I haven’t thought of a title for it (let me know if you have any suggestions), but here’s a short story I wrote some time ago, inspired by how much Dunster Castle would be a great place to hide out during a zombie apocalypse.
Twang! The arrow loosened from the string in a way that was much more satisfying than a shotgun blast. More accurate too, at least with practice. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since the guns became all but useless, but he didn’t miss them. Aside from being fired from castle battlements, it was just more simple, more skilful. More right.
The bodies were piling up against the wall. They were coming less frequently now, but no-one wanted to go out and move them. Even those gathering food, hardly necessary, but gave the stir crazy survivors a small sense of freedom, they rushed in and out as fast as they could. Everyone told themselves that the odd case when the mound shifted was just decomposing bodies rotting and falling in on each other. No-one dared mention there were those still crawling underneath. Not alive exactly, but spinal cord still intact.
Despite the still lumbering corpses, in fact maybe even because of them, he felt better up here on the roof. Picking them off, one by one gave a sense of control, not take his anger out on, but each zombie no longer shuffling was something he achieved. Something he could do.
Looking out at the distance also helped him forget. Smiling at the rolling green hills he felt serene that nature, at least to some degree, was getting back to normal. It was only when the holiday camp came into view, unavoidable if you wanted to look out to sea, that memories came flooding back, faster than even the hordes through those park gates.