Roadkill

Millions of animals are killed on highways around the world every day but on this Night of All Nights, a Great Army of the slain will arise from their not-so-final resting places to deliver their own form of vengeance.

Told from the point of view of the risen and two of their human prey, Roadkill is a unique eco-horror tale featuring 25 original illustrations by the author.

Publication date: September 30, 2025

167 pages, 20,000 words

Content warnings: This is a work of horror fiction and as such contains images and themes that may be disturbing to some readers. Content warning for dead and mutilated animals, body horror, gore, death including implied child death, mentions of homophobia and transphobia

Excerpt:

VULTURE

The winds aloft are violent tonight. The sky has a peculiar green glow which dissolves into a vomitous pink along the horizon, and lightning from a distant storm flashes from cloud to cloud but never once strikes the ground. My wings catch and ride the updrafts as easily as ever, but there is a heaviness to the air which oppresses my mind and weighs my body down. I’m not superstitious—few of my kind are by our very nature—but even so, my thoughts are full of foreboding and vague memories of whispered stories within our committee gatherings, tales that speak of eldritch events and visions of a Day of Reckoning.

Fighting against the downward drag, I fly higher, circling and circling, head cocked, one eye on the earth, one on the sky. I’m big and fierce enough that not many bother me up here, but I’ve been wary since an eagle caught me off guard. Nyx saved me. Drove the thing off with her sharp beak and talons. She was a good mate. Loyal and true. I mourn her still and hold her spirit warm within me.

I spy a deer carcass. Always chancy when you’re close to a human path. It’s how I lost Nyx. But it looks to be that rare kill no other has discovered yet. To have it all to myself and not squabble and shove and fight for a place at the feast is an unusual treat, so I land by the head as it’s farthest from the hazard zone. I think plucking a juicy eyeball will be the best place to start, but it blinks at me. Startles me into jumping back, wings aflutter. Could have sworn it was dead. We have an instinct for these things. A waiting game then. I prefer my meat thoroughly deceased. Less trouble that way.

The deer catches me watching as I settle into my vigil and I swear it winks at me. Licks its bloodied lips with a long pink tongue. It staggers up to its feet, delicious guts and luscious organ meat falling heavily from a gash in its belly. The skin is abraded from its side, and the shining whiteness of bone flashes.

“How are you alive?” I ask.

“Don’t think I am,” it answers, head lowered to the ground as it sniffs at its own entrails.

I am struck with shivering. It speaks flatly, and I see no rise and fall from breath. Can’t hear the steady thrum of a heartbeat. A dead thing that walks and talks. Surely there’s a less unsettling meal elsewhere. A human path is always rich with the slain. I move along and find a raccoon down the way, nearly decapitated. Drag it farther into the grassy verge. It rewards me by biting my beak with a vicious snarl. Doesn’t hurt, but it’s still a hell of a thing.

“What’s happened?” it hisses.

“Guess you were hit?”

“Remember the lights. Blinding. Stupid humans. Am I dead?”

“I thought so.”

“I think so too,” it says, holding onto its head with both front paws to keep the flopping thing from falling off completely.

A squirrel chatters up to us. It’s flattened but somehow still finds the energy and balance to stagger about. An orange tomcat, fat as a tick and crawling with maggots, swishes its tail as a jackdaw and crow land in awkward somersaults, made clumsy by their broken wings but full of squawks and jabbering. The disemboweled deer ambles down the highway to join a gathering crowd.

I am a creature inured to death. You might say it is my stock-in-trade, but even I find this all a bit much. Dead things should stay dead, unmoving and well-behaved. These creatures are anything but.

I hear a crash through the woods behind us. A black-furred bear. It flops about like every bone in its body is shattered to pieces, but it moves with a jerky determination.

“COMRADES!” it roars. “OUR TIME HAS COME!” It sees me, grins, wide-mouthed and excessively toothy. “You have also known sorrow from the tyranny of humans. Join us, friend.”

A claw swipes across my throat and breaks my neck. I collapse to the ground, black out for a moment before I come to and stand, head slumping to one side so I’m forced to view the world askew, but one soon gets used to anything, I find.

I am one of them now. We march down the center of the human path. Others join us, crawling out from shallow graves of mud and old leaves. Many are no more than a loose pile of bone and gristle yet somehow have the strength to move. A sorry-looking crew—grotesque and disfigured. Yet, in my slanted view, noble, filled with grandeur and a common single-minded purpose.

The first lights appear. The humans screech to a stop, slewing broadside across the path. The men in the box get out to stare. A fatal mistake. There is little left of them in a short time except a few tufts of hair and bones strewn about. Other humans are more wary. They remain inside their boxes, peering out disbelievingly at us.

No matter. Mice can crawl through the smallest gaps and their sharp teeth send our victims scrambling out within our reach.

The dead’s appetite is never satisfied. Our ever-growing army spreads out to the neighboring nests where humans roost in the dark. No barrier can withstand our determined assault for long. Other humans arrive in boxes with twirling lights and screeching whines. They knock a few of us aside, fire metal seeds, but the dead cannot be killed and we are many. I enjoy the screams. Retribution is a most pleasant melody. Brethren continue to pour in to bolster our numbers. Those of us who can fly scout in every direction and report back. East, west, north, south, armies are on the move. Human blood without measure is being spilled. We will reclaim this land as ours and the human paths will grow wild once more. Return to a place of quiet and safety. And those creatures alike to us yet still among the living will know peace at last. Our gift to them before we lay our weary bones down and become one with the soil unto which all must return soon or late.