Zombie Patrick Hockstetter Novels & Stories

She stayed right on Hayley's heels, never more than half a step away. The number of zombies around them kept growing. Just as they were about to be completely surrounded, the woman behind Hayley suddenly shouted, "Dad!" Hayley carved a bloody path forward and saw, among the oncoming wave of zombies, a short, skinny old man wearing jeans, a black short-sleeved T-shirt, and a construction helmet. He was maybe five-foot-six. A name tag hung on his chest. Patrick Sanders. "Dad! Dad!" The moment she saw him, the woman ran even faster than Hayley.

After a long pause, a cool and hesitant voice sounded above my head. “Honey?” I looked up at her with the most determined, affectionate expression I could muster. “Yeah. I’m your husband. You got hurt saving me and fell into a coma. If you can’t remember, that’s okay. I’ll tell you everything, little by little.” Gathering my courage, I hooked my finger around hers. My voice trembled slightly as I said, “There are zombies everywhere outside right now. Honey, you’ll protect me, right?” Ruth stared at me for several seconds. Her brows knitted together as if she were desperately trying to search through the chaos in her mind for any trace of me.

I casually tossed the grenade up and down in my hand like a ball before hurling it toward the car where Scarface was hiding. By the time Scarface managed to shove away the zombies around him, his entire body had already erupted into flames. He staggered around screaming in agony, desperately trying to find water to put himself out. But there was nothing here that could save him. I watched expressionlessly as he burned into a charred corpse before collapsing onto the ground. I wondered how many survival points the system would reward me after destroying this many zombies at once. Thinking about that, I turned and walked back toward the estate.

Christopher knocks three times on a door and enters when Zombie calls for him. “Good, remove her chains and leave us alone,” Zombie says, looking up from his desk. My eyes scan the room and find just about the last person I expect to see here: Tjeck. He slumps against the wall under the window, looking hardly conscious as he tries to stop the bleeding from his jaw.

Tom said calmly, "Unfortunately, Patrick is sick and can't come today." Hearing this, the crowd began to discuss the situation again. "He's sick? Is it so coincidental that he fell ill on his birthday?" "Exactly! Is he really sick or is he just pretending?" Someone impatiently said, "He's had a condition all along. There's no need for him to pretend. Mr. Strauss Senior, we heard that Patrick is mute and also has autism. Please tell the truth in front of everyone. Are those rumors true?"

“Patrick Carter was killed in a tragic work accident.” “It wasn’t an accident,” Talen shook his head. “It was murder.” “Because of this?” Heath looked at the folder frowning. The vampire was right, of course, he realized. The contents of the folder were sufficient motivation for the pack to kill Patrick Carter, but that would require the pack knowing that the humans were collecting the evidence that rested under Heath’s palm, and surely, he would have heard if it were so – Charlie would not have been able to resist the urge to rub it in his face that the pack was having to clean up behind Heath and the Triquetra.

“Something like that. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Lexi raised an eyebrow. “Try me. I’ve survived everything from roommate psychodramas to a cafeteria food fight apocalypse. I think I can handle supernatural disasters.” Alina hesitated. Could she trust Lexi with this? The truth was terrifying: she had just witnessed Rhett Blackwood transform, fight some monstrous creature, and walk away as if nothing had happened. She had no idea who—or what—he really was. And now it seemed the university campus was crawling with threats she didn’t understand.

"The explosion was catastrophic. No one could've survived. Whoever you saw was playing for a fool, perhaps an impostor—" "I want to believe that," Zack interrupted him, jamming the locker, the impact echoing through the room. "I really want to believe that and no matter how I tried to be in denial; I couldn't." He said, his voice dropping to a whisper. He then looked away, his expression turning thoughtful. "I wanted to believe he was an imposter, but his behavior, his voice, had to be him. Initially, I had been fooling myself since this morning—"