Richard Schiver

Tag: zombies

A conversation with myself.

This week I speak with Meat, the main character in This Lawless Land, a six book post-apocalyptic series. The first book, All Roads Lead to Terror will be updated next week.

1. Can you describe what motivates you to keep going in such a harsh, post-apocalyptic world?

I guess what keeps me moving is the hope that things can get better, even if it’s just for a little while. I’ve seen too much loss to believe in miracles, but I can’t just sit back and let the world swallow up the people I care about. Maybe it’s stubbornness, or maybe it’s just wanting to prove I’m more than what my name says I am. I want to help others survive, especially the kids who got taken. If we don’t look out for each other, who will?

2. How did your upbringing shape the person you are now?

My childhood was a mess—always running, never safe, never really wanted. My mom called me Meat because, to her, that’s all I was. I grew up with survivors, not family, and learned early that you can’t count on anyone but yourself. But I also learned that sometimes, you must step up for others, even if it hurts. That’s what makes you more than just Meat to the world.

3. What does leadership mean to you, especially when you’re leading other kids?

Leadership isn’t about being the loudest or the strongest. It’s about making hard choices and carrying the weight when things go wrong. I never asked to be in charge, but people look to me because I’ve survived outside the fence. I try to keep everyone together, even when I’m scared or unsure. Sometimes, all you can do is keep moving forward and hope your choices don’t get someone killed.

4. How do you handle fear, both your own and that of your friends?

Fear never really goes away. I feel it every day, especially when I think about what could happen to the people I care about. I try not to show it, because if I fall apart, so does everyone else. I focus on what needs to be done. Tracking, fighting, surviving. If I let fear take over, we’re all dead. So, I push it down and keep going.

5. What do you think about the rules at Bremo Bluff, especially the ones about outsiders and survivors?

The rules at the Bluffs are harsh, but I get why they exist. If word got out about what we have—electricity, water, safety. Everyone would want in, and we’d be overrun. Still, it doesn’t sit right with me that people who know about us can’t ever leave. It’s like a prison, even if it’s for our own good. Sometimes I wonder if we’re really any better than the people we’re afraid of.

6. How do you deal with loss, especially after everything you’ve seen and done?

Loss is just part of life now. I’ve lost friends, family, even people I barely knew. It hurts every time, but you can’t let it break you. I try to remember the good things, the small moments of hope or laughter. But I also use that pain to keep me sharp. If I forget what I’ve lost, I might get careless, and that’s when people die.

7. What do you think about hope? Is it a weakness or a strength?

Hope is the only thing that keeps us going. Without it, we’d just give up and let the world win. It’s not weakness to hope for something better, even if it’s just a hot meal or a safe place to sleep. Hope is what makes us human. It’s what separates us from the monsters, both the dead and the living.

8. How do you view the adults who survived the awakening compared to your own generation?

Most of the adults are broken by what happened. They remember the world before, and that makes it harder for them to adapt. My generation, we never really knew anything else. We grew up in the ruins, learned to fight and survive from the start. Maybe that makes us harder, or maybe just more desperate. Either way, we’re the future, for better or worse.

9. What’s the hardest decision you’ve had to make so far?

Letting go of the idea that we could save everyone. Sometimes, you must make choices that haunt you. Like leaving someone behind or doing what needs to be done to protect the group. The hardest was probably agreeing to the council’s rule that there could be no survivors among the kidnappers. It made me question if we were still the good guys.

10. If you could change one thing about your world, what would it be?

I’d bring back a sense of safety, even if just for a day. A world where kids could play without looking over their shoulders, where families didn’t have to choose between survival and their humanity. I’d want a world where names mean something, where you’re more than just a walking bag of meat to the people around you.

In the coming months you will have the opportunity to follow Meat’s story as the series is released in its entirety. I’m nearly done with the final book and have hired a good cover designer to help me bring these stories to life.

February 6, 2026
Weekly Writing Challenge 01/07/2026

I Am continues:

“Don’t leave any marks boys.” Someone said, obviously a boss as the farmhands guiding the group into the shed clipped their cattle prods to their belts and began shoving the stragglers with gloved hands.

The entire group, which he estimated at between twenty-five and thirty strong, all male, and all completely naked, were lined up along the back wall of the barn.

“Clean the shit off em,” someone yelled, most likely the same one who had warned against damaging them with the cattle prods. Three fire hoses were turned on the group, the water came out hard, fast, and ice cold. Stinging his flesh, getting under his eyelids, and invading both his nose and mouth. Still the majority of those in the group made little noise aside from a few grunts of displeasure.

As they were pummeled by the water one of the men fell to the ground and covered his head with his hands. Those on the hoses focused all three streams on that unfortunate soul, driving him against the wall as he tried to protect his face with his hands. The force of the water drove his hands away from his face, forcing open his mouth as he was held in place.

“Goddammit what are you trying to do?.” One of the hands yelled as he waded into the three men manning the hoses and began beating at them with his fists. The water was turned off but it was too late for the man who had been pinned against the wall. Without the water pressure to hold him up he fell to the floor where he remained, motionless.

“You’re paying for that one boy. I’m taking the cost outta your next pay.” The farmhand in charge shouted.

Gus pushed his way through the crowded bodies around him, intending to go to the injured party to see if there was anything he could do to help. As he did, he began to notice something he’d seen before but had so far managed to keep from consciously acknowledging.

They were all the same.

Every last one of them was an identical duplicate of the next. Each one of them had short sandy hair, wide spaced eyes, a pug nose and a thin mouth. Beyond the facial similarities they were each the exact same height and he was willing to bet if he had a scale available they would each weigh nearly the same, no more than a few ounces different.

How? He wondered before the answer filled his mind chilling him to the bone.

It was how they were keeping the costs down. Everyone had assumed they were shipping in illegals they’d kidnapped from the slums of Mexico. Feeding and clothing them, but not much else.

But they said cloning a human was impossible, no they’d said it was immoral, and laws had been enacted to punish anyone who tried. But it hadn’t stopped the corporations that owned the farms.

Surely once he explained the mix up he’d be released, he didn’t look like them obviously, and he was confident they had noticed the difference. His finger strayed to the stitches in the side of his neck.

They’d cut his vocal cords so he couldn’t speak.

To be continued!

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Sign up for my reader’s group and every month you will receive either a short story available nowhere else, or a chapter from a work in progress. For signing up you will also receive my apocalyptic dark fantasy: Zomething Dead This Way Comes. A 95,000 word novel written for my subscribers and only available via my readers group.

Jimmy and his friends have come to the roof of their apartment building to watch the passage of the comet Omega9. Little do they know the dust from the comet contains ancient organisms that are about to turn their world upside down.

They’re already dealing with tough times, but things get even crazier when Robret’s mom is attacked by his dad and turns into a zombie. This is only the first act in a chain of events that plunges the world into the zombie apocalypse. Forcing the boys to figure out how to survive in this new, terrifying reality.

Trapped between the undead, and the evil living in the building, their future becomes more perilous until Robert makes a startling discovery in the basement. In the end it’s all about survival, friendship, and facing their fears as they fight to protect each other and their home.

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January 7, 2026
Fridays 5 with Bryan Hall

1. When did you first consider yourself a writer?

A. The minute I finished my first short story. If you put pen to paper – or fingertips to keyboard – and create something then you’re a writer. Success means different things to different people, for sure, but as far as just being a writer I consider anyone who’s done something like that to be one.

2. What is the hardest part of writing?

A. Confidence. I read a blog from Neil Gaiman once where he talked about being three quarters of the way through a book and realizing it was pure and utter crap. That nobody would want to read such drivel and that if they did they wouldn’t understand it or would realize how terrible it was. He told his agent (or publisher) that and they said “Oh you’re at that part”. It happened to him every time – that moment of doubt that shut down his ability to keep writing. I’m sure that’s not the exact story word for word, but it’s a good approximation of it. And that same thing happens to me at a couple of points during anything I’m writing. Keeping my confidence up can get tricky sometimes.

3. How did you feel upon publication of your first completed project?

A. Excited, for sure. Almost in disbelief, as well. I got very lucky in that the publisher I’d hoped would pick up my book did so rather quickly. I’d reached the goal that I’d set for myself and was honestly in a bit of shock that it had happened. Once the release came the reality of it set in. It was very surreal. Even now, a release does the same thing for me. It’s a good feeling to know that your stuff is getting out there in the world.

4. In addition to writing, what else are you passionate about?

A. Hobby-wise I keep bees and play video games. I also read voraciously. Other than writing those are my main pursuits, but I don’t know if any of them can come close to what I get out of writing.

5. If you could ask any author, living or dead, one question, what would it be?

A. I’d ask Clive Barker if he had any plans to get back to his roots and do some real old-fashioned horror writing like he used to. I know he has to write what he’s inspired to, but I’d really love another volume of The Books of Blood or a novel like The Damnation Game.

Bio: Bryan Hall is a fiction writer living in a one hundred year old farmhouse deep in the mountains of North Carolina.

He spent the first nineteen years of his life writing and reading voraciously, until pausing for some befuddling reason to spend a decade drinking whiskey and beer, playing in various garage bands, and rock climbing, eventually conquering practically every worthwhile cliff in western North Carolina.

Although a bad back has greatly hindered his rock climbing, he still considers himself an aficionado of good beer and great whiskey, which seem to add fuel to his demented imagination.

Growing up in the Appalachias, he’s soaked up decades of fact and fiction from the area, bits and pieces of which usually weave their way into his writing whether he realizes it at the time or not.

His amazon author page is:

https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B004VRN73K/

If you are a writer working in the fields of horror, sci-fi, or dark fantasy and would like to participate in Fridays 5, answer the five questions above and send them, along with a brief author bio and author photo to rschiver@gmail.com

October 10, 2025
Weekly Writing Challenge 10/08/2025

Follow the continuing story of Reverend Wickes as he comes face to face with the zombie apocalypse.

He would deal with that issue when it came up, for now he focused on the words on the page as his voice calmed the agitated crowd and they settled in to listen. Turning the page, he grabbed a quick drink of warm water from the glass under his pulpit.

What will I do when that runs out? He worried as he returned the glass and continued to read. Seconds tumbled into minutes as minutes stretched into hours. And still he continued to read, his voice still clear as the morning bled into afternoon and the days heat rose. Cicadas in the nearby forest competed with his voice and he noted that his glass had run empty. He needed more water, but to take a break and get some might end with his own death.

Mrs. Bailey, he had to signal her somehow to bring more water. His throat was already becoming dry and sore, making it difficult to speak. Not impossible, not yet, but soon the words would fail him.

What would he do then?

Die. The answer came unbidden from the depths of his consciousness.

Under the pulpit was a bell he’d used in the past to alert Mrs. Baily to his needs while he preached the Sunday sermon. He’d put it there the past winter when he came down with the flu and needed her to provide him with warm broth while he conducted his services. He rang it and waited for a response, occasionally glancing at the door through which she would come when she heard it. If she heard it. He rang again, more insistent this time, hoping she would hear his call and come to him. The door opened a sliver, and he waved for her to come out. She stayed back.

A cough was building in his throat as he continued to preach, his voice had lost much of its luster, and he struggled against the need to cough, trying to contain that which could not be stopped.

It hit him then, a coughing fit that stopped him in his tracks as he bent over the pulpit with his handkerchief over his mouth. When he pulled the white cloth away from his face he noted the spots of blood standing out against the fabric.

He needed a drink. Now.

The congregation had grown restless again, several having left their seats to come down the center aisle towards him. He tried to continue reading but his once sonorous voice came out as a squeak.

“Mrs. Baily,” he shouted in pain, “bring me some water.”

The door closed and he turned back to the congregation, picking up where he left off, his voice not as powerful as it once was, but still enough to return those of the congregation who had been approaching the pulpit.

As he continued, struggling against each word Mrs. Bailey appeared with a pitcher of water. He motioned for her to come over and she carefully crossed the small stage, her eyes glued on the congregation and what had become of it. She filled his glass and left the pitcher under the pulpit.

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

It was a question for which he had no answer as he shrugged in response.

What am I going to do? The questions repeated itself in his mind as he continued to read and the congregation settled into their seats. I’m not going to last much longer, he realized as he pulled at his collar to get some air.

The heat hung lifeless and heavy around them, and he noted for the first time since he had begun preaching at this church that no one was fanning their faces or fidgeting in their seat. He’d always dreamed of a captive audience, but never once imagined it might be like this. How am I going to get out of this? The question loomed large in his mind, and he realized he had no real answer. The only thing he knew for sure was that he couldn’t go on forever.

To be continued!

Authors note: It would appear I’ve written Reverend Wickes into the same corner I’ve written myself into. At this point I truthfully have no idea how I’m gonna get this guy out alive. I’ve got seven days to figure this out, guess I’ll be taking a lot of showers hoping inspiration finds me, at least I’ll be squeaky clean. See you next week.

Read everything up to this point here God’s Chosen.

October 8, 2025
Fridays 5 with David A Simpson

When did you first consider yourself a writer?

Hard to say. Even though I’ve wanted to be a writer since I was a little kid and I went full-time for about a year until Covid hit, I’m still not sure if I consider myself a “writer”. So far all of my releases have been self-published. I have a New York literary agent and a Hollywood film agent, and I’ve sold 100,000 copies but I still don’t consider myself a writer. Is that the imposter syndrome, I’m pretending to be one although I know I’m really not?

What is the hardest part of writing?

Finding the time and still having the energy to pour into it.

How did you feel upon publication of your first completed project?

It was fantastic. I loved holding it in my hands. For me it was a lifelong goal and I didn’t care if I sold books or not. I mean of course I wanted to but to hold that paper back was a great feeling. I wrote it for me and told a story I wanted to tell. There were no considerations about what others would think or tailoring the story to a certain market.

In addition to writing, what else are you passionate about?

Cars. I have entirely too many and I want entirely too many more. I do a bit of racing and have held a couple of world records. I seem meet up with car community guys a lot more often than I do the writing community folks.

If you could ask any author, living or dead, one question, what would it be?

John the Revelator on the isle of Patmos shortly after he had his visions. I don’t think I have a specific question, I would ask him to tell me more. As a 20th-century man, I think I could understand what he saw better than he did.

David A. Simpson is an Amazon bestselling author of the Zombie Road and Feral Children series. He loves to travel and has a long list of places to visit on his bucket list. He likes weird things and will drive a hundred miles out of his way to see a weird sculpture made from junkyard parts or a Bonnie and Clyde museum.

David’s Amazon Author Page

David’s Facebook Group

October 3, 2025