Teaser: Rebecca Besser And Courtney Rene #WinterofZombie

Zombies Inside Cover 2 w Court

ADMIT ONE, UNDEAD

By Rebecca Besser

Troy Jones, Grace Hanson, Alex Keeler, and Nick O’Hara were sitting in a small, family cemetery in the woods behind the Hanson’s farm. The full moon was slowly rising on the horizon, the landscape growing darker and darker with each passing minute. It was the perfect time and place for what the group had planned. What better place and time to try and raise the dead . . .

Of course, everyone except Alex thought it was a joke. Waiting to get started, they sat drinking the beer Nick had taken out of his old man’s fridge and smoking the weed Grace had provided.

“You know what we should do after we’re done with this sh . . . ” Troy stopped in mid-sentence when Alex’s elbow made contact with his stomach. “Hey, what was that for?”

“You were about to say shit, weren’t you?” she asked with her hands on her hips. “I can’t believe you are being such a dick.”

“Sorry, babe,” Troy said, trying to placate his girlfriend. “You know I don’t believe in all this supernatural, voodoo stuff.”

“It’s not voodoo,” Alex said, huffing and crossing her arms.

Troy leaned over and kissed her cheek. “I’m really sorry.”

Grace held a joint out to Alex. “Here, this will make you feel better and get you in the mind set for the ritual.”

Nick laughed and almost spit beer on them all, but covered his mouth at the last moment.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Troy said. “I think after we get done with the ‘ritual’ we should go to the carnival in Dresden.”

Grace grimaced with disgust. “We aren’t babies anymore. Why would we want to go to some stupid carnival?”

“Yeah,” Nick threw in for good measure as he finished off his third beer.

“Because, we’ll be all messed up,” Troy said, grabbing a bottle for himself before Nick drank it all. “Everything will be awesome!”

Grace took the joint back from Alex and took a long drag.

“Sounds fine to me,” Alex said with a giggle. “I love cotton candy. Haven’t had any of that for a long time.”

Nick nodded eagerly. “You think they’ll have nachos? I could go for a big bowl of nachos right now. All covered with cheese.”

Troy laughed and took his turn with the weed. “They’ll have all kinds of food. We can eat ‘til we puke and then go on some rides or something.”

Nick stood up and made his way over to the edge of the woods, weaving back and forth the entire time. Unzipping his pants, he moaned as he relieved his bladder.

Grace giggled. “If we are going to go to the carnival, I guess we’d better get this thing started. I’ve got the munchies bad!”

Alex laughed, dug through her bag and retrieved a bottle of what she said was a “potion” that would bring the dead back to life. She also pulled out the book with the incantation, which was supposed to give the potion its “power.”

Troy rolled his eyes and winked at Grace. She covered her mouth with her hand to suppress a giggle.

They had been to various cemeteries and done the same ritual many times before. It never worked. But, for some reason, Alex was obsessed with the occult and raising people from the dead. She said she wouldn’t give up until she had done it. So being the supportive friends that they were, they went along with it. Besides, they always had a great time partying out in the middle of nowhere.

“You guys ready?” Alex asked as Nick sat back down. “Everyone join hands . . . ”

The ritual had begun. They said what they were told to say, chanted when they were supposed to chant, and lit the candles that Alex had set up in front of each one of them, around their chosen grave. After all that was done, Alex poured the “potion” on the grave, starting at the head, straight down the center, to the feet.

They waited, watching. Nothing happened, as usual.

“Okay,” Alex said with a sigh. “I guess it didn’t work, again. We did everything right. I don’t know what went wrong.”

Troy leaned over and gave Alex a one-armed hug, kissing the top of her head when she let it fall on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, babe,” he said gently. “We’ll try again another time. I’ll buy you the biggest bag of cotton candy we can find. Will that make you feel better?”

Alex giggled, rose up on her knees, wrapped her arms around Troy’s neck, and kissed him.

“I guess that was a yes,” Troy said with a grin, as she pulled away.

“Let’s get going,” Grace said, standing and brushing dirt and dry leaves from her butt. “I’m starved! I hope they have hotdogs. A hotdog with all the fixin’s sounds really good.”

Nick stood and grinned. “I’ve got a hotdog for you, if you want to eat one.”

Grace rolled her eyes and shoved Nick playfully. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. Quit trying to pimp yourself off on me.”

They were all standing now, and turned to walk back to Troy’s car that was parked behind a corn field where no one could see it.

“Hold on a sec,” Nick said, turning back. “I gotta leak the lizard again.”

Troy, Alex, and Grace shook their heads and kept walking.

“We’ll meet you at the car,” Troy yelled back over his shoulder.

Nick waved an acknowledgment as he unzipped and peed on the grave they had just been sitting around. He started singing and watched the lightning bugs that were flitting around him.

When he looked down again, he saw that one of the candles had fallen over and there was something white sticking out of the ground beside it. Zipping up, he knelt down to see what it was, thinking they might have dropped something.

Just looking at it, he couldn’t figure out what it was, so he touched it. It was hard and kind of smooth. Tugging gently, he extracted it from the hard packed dirt. It was a human finger bone!

With a yelp, he dropped it and stood up, wiping his hands on his jeans. His eyes scanned back and forth over the grave to see if there was anything else weird. As he watched, the earth shifted. He turned to yell to the others as the hand the finger had come from shot up out of the ground and grabbed his ankle.

Nick screamed.

Kicking and trying to dislodge his leg from the vice-like grip, he was shocked to see a head and a torso break through the ground. Bugs and dirt clung to the skull. The eyes were nothing more than hollow voids, staring out at nothing.

Nick was too paralyzed with fear to scream again. He just stood there in shock, watching the body pull itself out of the grave.

Holy shit, he thought, it worked!

As he came back to his senses, Nick tried again to kick free, but the grip was too strong.

The person they had brought back to life gave his leg a sudden jerk and a twist, throwing Nick to the ground.

“Maaaaaa,” it moaned, as it sank its teeth into the exposed skin of his ankle.

Nick cried out with pain, groping at the ground around him, trying to get away or at least find something to beat the thing off of him with.

He screamed again as he felt his flesh tearing, and looked back to see the zombie happily munching on what it had torn off. He started to cry, instantly sobered by what was happening to him.

He tried more frantically to get away, his hand landing on a rock. He grabbed it, and turned on the ghoul, slamming it down on its head. It took five hard whacks before the creature stopped moving. Its bug-filled skull now lay shattered around it on the ground. Insects swarmed and ran in every direction, trying to figure out where their home had gone.

Nick dragged himself away, out of the zombie’s grip, and fell back onto the ground panting and sobbing. After a moment, he sat up and looked at his ankle; it wasn’t as bad as he had expected. Only a small piece of skin was missing.

He glanced over at the skull, wiping tears from his eyes with the back of his hand. The ghoul was missing quite a few teeth, and that was probably why he hadn’t sustained a more serious injury.

Hurriedly, Nick stood and ran toward the path where the others had disappeared on their way to the car. He hobbled awkwardly because of the wound, but he wanted to get away from the cursed place as fast as he could.

***

Troy, Alex, and Grace were sitting in the car, waiting for Nick. They had the radio blaring and were rocking out to their favorite band while smoking another joint. The passing of time didn’t register to them.

They all jumped when Nick tore open the rear, passenger door and started ranting.

“We did it,” Nick yelled to be heard over the music. “We brought that bastard back from the dead, and he bit me! It was a zombie! The damn thing bit my leg! Look!”

He pulled up his pant leg and showed them all the two inch by one inch bloody wound where a patch of skin was missing.

Alex frowned, turning down the radio. “Are you making fun of me? Because I don’t like it. Is this some kind of a sick joke?”

“No, no,” Nick said, shaking. “I’m telling the truth! Come look, the body is still there.”

Grace said nothing, just watched as Alex bowed her head and stared at her hands.

Troy noticed Alex’s dejected posture as well. “Get in the car, Nick, before I decide to get out and kick your ass.”

“I’m serious you guys,” Nick pleaded. “Listen to me! There was a zombie, a real zombie, and it bit me!”

Troy slammed his fist down on the back of the front seat. “This is your last chance. Shut your hole and get in the car, or I’m leaving you here.”

Nick swallowed hard, glanced over his shoulder, and decided the safest idea would be to get in the car. He didn’t like that they didn’t believe him, but he could convince them, over time, he supposed.

Nodding silently, Nick slid into the back seat with Grace, looking at the floor board, shutting the door securely behind him.

Alex was sniffling in the front seat. Troy was trying to calm her down, throwing dirty looks at Nick every now and again. Finally Troy got her to stop crying and they departed for the carnival.

Grace leaned over to Nick and snarled, “Nice one, jackass. You shouldn’t make fun of Alex and tease her like that, you know she’s sensitive. Why do you have to be such a dick?”

Nick didn’t answer. He just looked out the window. Maybe they were right, maybe nothing had happened. It could have been his imagination. He had been drunk and high, after all.

The rocking of the car made Nick tired. He knew they had an hour drive to where the carnival was, and since no one was talking to him, he decided he might as well get some rest. His ankle was burning and he was feeling very lethargic. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep.

***

When they arrived at the carnival, Grace shook Nick, waking him. He opened his eyes with a moan.

“We’re here,” she said and got out of the car.

Nick caught another dirty look from Troy as he too got out. Apparently Alex had already made her exit, because she was standing in front of the car. Troy walked over and hugged her, rubbing her back in a comforting manner.

Nick felt bad for upsetting Alex, but if she would just listen, she would realize that she had succeeded and would be happy. He didn’t know how to convince her. Besides, Troy was very protective. Nick knew that he wouldn’t be allowed within five feet of her for the rest of the night.

As Nick stood beside the car, he became dizzy and disoriented. The world spun around him in a blur of lights and colors. Sounds faded in and out, and a couple of times his visions went black and he couldn’t see at all. Of all his senses, taste and smell were the strongest. He could smell all the people, all the food, all the exhaust fumes from the running machinery. He could taste a cheese burger like he had just taken a bite.

“You coming?” Grace asked.

“Huh?” Nick asked, licking his lips and shaking his head. On top of everything else, he felt like he had a fever.

“Are you coming? To the carnival? Or are you going to stay out here by yourself all night?”

“I’m coming,” Nick said and followed his friends as they wove through the mass of parked cars and made their way to the ticket counter.

It was hard for Nick to keep up. His leg hurt like hell. He had to keep stopping and rubbing his calf and thigh. The bite on his ankle was hurting worse, but he didn’t want to say anything, afraid he would piss everyone off more.

Nick dug out his wallet and grabbed Grace’s wrist as she slid her hand into her pocket. “I got this.”

She looked up at him and opened her mouth like she was going to refuse, but stopped. She frowned.

“You don’t look good, Nick. Are you sure you don’t want to go lay down in the car for a while?”

Nick shook his head, grinning. “No, I feel great. Honest.”

Grace was still frowning as he bought their tickets. She took the blue ticket that said ADMIT ONE, and shoved it into her pocket to keep it safe.

“You sure you’re okay?” Grace asked again, laying her hand on his arm with concern.

“Yeah,” Nick said. “Let’s go get that hotdog you wanted.”

Grace giggled. “Okay.”

Troy and Alex were already in line at the French fry stand.

Nick walked up to Troy and handed him a ten-dollar bill. “Grab me some nachos, and some fries for Grace. Do you guys want anything from the sandwich stand?”

Troy looked at Nick for a moment, his eyes hard, letting Nick know that he wasn’t forgiven just yet. “Sure. Get me a hotdog with everything and Alex a cheeseburger with just ketchup. Think you can handle that?”

Nick decided to ignore Troy’s sarcasm. “Got it. See you guys in a sec!”

Grace smiled as Nick joined her in line. He marveled at how pretty she was. It still caught him by surprise how much they had all changed over the last few years. It seemed only yesterday that they had been freshman, and in a couple more months they would be graduating high school. He had never thought that any of them would be attracted to each other, having been friends for so long. But when Troy and Alex started dating, he couldn’t help thinking that maybe he and Grace might get something started as well.

Nick smiled back. They talked and joked as the line slowly moved forward.

Finally, it was their turn to order. The smell of raw meat drove Nick crazy for a moment. He had a sudden urge to jump over the counter and stuff as many raw burgers in his mouth as he could. Closing his eyes and taking a few quick, deep breaths, he regained control of himself.

Nick quickly rattled off what they needed and then looked around for Troy, to see if he needed to buy drinks, too.

He found him and they made eye contact. Nick cupped his hand and tilted it up like he was drinking, then nodded yes, and shook his head no. Troy nodded back yes. Nick gave him a thumbs up and ordered drinks before paying.

Laden down with sandwiches and drinks, Nick and Grace joined Troy and Alex at the small table they had found. It was sticky from ice-cream drippings that had dried and left a pink and white goo, but after covering the mess with a couple of napkins, it was nearly perfect for the teens.

Alex wouldn’t look at Nick, but he was glad to see she was smiling and laughing. He still hadn’t figured out how he was going to convince her that he hadn’t been making fun of her, but had been telling the truth.

Soon, Nick forgot all about the misunderstanding as he felt Grace’s leg press against his under the table. At one point during their meal, she gave him a hug and kissed his cheek in jest. He couldn’t help but blush, which made everyone laugh.

After they finished eating, they decided to go on some rides. Taking their tickets to the ride booth, they got their wrist bands, and then made their way to the Ferris wheel, waited in line, and took their ride. Troy and Alex went in one seat and Nick and Grace went in the next.

They moved slowly as the empty seats were filled. At one point they stopped at the top for a long time. Nick looked behind them, ready to wave at Troy and Alex, but they were too busy making out to notice him.

Nick glanced sideways at Grace, wondering what it would be like to kiss her. He put his arm across the seat behind her, and was about to ask her if she liked him, when they started moving again. Grace squealed with delight and sat forward, and then back quickly, making their seat swing. They laughed and enjoyed the rest of the ride.

When it was over, Nick started to feel nauseous. He had never had problems with motion sickness before, in fact, he was the one that usually rode the wildest rides with no problem whatsoever, no matter how much he had eaten. But right now, he felt very sick.

Troy looked at Nick. “Are you all right, man? You look like you’re gonna hurl.”

Nick was about to say he was fine, but instead ran to the nearest trash can and threw up everything he had just eaten.

When he was done, Nick looked up to see Grace standing beside him.

“You okay?” she asked gently, rubbing his back.

Nick nodded and moaned. “I think I’ll live. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I don’t ever get sick.”

But something was nagging at the back of his mind–the zombie, the bite. He had seen plenty of movies about the undead and he knew how it all worked, but he thought you had to die before you turned into a zombie. He wasn’t even close to dying as far as he knew.

He started to feel sick again, and stuck his head back over the trash can just in time. It was too dark where they were for him to realize he was now puking blood.

“I’ll go get you something to drink,” Grace said and rushed off.

Nick nodded and turned, letting his back slide against the metal barrel that served as waste disposal. He sat on the ground, leaning against it with his eyes closed, waiting for Grace to come back with a drink.

“I got you Sprite,” Grace said, kneeling down beside him.

He weakly lifted his hand and took the cup. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to go back to the car?” Grace asked. “I’ll go with you. I don’t think you should be alone right now, as sick as you are.”

Nick nodded.

“Okay, I’ll go and tell Troy and Alex. I saw them standing in line for another ride.”

Nick watched Grace’s butt as she scampered off, thinking it would be nice to be alone with her. He just wished that he didn’t feel so bad. Pushing himself up from the ground, he wiped his mouth on the wet napkin that had been wrapped around his drink and threw it in the trash. Stumbling along, he started toward the car.

Grace caught up with him when he was halfway there. “Why didn’t you wait for me? I would have helped you.”

She ducked under one of his arms and wrapped her arm around his waist.

He turned his head and smelled her hair. This was definitely a good idea, he thought.

Before long they were at the car. Grace helped Nick into the back seat, and went around the car and got in beside him.

He laid his head on her shoulder and moaned.

“Is that better?” she asked as she stroked his hair.

“Yes,” he sighed.

He was almost asleep when his stomach began to gurgle again. Hurriedly he sat up, opened the door, and threw up more blood. The dome light gave off enough of a glow for him to see that his vomit was red, but he was too weak, and his brain was too tired, to process what was happening to him.

Closing the door, he lay down, using Grace’s leg as a pillow. Soon he fell asleep. Not long after, so did she.

***

In her sleep, Grace didn’t notice when Nick stopped breathing and died. She didn’t notice when he opened his eyes again, or that they were now vacant and cloudy. But, she did notice when he started grabbing at her.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Grace mumbled as Nick’s rough handling woke her up.

“Maaaaaa!” Nick moaned, as he took a hold of her shoulders, violently pinning her to the seat.

“Get off me, Nick,” Grace yelled, beating on his chest. “You’re hurting me.”

He didn’t respond to her, just held her down and lowered his head toward hers. She thought he was trying to kiss her.

“No, damn it,” Grace said. “You’re such a creep.”

She brought her knee up and slammed it into his crotch, but it had no effect on him. Panicking, she threw open the car door and screamed; it was cut short as Nick clamped his teeth on her throat and tore out her windpipe.

Blood sprayed everywhere as he tossed his head back and forth, tearing off a chunk of flesh to enjoy. After chewing and swallowing, he bit off another, and another, devouring her until her blood went cold.

No longer satisfied with his kill, Nick staggered out of the open car door and followed his nose. He smelled blood–sweet, hot, living blood. People were close-by, and a lot of them.

His body was slow, not wanting to work like it used to. Inwardly he was frustrated at how long it was taking him to get to the food that he sensed was near.

Finally, he arrived at the ticket stand. The man behind the counter was alone, reading a book. He set it down without looking up.

“How many?” . . .

 

To continue reading ADMIT ONE, UNDEAD and read other zombie short stories by Rebecca Besser and Courtney Rene get your copy of Zombies Inside here:

 

 

Rebecca Besser Author Pic

Rebecca Besser resides in Ohio with her wonderful husband and amazing son. They’ve come to accept her quirks as normal while she writes anything and everything that makes her inner demons squeal with delight. She’s best known for her work in adult horror, but has been published in fiction, nonfiction, and poetry for a variety of age groups and genres. She’s entirely too cute to be scary in person, so she turns to the page to instill fear into the hearts of the masses.

 

Rebecca’s Website: http://www.rebeccabesser.com

Rebecca’s Blog: http://rebeccabesser.wordpress.com

Rebecca’s Twitter: https://twitter.com/BeccaBesser

Rebecca’s Amazon Page: http://www.amazon.com/Rebecca-Besser/e/B004V3IIC4/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_1?qid=1441641146&sr=8-1

Rebecca’s Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/AuthorEditor-Rebecca-Besser/179090018777134?ref=hl

Rebecca’s Goodreads Profile: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4262038.Rebecca_Besser

Photo.Basic

Courtney Rene lives in the State of Ohio with her husband and two children.  She is a graduate and member of the Institute of Children’s Literature.  Her writings include magazine articles, short fiction stories, several anthologies, as well as her young adult novels, A Howl in the Night, and soon to be releases The Full Moon Rises, as well as the Shadow Dancer series (Shadow Dancer, Shadow Warrior, Shadow’s End, and a break away novel, Shadow Fire), published through Rogue Phoenix Press.

 

Courtney’s Website:  http://www.courtneyrene.com

Courtney’s blog:  http://ctnyrene.blogspot.com

Courtney’s Twitter:  https://twitter.com/ctnyrene

Courtney’s Amazon Page:  http://www.amazon.com/Courtney-Rene/e/B004X6SS2Y/ref=sr_ntt_srch_lnk_2?qid=1442840695&sr=8-2

Courtney’s Facebook Page:  https://www.facebook.com/Shadow-Dancer-and-more-by-Courtney-Rene-164433473646449/timeline/?ref=bookmarks

Courtney’s Goodreads Page:  https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4322077.Courtney_Rene?from_search=true&search_version=service

*   *   *   *   *

The stench of frozen flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Winter of Zombie Blog Tour 2015, with 40+ of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of November.

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!

#WinterofZombie is the hashtag for Twitter, too!

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Teaser: Kathy Dinisi #WinterofZombie

image1

Hell Bound ( A vacation from Hell)

      “Hurry we need your help. Just got an emergency call, an Ambulance is on its way with a man who was shot twice.”

My heart jumps into overdrive and I put my game face on, it’s time to get to work. Unfortunately, we are so understaffed tonight that my twelve hour shift might turn into a fourteen hour shift, or longer.

As we rush to the emergency room we patiently wait for the Ambulance to arrive.“They said they are about fifteen minutes out, down Highway twelve,” Jennifer mentions.

“Oh ok, not too far then,” I reply.

“So are you excited about your vacation? The grand canyon is so beautiful.” Jennifer said to me, but before I can answer her a loud BOOM echoes through the hall.

We turn as the Paramedics burst through the double doors and they have the shooting victim strapped to a stretcher.  As we take him to a room, I notice something not normal about this patient.

Before I really have a chance to think about it, the man starts to scream. It’s not just a scream, though, it’s the loudest, blood- curdling and horrific sound I think I’ve ever heard. I’d rather hear nails against a chalkboard than to hear his screams.

The man flails about trying to escape the restraints of the stretcher. Jennifer and I grab his arms as two other nurses come running into the room to grab his legs.  The man is still screaming while a doctor tries to put him under with a shot of Propofol.

He’s so strong he manages to break the restraints, throwing Jennifer and I off of him. I slam against the hard tile floor and bounce back up as quickly as I can, grabbing his left arm again before he’s able to take a swing at the doctor. Finally, with the help of the paramedics that brought him in, the six of us are able to hold him down long enough to put him under.

“Thank God!! He’s finally under and that freaking screaming is over.” I say as I lean in closer to the patient. Besides the fact that he has been shot twice, once in his left shoulder blade and again in his right leg, the corners of his eyes have puss and blood oozing from them.

But that’s not the only weird thing about this patient, he also has a unique odor and not unique in a pleasant way either.

Nope, we’re not that lucky. He smells like rotting flesh as if his body was decaying like three day old road kill along a highway.

It’s weird that I didn’t notice the stench before; I have a very sensitive nose. I guess it must have been the adrenaline rush. But my rush faded quickly once he was subdued.

My stomach lurches, twists, jump, and turns inside out. I can’t stand the smell! Oh God! I turn to rush out of the room for some fresh air before I vomit all over the poor guy. I think he has suffered enough I don’t want to add that to his grief. I have been a nurse for three years and I have seen some very disgusting stuff, but I have never seen, or smelt anything like this before.

I turn to see the other nurses taking care of him. Swallowing back the need to vomit, I Grab some medical instruments from the medical table and hand it to the doctor. Standing off to the side of the room, I get a better look at the patient.

His skin looks really saggy and pale as if death is already at his doorstep. He’s also foaming at the mouth. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone like him before. And he was freakishly strong; he threw Jennifer and me around like ragdolls. He doesn’t look like he works out. That’s so weird. He’s probably on drugs, PCP maybe.

Once we have the patient stable, I leave the other nurses to get him patched up. I walk back down the hall to do my rounds until my shift is over.

Yawning, I look down at my watch, nine o’clock, my shift is over. Wow 3 hours went by faster than I expected, time fly’s when you’re busy. God!!!   I cannot wait to leave this place, and go home to a nice warm bed with Mathew and fall into a deep slumber.

Dragging my tired feet to my locker, Jennifer walks up to me, “Man that guy is in bad condition, doctors say it’s not just the two gunshot wounds, but he might have Rabies.”

I snap my head up in surprise. “What!!? Rabies!? You’ve got to be joking……..right? We haven’t had any cases in the U.S. in years. How did he get it?”

“I wish I was joking. As of now they’re not sure how he contracted it. He got out of surgery about an hour and a half ago and he’s still knocked out. They want to try and ask him what happened once he regains consciousness. They aren’t even sure if its rabies, but he is showing all signs of it. Foaming out of the mouth, aggressiveness, along with bloodshot and puss filled eyes. The doctors have sent a couple different tests to the lab they should know what it is within a few days.” Jennifer adds.

“Wow, crazy. Well do me a favor and let me know what he has once you find out. Okay?”

“No problem, Sam. But you’re going on vacation, are you sure you want me to bother you with work stuff?”

“Yea, it’s fine. One little text isn’t going to ruin our vacation. Please, I really want to know,” I beg.

“Ok, chicka will do. Have fun on your vacation and tell Mathew I said hello and to treat my girl right,” she says as she pulls me in for a big hug and squeezes me until I have to push her away.

I love this girl; she is so fun and easy going. She’s been a nurse a lot longer than I have, but she was beyond sweet when I first came to this hospital three years ago. She taught me so much and helped me learn the ropes.  I am blessed to have her as a friend.

Where to find me:

https://www.facebook.com/pages/Author-Kathy-Dinisi/344501769073677

twitter:

https://twitter.com/kathysad

*   *   *   *   *

The stench of frozen flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Winter of Zombie Blog Tour 2015, with 40+ of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of November.

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!

#WinterofZombie is the hashtag for Twitter, too!

Guest Post: Sami Sands #WinterofZombie

Forgotten Samie Sands Cover

Haitian Holiday

A short story by Samie Sands

My mind…I’m sure my mind used to work a little better than this. Very occasionally I’ll get flashes of what’s going on around me. These moments are always very brief and painful – not enough for me to make sense of the world.

My arms. They hurt. My legs ache. My entire body feels like it’s been under a massively heavy weight for a very long time. Every time I’m aware, I’m doing something physically challenging – pushing, pulling, lifting. Too much for my small, frail body, but I can’t stop. It’s as if something is compelling me.

A face. A large face looms in front of me, sending an irrational jolt of fear through me – the first emotion I’ve felt in a very long time. Something inside of me is screaming ‘it’s him!’ He looks sick – I don’t know how I know that, I just do. He yells something at me, but my ears are buzzing, so I can’t hear him. I just carry on lugging, pulling, tugging…

My eyes flicker open. I quickly realise that I’m lying on the ground. What happened? Why am I asleep? I push my body into a sitting position, even though it hurts like mad. The light is so bright; it takes my eyes a long time to adjust. I’m in a field that’s full of plants – a place I don’t recognise at all – but that’s not the strangest thing about the scene I’m surveying. No, that’s the fact that there are loads of other bodies, beginning to stir around me.

“Wha…?” I try to ask, but my throat is dry, my voice is hoarse as if I haven’t used it for a very long time.

The others finally reach the same state of awareness as me, and they are all wearing the same utterly confused expression. What happened to us? None of this makes any sense.

I don’t know how much time passes, but one by one, we all begin to move away from here. It holds really horrible memories – I know that much, even if I don’t know what they are. I follow the crowd, noticing how we are all shuffling, shambling, as if we aren’t human. As if we’re monsters.

Eventually, after some time, we reach a tiny village. The first woman that sees the crowd descending on her screams and runs in the opposite direction. I finally hear the word “zombie” being yelled, and something about it sends recognition flooding through me. Zombie…why does that word strike a chord? Why do I feel like that’s something to do with me?

Others rush from random directions to come and see us. I guess we must look a sight – dirty, lumbering, unaware. Some of them laugh, some of them look afraid. I wish I could communicate. I want to be able to speak to someone, to find out what’s happened, what they know. They might be scared, but I am too!

“Deana!” A voice bursts through the rest, as a warm hand rests on my shoulder. My body wants to jump in shock, but I don’t have enough movements inside of me to be able to do so. Instead I turn to face the kindly looking woman who’s staring at me with tears in my eyes. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

I wake up in a soft, warm bed. My skin feels clean, my mind feels fresher, but there’s still something nagging at me. Something isn’t quite right. Not yet. I can now feel a few sporadic memories from my past, from before whatever happened to me here – I recall getting picked on in the rain, somewhere in England, when I was about eight years old. I can picture the time I had my first kiss, when I was 17. I can remember getting on a plane…but nothing that explains what’s going on now.

“How are you feeling?” The woman from the village enters the room I’m in, offering me a drink. I sup it down as if I haven’t drunk anything for years.

I nod as a reply, before trying my voice once more. “Wha…?” It hurts a little less to use, but it’s still very croaky.

“You must have lots of questions.” She sighs, looking at her hands in her lap. “I don’t know where to start.”

I stare at her, begging her to begin anywhere. I just need something.

“You arrived here in Haiti three years ago.” I hold my breath as she speaks. “You wanted to follow the work of Wade Davis – the man who exposed the witch doctors and their awful zombification tricks.” I have to remind myself that she’s talking about me – this all sounds like something that happened to someone else. “You came to stay with me for a while. You thought you’d found a sugar plantation where this awful practice was still taking place and you wanted to put a stop to it. I warned you to be careful, but you were so…ambitious. You wanted to succeed as a journalist so badly.”

A journalist? Me? A vague memory pops up of a desk in a fancy office, but it’s gone before I can get a solid grasp on it.

“You went missing not long after. They said you were dead – they even held a funeral for you, but I knew different. I knew he had you. You had mentioned Dr. Koane and your suspicions of him…”

I gasp at the mention of that name. That was him. That was the man I saw – the one that did this. Suddenly I recall going to see him on the pretence of needing some painkillers. I knew what he was up to and I wanted to prove it, I just needed evidence. I wanted a vial of the stuff he was giving to people. That appointment is when he must have started me on the tetrodotoxin drugs that rendered me a zombie. I can’t believe it, he fooled me, outsmarted me. I spent three years working for the man I was trying to overthrow.

What made him stop?

His face – he was ill. He was dying, I realise. He couldn’t give us the drugs anymore, that’s why we returned to our normal state. I’m sure we will keep on becoming ourselves again for a very long time.

As I glance around the room, I accidentally catch a glimpse of my reflection in a small mirror and vomit instantly rushes through me and splatters on the ground below me. What the hell? I’ve gone from a petite, fairly attractive 23 year old, to someone who looks closer to 70.  I’ve never been particularly vain, but this is something else! This is unbearable. I’m hideous!

I stare for a while, just thinking. My life is over. I thought I’d just gotten it back, but I was wrong. This man, this zombie drug, this trip to Haiti…it’s ruined my life. I may be back in mind, but I’ll never be able to be me again….

 

Samie Sands Author Pic

Samie Sands is a 29 year old freelance graphic designer who has recently decided to follow her lifelong dream and use her creativity in a new way by writing. Lockdown is her debut novel, published by Triplicity Publishing, with Forgotten following soon after. She has also had a number of short stories included in successful anthologies.

She has a degree in Media Studies and PR and has already had articles published in a number of e-zines, including one of the most popular pieces at Zombie Guide Magazine. She lives in a small seaside town in the UK, but loves to travel to gain inspiration from new places and different cultures. To follow Samie’s work, please check out her website http://samiesands.com.

Other Links: http://thelockdown.co.uk

http://www.facebook.com/SamieSandsLockdown

http://www.twitter.com/SamieSands

*   *   *   *   *

The stench of frozen flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Winter of Zombie Blog Tour 2015, with 40+ of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of November.

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!

#WinterofZombie is the hashtag for Twitter, too!

Teaser: Dion Winton-Polak #WinterofZombie

SunnyCover

Teaser from the pages of Sunny, with a Chance of Zombies

Pub. KnightWatch Press, 2015

Ed. Dion Winton-Polak

Run, Rabbit

by

Louise Maskill

I don’t really recall the early days of the plague – I was only a kid – but I’ve been into zombie racing ever since it properly got going. Once the craziness died down and the zoms were pretty much all rounded up into the exclusion zones folk started to think rationally again, though most everyone still carries a baseball bat or a claw hammer these days, just to be safe.

Why they didn’t just kill all the zoms, I don’t know – some folk think The Man is still experimenting on them, trying to figure out the cause of the plague. I don’t care, really, because they make me some decent money. Early on a few enterprising folk realised that zoms would basically run in a straight line towards food, so gambling rings started setting up underground events with a live runner and a zombie pack. They’d take bets on which zom would be first, which would be last, how many limbs would come off over the course of the race, whether the runner would trip – that kinda thing.

There were raids and arrests in those early days, but then the professionals got a hold of it and suddenly it was legit. They turned it into big business, with licensed courses, bookies; the works. My pop would take me, and he’d sneak me a beer and we’d eat chilli dogs while we watched the races and bet on the results. My favourites were the sprinters, the real fast zoms who scooted after the runner so he had to take off like a jackrabbit, but Pop liked the slow races where the tension would build and the runner could practically walk the course as the pack stumbled along behind him.

Big bastards were employed as stoppers at the finish line, dressed head to foot in half-inch leather so they couldn’t be bit, with the job of felling the zoms. Not killing them, though – at least, not the good ones. They were hauled away before they came round, dumped back in the pits and eventually brought out to race again. Any who’d left too many limbs on the track or who’d gone beyond racing again – well, they could be finished off. They sure enjoyed their work, those big bastards.

Of course, there were safety issues – there were a lot of incidents in the early days when runners misjudged the pack and got caught, but the crowds loved it. Also, the stoppers at the end of the race used to carry shotguns to drop the zoms who couldn’t race again, and attendance went down some when a gun misfired at a track somewhere in New Mexico and a woman in the front row by the finish line took a chest full of pellets. These days the stoppers have shock-sticks and baseball bats.

Pop bought me my first zom when I was eighteen. She was a real bitch; wiry and evil, and she won me a few races before her left leg dropped off and she couldn’t race no more. I was sorry when we had to put her down, but by that time I had a couple more, bought with Evil Bitch’s winnings and kept in the secure pit at the track.

My string grew slowly; I bought when I won, sold when I lost, and after a couple of years I had ten or twelve zoms which I entered in races. Pop used to come with me most times and we made a bit of cash, which I used for beer money and the occasional treat for Mom.

This particular night, though, Pop wasn’t there – thank fuck, because he never would have let me go back if he’d seen what happened. It was a small meet with a gate of just a few hundred on a muggy mid-week night in June, and I’d already had a win. The other owners had clapped me on the back and laughed while we’d put our leather gauntlets on and hauled our twitching unconscious zoms away, and one made me an offer on my winner. Didn’t take it; I figured he had four or five races left in him. I’d ditch him in a couple races’ time, just before he got too broken. That was the skill – knowing when to hold on to a good one and when it was time to sell.

I also had a racer in the next event – well, more of a shambler, really. He weren’t expected to do much except finish, and I had my doubts about that. I was hovering near the start line looking at my zom and idly sizing up the competition when I noticed something familiar about one of the other racers stumbling around in the starting enclosure.

He was about my height, dark hair (what was left of it, anyway) and wearing a tattered Bring Me The Horizon t-shirt. It was that caught my eye, really, since I’d bought one the same for my buddy Al, who’d left to go to the city some three weeks previous. Least, I assumed he’d gone to the city; I hadn’t heard from him since, but that weren’t unusual. While he was flush we’d hang out, drink cheap beer and play cards, and then his money would run out, his landlord would get antsy and he’d take off. Sometimes he’d be gone for weeks on end, but he’d always turn up eventually with no explanation or excuse, just a pocket full of grubby cash and a big grin. He’d done it forever, as long as I’d known him.

I squinted at this zom as he lurched against the wire fence, trying to get at the spectators on the other side. Bottom half of his face was gone, just jagged flaps of flesh with his teeth showing through, but his eyes glowed crazy bright and he had all his limbs, mostly pointing in the right direction. Might put some money on that one, I thought…

 

 

Do YOU want to put some money on Sunny, with a Chance of Zombies? If so, head on over to KnightWatch Press and order yourself a paperback copy. US customers can also pick one up from Amazon. Prefer a Kindle version? You can snag a UK copy here or a US copy here.

 

‘Run, Rabbit’ is just one of our twelve tales of anarchy, heartbreak and revenge; leavened with a little bit of of love, life and laughter. Snag the lot in Sunny, with a Chance of Zombies. I think you’ll like them.

*   *   *   *   *

The stench of frozen flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Winter of Zombie Blog Tour 2015, with 40+ of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of November.

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!

#WinterofZombie is the hashtag for Twitter, too!

Teaser: Phillip Tomasso #WinterofZombie

damn1

    Char and Tony stood across from each other, hidden behind trees. They were still several yards from what they had come to consider as the enemy’s camp. They’d made sure there was no movement for nearly an hour before moving this close.

“Two on watch?” Tony said.

The moonlight helped. The bright orb sat in a cloudless sky. With no street or city lights to interfere, the stars finally had a chance to illuminate the heavens. The billions of stars resembled a blanket of light, were milky, and still, and silent against a Catalina blue sky. “One ahead of the trailer. The other is just behind where the others are asleep.”

“I was worried they’d unhitched the horses. Animals are not going to be well rested having been tethered together like that all night. Idiots,” he said, “that’s not going to help us much. We want to hightail it out of there, and the things are going to be panting and shit. Not good.”

“You should have told them earlier, explained that in order for the horses to rest properly, they need to be unhitched.” Char rolled her eyes.

“You go on ahead. Find the guy out front. I’m going to handle the one back there. We’ll take care of the other four together. It’s not perfect, but I think it’s our best plan right now.”

“I’m good with it.” She had her machete out.

“You be safe. I’m serious.”

Char nodded. “You, too.”

She moved slowly but with purpose. The only sound she heard was her own footfalls and tried to step as quietly as possible, breathing shallow breaths. Tiny plumes escaped her lips and nostrils and then were gone. She went cautiously from tree to tree for cover, knowing the man on horseback was not too far ahead. Forest animals were silent. Her presence a deterrent from their nighttime chatter. Their silence was also a revelation. It warned the enemy that something approached. At a minimum, the man would be on guard, hopefully straining to see into the thicket for the infected and not at all on the lookout for a machete wielding young lady.

Hopefully.

The man’s horse was tied to a tree. The man was not there. Char stood still, kept her back pressed against the bark. She looked left and right. The moon and stars helped pierce the darkness. The canopy above still prevented an excess of light from filtering through. Her eyes were well adjusted to the dimness encompassing the forest.

The horse snorted and shook its head, rattling the reins. It sounded like thunder in the silence. She watched the animal, wondering where the rider might be. The terrain was far more rocky in this direction. She stepped up to a boulder, lowered her chest down onto it and tried to see what lay beyond. With still no sign of the man with the assault rifle, she crawled up and over. Her eyes never stopped roaming left and right. He had to be somewhere close by.

Perhaps Tony had been right, and he was somewhere asleep.

She gripped the machete with both hands, held the blade out in front of her and walked toward the horse. She didn’t want to risk getting too close and spooking the animal. While she walked, she hoped Tony was alright. His man was closer to the other four. If there was much of a scuffle, it would alert the sleeping men. The thing about Tony, he would use an arrow and could make the kill silently from fifty yards out. He’d been teaching her how to use the bow, but they just hadn’t yet come across another she could keep.

Char did not think the man would wander far from his horse unless he found a safe place to catch some zzz’s. She stood still and just listened. Her heart pounded inside her chest.

A tree branch snapped.

Char spun around. She saw the butt of the rifle coming at her face and ducked. It caught the side of her head. She went down, not from the blow, but from losing her balance. Her left foot slid on loose stones. Her elbow took the brunt of the fall. Pain shot through her arm. A tingling sensation raced down to her wrist, and then up to her shoulder.

There was no time to coddle the injury.

She rolled to the right, off her arm. It was fast, but not quick enough. The man delivered a kick. His boot caught her on the side and she gasped as her lungs fought to inhale oxygen. She feared at least one rib might have broken. Her hands were empty.

Where was the machete?

The man made no noise. He survived the infected this long by learning to keep quiet, too. It didn’t stop the attack. He kept at her, kicking her in the back and sides over and over. She kept rolling, trying to get out of reach, looking for a chance to get back on her feet. It wasn’t working. The beating was relentless and she knew the pain would overtake her. The last thing she wanted was to lose consciousness. She’d be as good as dead.

Stay still.

Play dead.

He wasn’t a bear. She didn’t think she could do it. Her grunts and cries could not be contained.

“Shut up,” he said. It came out like a snarl. His words a whisper that escaped between bared, clenched teeth, but he’d stopped.

Char stayed on her stomach, knees drawn and arms protectively wrapped around her head. Breathing was difficult. She sucked in air; each breath sent pain radiating through her. There was no means of comfort. She didn’t dare move.

She didn’t dare move, until she was certain she knew how to gain an upper hand.

“Where did you come from? Wha. . .are you a girl?”

She heard it then. It was in his voice. He went from angry to something else. The slur of his words was not lost on her. The excitement in his second question was telling. The man’s beard was thick and black. It was the only clear feature she could make out in the darkness. The rest of his face was cast in shadow.

“I said, where did you come from?”

She whimpered. A small cry slipped out. Her head throbbed. The butt of the assault rifle broke skin. Warm blood spilled from the gash, a pungent odor of copper filled her nose. The scent trapped in the tight space; her head on the earth, her arms around her head.

“Who else is with you?”

The longsword was useless with no way to unsheathe it from her curled-up position on the ground. The knife on her hip was the best choice. It was a serrated ten-inch blade, but she couldn’t reach for it, not with it strapped on the same side where the man was who stood looming over her.

“I’m not here to play games.” It was back. The lust in his tone of voice. It filled her ears and sparked her memory. Mexico had been a horrible country. The uninfected far worse than the walking dead. No mistaking that both were hungry for flesh.

Char learned quickly to best avoid getting into sticky situations —when possible.

“Maybe you need to be taught a lesson?”

At least one rib had to be broken. She knew if she tried to move, to straighten out, her insides would violently protest.

She heard his belt buckle jingle loose.

A foot pressed against her side.

She cried out in pain.

He rolled her over.

She kept her knees up to her chest. Blood and tears mixed on her face.

“You need to shut up,” he said. She couldn’t see his face. The available light was above and behind him and he was merely a shadow before her. His breathing was fast, labored. He was working himself up, eager.

She bit her lip. “Sorry.”

“That’s better,” he said. The man dropped to his knees. He grabbed her legs and pulled them apart.

She offered no resistance other than a timid cry and turned her head to the side.

When he climbed on top of her, Char did not hesitate.

When she’d been kicked over onto her back, her hand unstrapped the knife. She had it in her hand.

She punched the knife deep into his side and dragged it up to his first rib.

He fell off her. The blade protruded from under his arm. He writhed, kicking his legs.

Char forced herself up onto her knees, pushed herself up onto one, and then stood. The man screamed.

Standing felt better than being balled up on the ground.

Breathing was not any easier.

The man continued screaming, rolling back and forth, covering himself in blood and dirt. “I’m going to die.”

Char ignored her pain as she took a few steps and stood over the man. She raised her foot in the air and brought the heel down on his skull. “You need to be quiet,” she said.

This was not a good person.

She was not a murderer.

He had planned to rape her, she had no doubt. He would have killed her after, or worse, kept her around, just barely alive but useful for days, and then killed her. Either way, he’d of taken her life.

She looked around, but the thicket and darkness that surrounded them made it hard to find her machete. There wasn’t time to search, not with him making so much noise.

Her mind spun as her brain was pumped full of endorphins. She knew her pulse was fast. She thought about drawing her sword, but instead, forced herself to kneel down next to him. He couldn’t keep still.

Being that he was alive, he was still a threat.

She wouldn’t let her guard down.

Not around this one.

Char pried his hand off the knife with one hand, and grabbed onto the handle with the other. There was a wet sloshing sound when she yanked out the blade, and the man let out a curdling cry that pierced her ears. She thought she smelled the contents of food in various stages of digestion emitted from the long, wide wound, and nearly vomited.

In one fluid motion, she reached across his chest and slid the blade across his throat.

That stopped the cry, mid-scream.

He lay still, finally.

A moonbeam shown on his face. Blood filled and gurgled out of the corners of his mouth. He attempted to cough, to breathe, and to hang onto life. His eyes were locked on her. Rapid blinking ensued as the life behind the retina slowly clouded over, leaving a vacant look in his expression.

The blood still oozed from his neck.

It bubbled inside his mouth.

She watched him until she was certain he was dead.

It was when she smelled urine and feces that she knew it was safe to get up.

Char went back to the horse. It snorted, as giant eyes strained to watch her every movement. Like her, the animal did not trust people. She unbuckled the belt on the belly of the horse. She didn’t want to leave him tied to a tree. The man’s death cries gave away their location. He would become an instant meal for not just potential infected, but also dangerous wildlife in the area. The mountains were filled with black bear, mountain lions, coyotes, and wolves. She removed the nylon halter and head collar as she pet his nose and whispered into his ear that everything would be okay.

 

Phillip Tomasso
DAMN THE DEAD
http://mybook.to/dtd

*   *   *   *   *

The stench of frozen flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Winter of Zombie Blog Tour 2015, with 40+ of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of November.

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!

#WinterofZombie is the hashtag for Twitter, too!

Teaser: Eric A Shelman #WinterofZombie

Middletown

A PREVIEW OF

 

LAST STOP: MIDDLETOWN

 

By

 

Eric A. Shelman

 

It was autumn in Middletown, Indiana.  The weather was brisk but decent, and there was some preparation to do before the next class.  Charlie Noble didn’t care for the particular work that needed doing, so for the moment, he was content to sit at Professor West’s desk, browsing Facebook on his phone.

When the small university was in full session, the population of the town swelled from 2,200 to around 3,100.  Charlie was already looking forward to epic Halloween parties, and after just a month into the school year, he was already anxious to let his hair down.   Some kids lived in town, and others rented apartments, but lots of students lived in makeshift dorm housing provided by the school that more closely resembled FEMA trailers.

With his parents’ home in town, Charlie could have just driven to the campus every day, but no way was he going to miss out on the only dorm experience he was likely to ever have.  The inheritance his grandmother had left him would guarantee that, even if his folks insisted it was a waste of money.  They’d forgotten what it was like to be his age.

He told himself this would be his best year ever.  A guy could hope, at least.

Charlie wasn’t in high demand with the girls in town.  He’d had serious bouts with acne in his late teens, and at age twenty-one, his face showed the pockmarks.  He covered them with makeup and thought he looked pretty good from about five feet away.  There had been several times in classes where he’d spied a new girl who initially returned his interested glances with smiles from across the classroom, only to brush him off later when they encountered him up close.

Yeah.  From that distance, he was pretty much what the assholes called him: crater face.

The sad part was, he knew if not for the skin problems, he might have been popular.  He had steel blue eyes and sandy, blond hair.  He was 6’2” tall and muscular and toned from his daily 3-mile runs.

Charlie had grown up in Middletown, and before the university opened, the words he normally used to describe it were comatose, boring and dead.  So, when billionaire oilman Tank Everson announced his intention to fully fund the expansion of the old community college into a state-of-the-art medical and technical training center, and offer hundreds of scholarships, Charlie dove in headfirst and filled out his applications.

Everything he did was designed to help him eventually escape the incorporated morgue that was Middletown, Indiana.  Maybe this teacher’s assistant gig would gain him some perks.

A knock came on the door of the classroom and Charlie sighed and grunted as he swung his feet to the floor and stood.  He looked at his watch.  The next class wouldn’t begin for another half hour.  He walked to the door and opened it.

A uniformed young man holding a package nodded at him and said, “FedEx. Got a delivery my boss told me to bring here.”

“Well,” said Charlie.  “Is it addressed here?”

The FedEx driver lifted the box and showed Charlie the label.  “The address is pretty smudged, but you can see Middletown and biology.  She figured it was time-sensitive and your lab would be the only logical place around here for it to go.  Want to keep it or reject it?”

“Yeah, I’ll take it.  If you ask Professor West, everything’s time-sensitive,” said Charlie, signing the electronic clipboard.  “Thanks.”

The driver wiped his hands on his pants and said, “Careful.  It’s wet on the bottom.  You got a paper towel or something?”

Charlie held it up, saw the wet stain on the bottom of the box, and said, “Jesus, you’re right.  Okay.  Hold on a sec.”

Holding the oozing box in one hand, Charlie walked to a paper towel dispenser and tore off three sheets, carrying them back to the door.  “Here you go, man.”

The driver took the paper towels and wiped his hands.  “Thanks,” he said, wrinkling his nose. “Stuff’s kinda pungent.”

“Probably some kind of cleaning solvent,” said Charlie.  “There’s a trash can right by the exit to get rid of that.”

“Gotcha,” said the deliveryman as he turned and walked away.  “Have a good one,” he called back.

“Same to you, man.”  Charlie watched him walk down the hall.  A delivery driver.  Not the worst job, but definitely too much labor.  The driver tossed the paper towel toward the trash can and trotted down the stairs.  His towel missed the can and landed on the floor.

Charlie considered going to pick it up, but another student came up the steps a second later, saw the trash, and plucked it from the floor.  He dropped it in the FedEx man’s intended receptacle and wiped his hands on his pants.

authorhorizontalflip

*   *   *   *   *

The stench of frozen flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Winter of Zombie Blog Tour 2015, with 40+ of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of November.

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!

#WinterofZombie is the hashtag for Twitter, too!