Teaser: Melanie Karsak #SummerofZombie

The Shadow Aspect: Book II of The Harvesting Series

High Res Final Ebook Cover the shadow aspect

“This way,” Kellimore yelled, running down a running path that lead in the direction of the school. “Come on!”

“Fuck,” Elle grumbled. Surprising me, she unzipped her coat and pulled out two machetes. “Ready for some fun?” she asked with a sardonic grin.

Cricket gave Tristan a nervous look then turned toward me. “Here we go,” Cricket said, twirling her enormous pipe wrench, and we all took off behind Kellimore. Chase brought up the rear.

“Stay quiet,” Tristan called. “Maybe they’ll get lost in the mist.”

We rushed down the path behind the bleachers. “This way!” Kellimore called, rushing to gate that surrounded the football field. He opened the gate with a clatter. “Go, go! Let’s lure them in!”

“But can we get out?” I asked breathlessly as I rushed in behind him.

Kellimore nodded. “The rest of you scale the fence on the opposite side. Go! I’ll double back and lock them in. I’m always ready for Friday night lights,” he said then took off.

I scanned behind us as the shambling undead rushed around the corner and filtered onto the football field. Dammit. I hated not knowing where I was, and the mist hadn’t yet lifted. The sun burned yellow, but fog was still heavy.

Kellimore ran down the sidelines, but a few of the undead spotted him and broke from the pack chasing after him.

“Here,” I called, trying to get their attention. “No, over here!”

The undead, however, paid me no mind. Kellimore was in trouble. If too many went after him, he’d get squeezed and could end up dead. Frustrated, I squinted my eyes and tried again. Here! I yelled, but this time I did not speak. I let the thought echo through from my mind into the space between them and me. Success. The undead following Kellimore suddenly turned and rushed toward me. The only problem was that they weren’t the only ones who heard me. All at once, the entire horde seemed to see only me.

I pulled out my shashka.

“Layla,” Cricked yelled. “Run!”

I glanced at her as she turned, grabbing Elle by the coat, and headed down field. For a split second, Tristan stared at me in amazement then turned and ran after Cricket.

“Move!” Chase screamed.

I turned then and ran with the others toward the far side of the field.

Soon the other side of the field came into view. We were fast, but we were not fast enough. As we reached the fence, the first few of the undead, those who had moved the fasted, reached us.

“Go!” I yelled back to Cricket, then I let my blade do her work. I paused and waited as the first of the undead rushed me. Running with a limp, a hungry looking woman with stringy red hair and a tattered dress practically threw herself at me. Stretching out my arms, I slid the shashka through her gut. Her body and bones, softened from exposure to the weather, sliced easily. Her legs rushed forward several steps while her torso slid sideways to the ground. When he legs finally dropped, a heap of bloody guts emptied onto the earth. Laying on the ground nearby, she snapped at me, her eyes milk-white and bloody.

I quickly stabbed her through the head then turned with a fast spin to decapitate the next undead man rushing me. His head flew into the air, a shadow in the fog against the early morning sunrise.

Beside me, I saw Elle’s blades flash in the sunlight as she worked double-handed stabbing with one hand then slashing with the other. She made short work of another undead who’d reached us.

“Layla, Elle, come on!” Chase yelled as he boosted Cricket up and over the fence and then scrambled up behind her.

 

About the Author:

Melanie Karsak is the best-selling author of the The Airship Racing Chronicles (Chasing the Star Garden and Chasing the Green Fairy), the award-winning horror/dark fantasy Harvesting Series, and The Saga of Lady Macbeth. She grew up in rural northwestern Pennsylvania and earned a Master’s degree in English from Gannon University. A steampunk connoisseur, white elephant collector, and zombie whisperer, the author currently lives in Florida with her husband and two children. She is an Instructor of English at Eastern Florida State College.

 

Buy The Harvesting Series:

The Harvesting: http://amzn.com/B009GI3YBY

Midway: http://amzn.com/B00OX2KY7U

The Shadow Aspect: http://amzn.com/B00WDI66K0

 

Connect with the Author Online:

For VIP previews, free short stories, sneak peeks, and giveaways, join my mailing list: http://eepurl.com/OSPDH

Blog: http://www.melaniekarsak.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/MelanieKarsak

Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorMelanieKarsak
Email: karsakmelanie@gmail.com

Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/melaniekarsak/

Amazon.com: http://www.amazon.com/Melanie-Karsak/e/B009DKGKQG

kristyKN2

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The stench of rotting flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Summer of Zombie Blog Tour 2015, with 30+ of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of June.

Stop by the event page on Facebook so you don’t miss an interview, guest post or teaser…and pick up some great swag as well!

Giveaways galore from most of the authors as well as interaction with them!

#SummerofZombie is the hashtag for Twitter, too!

Teaser: Jaime Johnesee #SummerofZombie

Here is a sneak peek inside my upcoming novella Bob Meets Sam. I hope you enjoy:

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The zombie sang along as he danced and soon he was head-bobbing like an agitated rooster and pointing his finger disco-style. The other patrons watched him with smiles on their faces. Anytime he pointed his finger someone’s way they ducked a little. Bob was well known in Martin’s Bar and folks knew that parts of him had a habit of disengaging from the others.

As Creedence Clearwater Revival’s ‘Fortunate Son’ replaced AC/DC Bob’s dancing slowed. He still made patrons smile as he did the sprinkler to the CCR hit. Griffin chuckled as he turned his attention back to doing inventory. He kept on counting the liquor bottles, stopping occasionally to watch the zombie get down.

It was during an unintentionally aggressive disco point to the door that Bob’s hand flew off and toward the entrance. A tall lithe woman with olive skin and dark hair caught the hand midair and smiled.

“Damn, Bob, you could’ve given me a hug instead of a flying high five.”

“Hey, Sam! You know me, I love lending a hand.” Bob shrugged. He’d recently gotten over being embarrassed about losing a part or two, it happened more often these days.

“Catch,” Samantha Reece hollered as she tossed his hand back to him.

He caught it and walked calmly to the bar, pulling his trusty yellow stapler from the pocket of his jean jacket. As he stapled the hand back on he pretended not to see the winces of the other customers. People were used to Bob losing a limb, that wasn’t the problem. It was getting used to him stapling it back on with a loud ka-chunk that was not for the squeamish.

As Sam came over to him Bob opened his arms to hug her. It’d been awhile since he had seen her and he’d read about her latest exploit in the papers. She’d caught a vicious serial killer and made the streets of Birmingham safe for good honest monsters like Bob and his horde. He pulled the jacket from the stool upsetting it in the process and the stool banged into his shin, hard.

“Oh, crap, crap, crap, ow, crap!” Bob hissed through clenched teeth as he hopped on one foot clutching his injured shin with both hands.

“You okay?” Sam tried to hide her smile at the typically Bob-like maneuver.

“Yeah, it just smarts a little.” Bob motioned to the stool that had just assaulted him and continued, “I saved you a seat.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” Sam slid onto the stool smoothly and Bob wished he possessed half the grace that the shifter did. Unfortunately, the only grace in Bob’s life came when he prayed before meals.

“How have you been?”

“Good. Things have been… Well, they’ve been weird, I guess.”

“I heard about the serial killer you stopped.”

“Yeah, that was a rough one. I didn’t think it was going to be quite that difficult.”

“Why not?”

“Well, he was a shifter himself, so the fact he was preying on other shifters made it hard to swallow. In the end he believed the Hollywood facts and thought we were all evil and in need of a good killing.”

“Harsh.”

“To say the least,” Sam looked haunted and shook her head as if to try and shake off some bad memories.

Jaime blue straight hair

*   *   *   *   *

The stench of rotting flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Summer of Zombie Blog Tour 2015, with 30+ of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of June.

Stop by the event page on Facebook so you don’t miss an interview, guest post or teaser…and pick up some great swag as well!

Giveaways galore from most of the authors as well as interaction with them!

#SummerofZombie is the hashtag for Twitter, too!

Teaser: Luke Ahearn #SummerofZombie

Transformation Excerpts

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1.

Cooper felt as if his heart stopped when suddenly he tripped and fell flat on his face. His sister fell on his back. He was pinned down and the zombies were only a few feet from them. Before he could stand, Ellen was screaming and thrashing wildly as she fought for her life. Her screams intensified and he could feel her body getting jerked and pulled about. The only thought running through his mind was no, no, no, no, no. He tried to stand but was pushed back down to the ground by the violent struggle on top of him.

Then he felt his sister’s body suddenly lifted from his back. His eyes filled with tears as her bloodcurdling screams tore through him. He was desperate to save her even though he knew she was as good as gone.

Cooper planted his hands flat on the ground and tried to push himself up but he couldn’t stand, he couldn’t even get his chest off the ground. Immediately after his sister’s body left his back, feet were stomping him down. A knee here, a hand there, the dead were surging over his body. They were tripping, falling, and rising again to pursue their kill. His sister’s screams fueled him, and he pushed his muscles to the breaking point but it was no use, the weight of the zombies pressed him flat. It was getting difficult to breathe.

Facedown on the rough tarmac, his sister’s terrified screams suddenly ceased and Cooper wept. He gave up his fight to stand and waited to be torn apart and eaten alive.

2.

He kept at his task, much preferring to work on an engine then to have to play host. After all the folks walked up the ramps and the sound of their bullshit receded, Weed pulled the flannel shirt off over his head. It was hot as hell with that thing on. He wiped his body down with it. He resumed his work and was deep in thought when he felt the presence of someone behind him and spun around.

“Finally got too hot for you?” Dale was smiling, arms folded and watching Weed closely. He was surprised at the old man’s physique. He wasn’t nearly as feeble as he pretended to be.

Dale eyed the older man, scanned every piece of ink and scar that cover his body. He raised his eyebrow. Well, well, you’ve done significant jail time, killed at least three men with official club sanction       , the club being the Wild Savages MC. Wow Francis you’ve lived the life. Stabbed a dozen times and took a couple of bullets. He grinned. And you took quite a lashing too. Piss off your brothers maybe? The puckered flesh looked old and healed up and the tattoo across his back declaring him a Wild Savage had obviously been there before the lashing

Weed’s eyes were momentarily wide with surprise, then narrowed to slits.

“Swastika under the neck bandage I assume.” Dale pointed at his own neck.

Weed tried to play it off. “Ah shit, busted.” He held his hands up as he thought of slitting this pigs’ throat and smiled. “You got me.”

3.

“It’s simple,” Ben said calmly. “You two must fight to the death or I kill all three of you.”

Orange light danced along the blade of a large knife as it reflected flames from the roaring fire. Flesh puckered like fresh dough as the razor-sharp edge pressed against the nude girl’s throat. She sobbed uncontrollably and winced as Ben pulled on the long blond hair he had twisted in his grip. He rested his chin on her shoulder and smiled.

The girl was a bit heavy, which was why Ben selected her to be the sacrifice. He liked them skinny. She wept, her hands cupped over her vagina, her eyes filled with tears that rolled in thick rivulets down her cheeks. Her breath was a rasping staccato as it escaped between chattering teeth. Her body trembled violently from fear and cold.

Two young men, boys really, were standing naked in the glade in front of a huge fire. One was taller and more muscular. The other was skinny and small and shook like a leaf as he wept, blowing large snot bubbles.

“It’s OK Brett.” His voice cracked. “We both know what has to happen. Just make it quick.”

“I’m not killing you for that sick bastard.” Brett jabbed his finger at Ben, but refused to look at him. He grit his teeth and balled his fists as he looked at the other boy. Brett was this kid’s nemesis until very recently and bullied him relentlessly, but he wasn’t evil. Now they were bonded together as brothers as god awful circumstances tend to do.

Ben pressed the blade of his knife against the girl’s throat and she yelped as blood slowly trickled down her neck.

“C’mon on, you know how this is going to go.” Ben sneered.

“You hurt her and I will kill you. You think a knife scares me?”

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*   *   *   *   *

The stench of rotting flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Summer of Zombie Blog Tour 2015, with 30+ of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of June.

Stop by the event page on Facebook so you don’t miss an interview, guest post or teaser…and pick up some great swag as well!

Giveaways galore from most of the authors as well as interaction with them!

#SummerofZombie is the hashtag for Twitter, too!

Teaser: Shawn Chesser #SummerofZombie

Ghosts:

Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse

Shawn Chesser

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Prologue

Trying to become one with the massive Douglas fir, Raven squatted and pressed her back hard against its gnarled trunk. With the unpleasant sensation of coarse bark grating her skin through the thin tee shirt she’d thrown on during her hasty retreat from the compound, she strained mightily in the dark to hear anything over her heartbeat and labored breathing.

Finally, after a few seconds spent listening and probing the dark with her eyes for any signs of movement from the direction of the footpath leading to the grass-covered clearing, she heard twigs cracking and the hollow thuds of plodding, unsteady footsteps.

Then, seemingly from all around, she heard the ubiquitous rasps—like dried cornstalks rustling in a stiff breeze—of determined first turns on the hunt.

Stay here, her mom had hissed a beat prior to melting into the night, clad only in white panties and bra, minus the usual stubby carbine which was still in two pieces, an integral part having been dropped and lost in the deep grass hours earlier. In its place, clutched in Brook’s fist as she left to become the hunter, was the black pistol she had dragged hastily from the holster still belted to the pair of pants she’d been forced to leave without.

Goose flesh welled up on Raven’s forearms and rippled down her sides. She felt the rapid-fire thump, thump, thump of her heart threatening to leap from her ribcage. Her ears burned hot and her body heaved with each drawn breath.

Focusing on the moonlight-dappled game trail a dozen feet to her fore, she pulled her knees to her chest, held her breath, and strained to hear the sounds of the living: hard breathing, whispered words, a volley of gunfire; anything but the screams of the dying to let her know she was not alone.

But the latter came first. A shrill keening wail that set the hairs on her arms on end. It ceased after just a few seconds, but the echo careening through the forest lasted nearly as long as the shiver-inducing real thing.

Let Sasha have your rifle, her dad had said before leaving the Army base in Colorado. We’ll get you another after we get to the Eden compound, Mom had said. Famous last words thought the twelve-year-old, her barely clothed body throwing an involuntary shiver. Lot of good it did her, thought Raven, fairly certain that the death knell had belonged to Sasha.

She couldn’t fathom how things had gone so wrong so quick. One second she was asleep, warm under the covers, and the next she was being yanked from her bed in the dark by a pair of frantically grabbing hands. Then the light snapped on and her mom was ushering her out and grabbing the weapon. Strangely, as she sat nestled against the tree trunk, she couldn’t remember her mom saying a word, merely pointing to what was happening outside.

Gunshots in the dark snapped Raven back to the situation at hand. Three shots, she thought. Sounds of the living. But the gunfire that she’d wished for had only summoned more dead from the surrounding woods. Oblivious of the trail, they crashed through the underbrush moaning, hissing, their numb bodies snapping off low hanging branches, the sharp reports making Raven jump.

Then her mom returned, two blurs of white cotton demarcating the tanned skin, black mane flowing in her wake. The pistol was thrust out in front with orange licks of flame lancing from the muzzle, the sharp reports quickly swallowed up by the nearby foliage.

The hollow thuds of infected bodies hitting the forest floor were suddenly interrupted by a creak of metal on metal that carried on the night air from the compound. Looking that way, Raven picked up indistinct male voices, giving her a modicum of hope. But the scene that she saw when she shifted her gaze back to her mom crushed it instantly. Took the air from her lungs. Gasping, she saw her mom being yanked to the ground. Claw-like hands were twisted into her hair and more were reaching from the gloom, the dirt- and blood-crusted nails carving a jagged road map on her smooth skin.

The pistol bucked twice then suddenly went silent as a dozen shadowy forms piled on. Even in the dark Raven could see that her mom was doomed. Caught between the overwhelming urge to run into the fray unarmed or bolt and save her own life, discretion won out and she chose the latter.

With the metallic tang of freshly spilt blood hitting her nose, Raven witnessed the woman who had brought her into the world fighting for her life. Lashing out. Blows landed on decayed flesh to no effect. The struggle lasted for a second or two until finally, mouth locked into a silent O, all of the fight left Brook’s petite form. As the dead rent flesh from her blanching extremities, her heart continued beating, sending blood sluicing from a gaping neck wound. It pooled around her head, black like a crow’s wing, then shiny runners broke free and ran downslope, crisscrossing the dirt path in front of Raven’s curled toes.

Terrified, she stood to run and was instantly tripped up on a knotty root angling away from the trunk. Eyes still fixed on her escape route, she went down like a base runner stealing second, face first, arms outstretched to cushion her fall.

While still airborne two things happened simultaneously. She screamed, shrill and high-pitched with a lot of lung behind it. Then, as quickly as it erupted from her chest, the soul-wrenching sound was cut off by what seemed like a kid’s entire sandbox worth of dirt, pebbles, and pine needles, as gravity brought her back to earth face first.

Through her side vision she saw the monsters’ heads turn in unison. With steaming entrails in their greedy clutches, they rose together and began a slow trudge in her direction.

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shawn

*   *   *   *   *

The stench of rotting flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Summer of Zombie Blog Tour 2015, with 30+ of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of June.

Stop by the event page on Facebook so you don’t miss an interview, guest post or teaser…and pick up some great swag as well!

Giveaways galore from most of the authors as well as interaction with them!

#SummerofZombie is the hashtag for Twitter, too!