whoever he is, he’s just raised the dead and unleashed them on the living. I doubt this is someone you can reason with. Best thing to do is knock him out, tie him up and hope that will be enough to stop him casting any more spells. Then you can get some answers.

His mind made up, Gary took a couple of steps to his left, keeping his eyes on the necromancer. His plan was to skirt around the nearby oak tree, flanking the figure, sneak up and bring Simon down before the other man had any idea he was there.

Unfortunately, the necromancer saw Gary out of the corner of his eye.

The robed figure turned to face Gary, who froze, mid-footstep. He imagined he must look like a Scooby Doo character caught mid-sneak just before running.

“Oh, there’s always one,” the necromancer said. “Go on, off you go.”

He waved both arms in the church’s direction, as if ushering Gary towards it.

“Ahhh….” Gary began.

“Yes, good good, ‘Ahhh’ and so on. Go on, kill the living, level up. You know the drill.”

Gary tried to think of a way out of this. His sneak attack plan was blown.

“Oh, for god’s sake, by the power of the undying who sits above all, I command you to attack.”

Black and purple shards of power appeared in his hands and wreathed their way towards Gary.

A notification appeared in front of Gary.

The Necromancer (Level 4) casts Command Undead.

Gary, still holding his shovel, felt a vague compulsion to head in the church’s direction, but ignored it. The black and purple shards faded away.

The necromancer took a few steps towards Gary, puzzled.

“Is this not working?”

He rose his hands again and repeated his command. The same energy shards and the same notification appeared in front of Gary.

The Necromancer (Level 4) casts Command Undead.

Once again, Gary felt the slightest tickling of an impulse to join the rest of the undead, but that was all.

The necromancer looked at his fingers, perplexed, and shook them.

“What is going on?” he muttered.

He strode towards Gary, who took a few steps forward himself.

“Stop!” the necromancer commanded.

The Necromancer (level 4) casts Freeze Undead.

More purple and black energy shards. Gary presumed that the freezing in question meant freezing as in immobilising and not the temperature kind. Either way, it had no effect on him.

He waved as the necromancer came within six feet.

“What is this?” the necromancer exclaimed.

Now that he was closer, Gary saw he was slightly younger than himself. Gary had expected some kind of emaciated husk, or a wizened old man. Something... necromancer-looking.

Instead, here was a kid who looked like he’d just started fresher’s week at university. The only thing off about him was that his eyes appeared to be dark purple.

“What are you standing about for?” The twenty-something demanded in a petulant tone, “You’re a zombie. Go attack the living! I’ve got experience points to siphon off if I’m going to make it to the next level. Go!”

The necromancer stamped his foot and cast Command Undead once again.

Not very bright, are you? Gary thought.

Every time the necromancer had cast a spell, a status bar had briefly appeared above his head, showing his mana and hit points. And every time he had cast Command Undead on Gary, his Mana had dropped.

The first time Gary had seen it was at the first Command Undead Spell. The Status Bar had read:

Necromancer Level 4

Hit Points: 35/35

Mana: 30/60

Gary had quickly counted that the first spell, Rise From Your Graves, must have drained a lot of the necromancer’s mana. As he cast the next three spells, all useless against Gary, his mana kept dropping until, with his most recent attempt, his status bar read:

Necromancer Level 4

Hit Points: 35/35

Mana: 15/60

Gary didn’t know if the necromancer had any other spells up his sleeve, but he guessed he did. As soon as Gary had realised the necromancer was burning mana off for no effect, he’d calculated that the best thing for him to do was nothing.

That tactic was used up, however.

Time to go on the offensive.

A quick calculation on his opponents’ hit points told Gary he’d have to hit the necromancer an average of seven times with his shovel if he wanted to... kill him? Knock him out?

There was a one in four chance, according to his zombie sheet, that any blow would stun an opponent. This, Gary figured, meant he wouldn’t be able to act for a few seconds. In gaming, this usually meant one round or turn of combat.

“Ahhh, yeah, I think there’s been some mistake, see: I’m not a zombie.”

Gary took two quick paces towards the necromancer and swung his shovel as hard as he could into the other man’s face. He aimed with the flat side rather than the edge. The shovel hit the necromancer with a comical ‘boing’ noise.

You hit the Necromancer for 5 points of damage.

The Necromancer is stunned!

“My name is Gary,” Gary helpfully added.