Dead Rising Novels & Stories

It hurt watching all these familiar young faces as they lost their lives, killing each other. But then Drakes decided to make it worse, as he made his dark mist continue to affect the dead ones, making them rise again, as reanimated corpses to kill the ones still alive. I felt as if I was now stuck in some zombie apocalypse or horror movie. Watching dead people rise again. How was this even possible? But I then looked in shock to see that there was another person not affected by Drakes's dark mist.

This was a killing ground. I issued a low growl and shifted my attention to River. "They're not yet ready to turn,"I told him. "They're fucking dead. Dead. And they're coming back to life. I feel like I'm watching a zombie flick." "Worse, brother. Worse." So it was true that the dead could rise. While our deaths didn't come easily, we didn't return to life once we'd entered the final darkness. The knowledge was good to discover. It was incredibly unsettling.

Axel's disapproving voice echoed in my mind, cautioning me against being so close to someone who wasn't our chosen mate, but I tuned him out, my focus solely on the woman before me. As Haven turned to face me, I sensed a fundamental shift in her, a difference that made my heart skip a beat. My eyes widened in shock as I took in the unmistakable signs: the pallor of her skin, the faint, otherworldly glow in her eyes, and the eerie stillness that surrounded her. She was dead, and yet... she was Risen.

I don’t know why, but something is rotten in my gut and it’s never wrong. We storm through the building, Roddy’s being the last room at the end of the long ass hallway. The door is locked and Grouch sticks his ear to it, then backs up and kicks it open. The immediate stench of death I know all too well hits my nose and I can’t believe nobody has noticed it. It’s at least fifteen doors from mine. Missile and Grouch storm in, but I can already see the lifeless body of Ryan “Roddy” Grimes on the bed. I step in the room and see a needle sticking right out of his fucking arm. His skin is already discolored, he’s been dead a couple days. And nobody even realized it. Some brotherhood we are.

She had escaped from the crypt. "He's not dead! He's not dead!" Daphne threw herself onto the coffin, pounding on the lid like a woman possessed, her voice so shredded it was barely human. "Stellan isn't dead! He's not dead! He's not dead! You can't bury him! He's really not dead!" The chapel erupted. Everyone stared at Daphne in shock, then at the coffin, then at each other.

Six years after my younger brother and my fiancée passed away, I picked out a grave for myself. Before my final visit to their graves, my mother suddenly said, “Miles, you don’t have to go this year. The truth is that they never died.” I was startled for a moment before the two of them walked right out of my brother’s room. My brother, Sean, put on a teasing smile as he draped an arm around the woman beside him. “I won the bet! I told you my brother would never figure it out. “Who’s going to be on top tonight, huh, Vera?” My so-called late fiancée, who used to cry whenever she saw me suffer even the slightest grievance, looked at me with open disdain. “He’s just too stupid. We’ve been

The rancid air I smelled in the hallway earlier spreads across the room like a blanket, and the sound of heavy breathing makes the hair on my neck stand on end. As if in some kind of post-apocalyptic nightmare, the zombie-like forms of the house-maids, chefs, and butlers emerge from the hallway. Their eyes are sunken, and their bodies are torn and ravaged as if they were attacked by an animal. Blood and gore pour from their shredded skin, and some of their limbs are missing. “Oh my god, they’re dead!” I cry out at the macabre sight before me. I recognize some of the faces of people whom I grew up with, but I don’t see my mother’s face, which can either be good or bad. Tears gather in my eyes

The explosion that followed silenced the cries. From the darkness, illuminated by the fire engulfing the train, the figure that had been waiting by the roadside approached the wreckage. He stopped before it and pulled the hood from his face. His face was a horrid affair, a decaying patch with worms crawling out of it. He raised his hand towards the train and the train shivered violently, even as it was still burning. Wraiths of bodies, translucent and glimmering a ghoulish blue, rose from the wreckage. The faces on these wraiths were confused and they seemed to be drawn to the being rather than moving towards the figure by the roadside. On sighting him, they started screaming, high-pitched,

I heard the clicking of camera shutters, but no one called the ambulance. My blood drained dry. My body became cold. Finally, Yvette Skye was no more. I died all alone at the corner of the street. No one cared. My corpse was not a pretty sight. My eyes were wide, unseeing, and there was a large hole in my stomach. My legs were twisted together. One of my arms was flung by the side of the road. My legs were useless now. I was ugly. No wonder the little girl cried. Floating in the air, I stared at my mutilated corpse.