Saturday, June 22, 2019


Six weeks in the top 100 War fiction, still in the top 3,000 overall on Amazon, currently at #35 in War Fiction. Grab a copy HERE

#silentnation #emp#survivalfiction #survival

Wednesday, June 19, 2019

I'm back...

Since I haven't posted in a long while, I figured I'd fire up the 'ol blog again and keep up to date, show some exclusive stuff, and give away some freebies. For a long time, my writing suffered. It suffered because of what was going on in my life, and a good part of the struggles I went through came shining through in my writing since then. I won't go into detail, but if you read any of my new stuff, you'll see bits and pieces of it here and there. I went through a life-altering experience and I am ten times the better person for it. I am diving head first into long-shelved projects and starting one big new series.

It's been a long time and I do have that new series to promote. The idea for the Silent Nation books came to me in February of 2018 and I cobbled together ideas until I had the first book ready to go. As with every story, I wanted it to be as accurate as possible, and a good read as well. I think I have succeeded with the first book, Divided. While it hasn't garnered the glowing reviews I'd hoped, it has sold well and I fully intend to keep it going with the second book, tentatively titled Union. Since this is the first post in a few years, I'll give you a sneak peek at the first chapter. Mind you, this is unedited and first-draft quality, but it gives a good peek at the continuation of the Silent Nation series.



Ben sat against the Mustang and closed his eyes. Maybe if he just shut his eyes, he could forget all the horrible things that were little more than an arm’s reach from him. He could ignore the five dead bodies lying around him, each one from their own individual gunshot wounds. The iron-like smell of blood was unmistakable, reminding him that not only was Vincent and three of his associates dead, so was his mother JoAnn. After losing his brother yesterday, his mother and stepfather today, along with over a half-dozen good people, he was already sick of death. There was no dignity in death, no matter the cause. An EMS call he’d had about a month ago that had proven that.

The call was early in the morning, just after four o’clock in the wee hours of the day. Ben and his partner had been dispatched to a single-vehicle accident on the four-lane highway outside of town. Normally, a single car accident wasn’t a big deal at that time of day. Plenty of people nod off or get drowsy and hit all kinds of things; deer and road signs mostly. After arriving on scene, the car had moderate damage and was about fifteen feet off the road in a ditch. While it wasn’t completely inaccessible, it had taken a moment to get down in the ditch to the lone patient in the car. In that car was a twenty-seven-year-old female, dead. Judging by the impact on a tree about fifteen feet above the car, the car had left the roadway and hit the tree, falling straight down into place underneath of it. The impact had killed the driver, a slightly overweight but attractive brunette nurse from a local nursing home. After the fire department arrived on scene, Ben, his partner, and three firefighters got down in the ditch and attempted to remove the body from the car. In the process of trying to get the – literal – dead weight out of the car, the woman’s top had accidentally been pulled off, exposing her breasts. The fire department had quickly thrown a blanket down to help cover the body, but the damage had been done. Passers by hadn’t seen it, but the responding units had. It was an unfortunate turn of events, but it hadn’t been the first time, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last time that it happened. Bodies in all sorts of inexplicable positions and situations made death a very embarrassing part of life; luckily, the person it affected wouldn’t have seen it or cared.

JoAnn was covered by a small blanket. Her body was the only one Ben or Jake cared to make decent. To hell with Vincent and whoever was unfortunate enough to be with him. The two women Ben had shot coming out of the house were inconsequential. Something told Ben he needed to dispatch the problem before they could become an issue, so he did with extreme prejudice. Jake hadn’t said anything when he had, as a matter of fact, Jake hadn’t said anything for the last twenty minutes. Ben heard his cousin get to his feet; Jake had been seated on the other side of the car, on the ground.

“I’m sorry, Ben, but we have to get out of here. If we don’t find a car soon, we’re gonna freeze to death. And I didn’t come all this way just to die now, and I’m sure you didn’t either,” Jake said.

Ben didn’t respond.

Jake stormed around the car and kicked his cousin’s foot as he sat next to the passenger’s side front tire. Ben looked up, and then back down.

“What’s the point, Jake? Every time I’ve tried to do something the last two days it blew up in my face. Fuck it. I’m just gonna sit here and wait for something to happen. Maybe if I try less, I’ll fuck up less,” Ben said.

Jake knelt down. “Look, we gotta get out of here. We got nothing left in Ohio, but you have everything left in Virginia. So, get your ASS OFF THE GROUND!” Jake yelled.

Ben looked up. “To what point? We don’t even have a ride out of here, Jake! So, shut the hell up! It’s not like we can…” Ben said, trailing off and looking away.

“Stop being a dick for five seconds, Ben! I can take an ass chewing just as much as the next person but…” Jake started. He noticed Ben wasn’t listening and his cousin was desperately looking around, like he’d lost something. “What the hell are you doing now?”

“Jake. The car. Where is the vehicle that Vincent used to get to the rest area? He’s got to have a working car around here somewhere. My guess is that there’s an old pickup truck around here somewhere. Come on! That’s our ride out of here!” Ben said, temporarily imbued with some energy and a sense of urgency.

“Dude, you seriously need to see a doctor about that…” Jake said, trailing off.

Ben stopped. “About what?” He said indignantly.

“One minute you’re dejected and really letting this shit get to you, the next you’re jumping up and down like your head’s on fire and your ass is catching. All those years on an ambulance have really messed you up. Do you even realize that?” Jake said, walking towards the barn.

Ben saw red. Jake had a point, though. Even if Ben couldn’t see it, his cousin still was hitting the nail on the head. He got to his feet and couldn’t figure out what to do next. His lungs ached, his heart was pounding, and he was mad at the world, but even if he wanted to, he couldn’t do anything about it yet. He just stood there, glued in place by some unknown force of his own making. His brain turned against him, misconstruing everything he was thinking. He knew they needed to search the area for the missing vehicle, but at the same time, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, and just stood there like a statue. It didn’t take long for Jake to notice.

“Ben? You all right?” Jake said, glancing over his shoulder. As he saw that Ben wasn’t moving and wasn’t responding, he started to walk over.

“Jake…” Ben said.

“Ben? Seriously. Are you all right?”

Ben dropped to his knees, his legs giving out on him. He was too weak to stand, the world was closing in around him, and he couldn’t understand why. As he tried to take a deep breath, it became apparent why he was having such a hard time.

He’d been shot.

In the adrenaline rush of the events after watching his mother JoAnn shot, he’d either closed out the feeling, or honestly just didn’t feel it. As Jake sprinted over, he watched his cousin double over, panting.

“Dude! What the fuck?” Jake yelled. He got down on his knees and attempted to help Ben. The fading light of the day had now almost completely disappeared. It was dark, and Jake couldn’t see how pale Ben was becoming.

Jake grabbed him up, pulling him under the armpits. “Come on, cuz. Let’s get you inside there and see what we can do. There’s no sense in freezing our ass off out here when Vincent’s house is perfectly fine.”

Ben staggered to his feet, the world still on pinpoints and sounds coming from in a barrel. As much as he tried, he couldn’t get his feet to work properly. His brain was directing his body to perform the actions, but his body was stubbornly refusing to work correctly. He shuffled his feet along as best he could, leaning on Jake as much as he could to stay upright. Absently, he thought about what a pain in the ass it was going to be if Jake had to drag him inside the farmhouse.

“Come on, buddy. We ain’t going anywhere tonight. Let’s get inside and get warm,” Jake said, dragging Ben along.

Aside from the two bodies on the porch, there wasn’t anyone in or around the house. After getting Ben inside, Jake sat him down on a dusty couch just to the left of the front door. He didn’t like the idea of leaving him alone for more than a few minutes, but he absolutely had to clear the house first. After a quick sweep and an assumption that if there was anyone there that he would have heard them by now, he trotted downstairs to the couch. Jake shut the front door, hoping that Vincent and Bernard didn’t have any family left that might come looking for them.

Jake sat his rifle down beside the couch. “Dude, we gotta get that vest off you and see if you’re hit.”

Ben sucked in a deep breath and tried to talk finally. “Yeah, I am. My chest is killing me. I think I took a round to the vest.”

Jake scrambled and started pulling Velcro, undoing clasps, and removing parts. After he was satisfied that he could get the bulletproof vest off, he pulled it over Ben’s head. As soon as he did, Ben took another deep breath, this one filling his lungs and sending a sharp pain throughout his chest.

“Holy shit! Goddamnit, that hurts!” Ben exclaimed.

Jake sat the vest down. “You all right now?”

Ben took a couple deep breaths. “Shit. I hope so. Check the vest and see if there’s a round stuck in it.”

Jake took off the flashlight he had on the front of his rifle and scanned the vest. Sure enough, there was a large chunk of lead embedded just to the right of center. Jake took his knife and pried the round loose. It was what was left of a twelve-gauge frangible slug. The round should have knocked Ben square on his ass, but he’d barely noticed.

“Jesus, Ben. That should have ended you. How in the hell did you not feel that?” Jake asked, turning the round over in his hand.

Ben gasped a few more times, trying to take a deeper breath as he did. “I took two 7.62 rounds to the chest once in Afghanistan. Slowed me down and it was with better armor, but I still managed to do my job. The adrenaline gets going and you don’t feel anything. It just makes you numb, literally. After the rush wears off, then you start feeling it.”

“Dude, it’s been a good ten minutes since then. You are one lucky sonofabitch, you know that?” Jake said, handing Ben the spent lead.

Ben grabbed the lead slug from Jake. He was right. Judging by the size of the round, it should have put him down, or at least made more of an impression than it had. The IIIA soft plates in the vest combined with the thick Cordura nylon had saved his life.

Ben sat up, feeling the intense pain in his chest. More soreness on the way. As if walking sixteen miles the day before wasn’t bad enough, now he had to deal with the aftereffects of being shot. He swung his legs over the edge of the couch and leaned over.

“I’m sorry, Jake. I’m not trying to sabotage us, I swear. Truth is, I’ve been dealing with bipolar depression for a long time, and I haven’t done anything about it,” Ben said.

“You gotta take that medication they give you, buddy. You’re not going to be any good if you don’t,” Jake said. “Trust me, the way Mom was, she was intolerable without the meds.”

Ben chuckled. “I’m not on any medication, Jake. Never have been. I don’t reckon I ever will be now. I had panic attacks years ago, and I never took meds then, either. I don’t really believe in them. I hate altering my state of mind for the sake of feeling a little better.”

Jake shook his head in the darkness. “Between two deployments and twenty-plus years in EMS…Jesus. You’re in for a violent case of PTSD if you haven’t already. That shit is gonna hit you hard.”

“I know. I’ve had instructors tell me that over the years. Every time I go to a new class and make some off-color comment or make a joke about something that probably shouldn’t be joked about, I get this look of disdain from them. It’s like they’ve pegged me for that PTSD conversation as soon as I say something.”

“You’ve seen your brother killed, your mother and stepfather killed, and lost several other people under your care in the last twenty-four hours. Something tells me that bullet to the chest might have been a blessing in disguise. Maybe that bullet can show you how to get your head on straight and you can realize that you’re damn lucky to be alive,” Jake said.

Ben nodded. “Fair enough. I think we need to find a way to get warm in here and get some rest. First thing tomorrow morning, we’re gonna get the hell out of Ohio and get back to Virginia. No one else is going to suffer. I’m going home, Jake.”

“As far as we know, the only ones that are suffering are us, buddy. We can mitigate that as best we can, but in the morning,” Jake replied.

“Jesus Christ on a mountain bike, this sucks. I’m too damn old for this, Jake. Sixteen miles of walking, crappy weather, not to mention the fact that I’m about forty pounds overweight and five minutes from a mental breakdown at any given time. Fucking-A, dude,” Ben said.

Jake shook his head as he sat down. “Is that why you cuss so much?”

Ben laid his head back and smiled. “Being around infantrymen kind of makes you into a parrot that repeats what you hear. Unfortunately, those parrots use ‘fuck’ like a noun, a verb, and an adjective. Every third word or so is ‘fuck’ or some derivative of it.”

“Grandma wouldn’t want you cussing like a sailor. Besides, that’s my job,” Jake said jokingly.

“That’d be the only thing you Navy fuckers can lay claim to,” Ben said, laughing.

Jake had laid down himself on a couch not far from Ben. “Language!”

Ben closed his eyes and got comfortable on the couch, oblivious to the conversation Jake was trying to have with him. After berating his choice in language, Jake was trying to explain that the house was heated by a large cast-iron stove and that stove had a large wood box beside it filled with good, dry wood. It was the first thing they’d had go right all day. Ben didn’t hear any of that; he was warm and fast asleep in less than a minute.

Friday, January 29, 2016

Thursday, December 31, 2015

Six Feet From Hell: Endgame teaser


April 18, 2022 – 1400 Hours – Near Bluefield, Virginia

Rocky top…you’ll always be…home sweet home to me…”
Rocky Top is Tennessee, Curtis. I thought you ‘Bama boys knew the difference between West Virginia and Tennessee?” Keith grumbled as he trudged along behind Curtis.
“Just taking a look at our beautiful surroundings, buddy. I thought you Kentucky boys were more polite than that.”
“Fucker…” Keith growled under his breath. He may have been from Kentucky and spent the last six months living in an abandoned UPS building, but that didn’t mean he was impolite. On the other hand, maybe it did, he wasn’t sure. All he did know was that volunteering to go with Curtis seemed like a better idea when he was back in town. Curtis had come to him a few days ago, asking if he would mind assisting him with some of the communications work to be done. Keith had quickly agreed to assist, and now wished he hadn’t. The ridgeline they were on seemed to go on forever and they were still several miles away from their intended destination. The lush, green scenery was beautiful when he got a chance to pause and admire it, but Curtis wasn’t much for stopping.
Keith was beginning to wish that he had taken some of the other training made available to him. There were several teams working on room clearing and medical training, something that he had plenty of experience with. Keith had been a police investigator in a former life, so the day-to-day tasks of learning how to clear a building or bandage a wound were very familiar to him. It had never dawned on him that volunteering to help with communications would be such a taxing job. He and Curtis had climbed at a nearly twenty-five degree angle for the better part of a day, and now were making their way along the ridge towards their intended destination. For the last several hours, Keith had felt like a pack mule.
The light fog that had settled earlier in the morning had now gave way and was completely gone. Even though they were going an additional thousand feet up, the temperature had only dropped about five to ten degrees. For a spring day, it was already beginning to get unsettlingly hot.
Curtis had consulted with Joe about trying to get one of the radio towers on the East River Mountain repeater system to work. The SINCGARS radio would work with damn near any tower, and Curtis was determined to get a signal out with it, one way or another. It was a high-risk proposition, but if it paid off, they would be able to get in touch with ZBRA headquarters, or at least another ZBRA unit. In addition, it beat the alternative of getting more diesel and making the two-hour drive to Blacksburg. Seeing as how Jamie and Cornbread had used quite a bit of diesel to get to Hazard, Kentucky the week prior, they were left with less than ten gallons, not enough to make it to Blacksburg. There was no guarantee the Blacksburg unit would be there, either. Too much risk involved and not enough supplies had forced the two men to come up with an alternate plan. That plan involved getting hold of ZBRA units elsewhere and reestablishing contact with their higher-ups. It wouldn’t be a guaranteed fix, but they didn’t have much to run on.
Curtis knew that Joe wasn’t happy about Jamie and Cornbread’s trek into Kentucky, but the dividends were already paying off for the displaced citizens. Keith, although somewhat complacent, had been a police investigator before the end of the world and was well-versed in the radio repeater systems they were now after.
Keith hitched up the pack he carried. Along with several bottles of water and some deer jerky – their limited food supply – he carried a deep-cell battery and some distilled water. Praying the battery would work, it was more of a burden than a help at the moment. Curtis carried a similarly heavy load – the SINCGARS radio. With the battery, a stout antenna, and a little luck, they would get the SINCGARS working and attempt to make contact with someone, anyone.
“How much longer to this damn antenna, Curtis? This fucking battery is a pain in the ass to carry,” Keith complained.
Curtis ignored his cohort’s bellyaching. He could see the antenna about a hundred yards up the ridgeline, but didn’t want to give his newfound mule a reason to rest.
“Seriously, Curtis. What gives? How much longer?”
Curtis stopped. He turned to his partner, mildly perturbed. “If you knew this was going to be such a long hike, then why did you volunteer to go with me?”
“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Keith laughed humorlessly.
Curtis got a good laugh and continued up the slope.
“In all seriousness, it’s because I miss being normal. I figure if I help do something useful then maybe, just maybe, that will help get things back to normal around here. I miss the old days. I miss having an iPod, I miss having fun with my family that doesn’t involve running for my life. Hell, I even miss rush-hour traffic.”
Curtis glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Look, things around here are about as normal as it is going to get. We live in a walled-in town surrounded by the undead. I think the ‘normal’ ship sailed a long time ago, brother.”
“Like I have anything better to do right now. It beats fixing the wall or shoveling up horseshit in the stables. I’d like to think that I would be of better use than that.”
The repairs to the wall around Tazewell were going well, in spite of Keith’s lack of enthusiasm for fixing. The truck-sized hole had already been taken care of, replaced by a large moveable door. The door was considered the best idea for patch-up due to the inability of the town to be accessed from the east side. The town now possessed two main entry points; one at the west side near the jail, and the newly constructed east gate.
“Hey, brother, everyone’s got a job nowadays. Even if you are shoveling shit out of the stables, at least you are contributing to our small community,” Curtis continued.
“Speaking of small community, I thought we were going to extend the wall out some more. Give us a little more space,” Keith said.
Curtis motioned for his tired cohort to follow, and turned back toward his intended direction of travel. “Shit, son. It took Larry and his people over two years to get the wall where it is now, and even at that, we only have four square miles or so.”
Keith trudged forth, panting and sweating profusely. Curtis was no spring chicken, but he was kicking his ass in the mountain climbing department. Keith was about the same age as Curtis, but a sedentary existence combined with a poor diet had doomed him nearly to muscle atrophy. Keith was a shade under six feet tall capped with brown hair that was starting to show a bit of gray here and there. He felt much older than his forty-six year old frame, but his strength was quickly returning. He tried his best to keep up, but Curtis was a man on a mission.
“What’s your point, Curtis?” Keith asked.
“My point is that change is likely to be pretty damn slow, brother. Moving the wall could take weeks, even months.”
“I still think it would be in our best interest to move the damn thing.”
Curtis chuckled and spread his arms out, motioning to the forest around him. “Do you know how many square miles are in this great country of ours?”
“Um…no,” Keith managed out.
“Three-point-seven million square miles.”
Keith shook his head. “How do you know so much useless shit like that?”
“I used to spend quite a bit of time behind a desk. I did a lot of searching on Wikipedia.”
Keith scoffed and shook his head again.
“Now, since it took Larry and his people two years to do four square miles, how long will it take to do the whole country?”
Keith hung his head. He knew that he’d been had. “A fucking long-ass time.”
“A fucking long-ass time, correct,” Curtis repeated.
After a few more minutes of loathing, Keith eyed the tower. The derelict radio antenna sat atop a ridgeline that had evidently been a well-used area. A half-dozen metal structures stood atop the mountain. Cell phone towers, radio antennae, and a small maintenance shack were all within a hundred yards of one another.
“Here we go. Let’s hope this wasn’t a total crapshoot. You ready to drop that pack, Keith?” Curtis asked, removing his own bag.
“Damn straight I am. I say we start with the maintenance shack. Might find something of use in there,” Keith said.
As if to punctuate his comment, an unintelligible sound emanated from the radio shack. Curtis slowed for a moment, and then drew his well-used Ka-Bar from the sheath on his vest.
Keith stopped. “Shouldn’t we be using sidearms for this, Curtis?”
“You want to run all the way back to the horses? It’s a hell of a jog from here, all downhill at a pace that would probably end with one of us breaking our neck. We keep quiet as long as humanly possible to avoid any uninvited assholes.”
Keith waved off Curtis’ advice. “All right, all right,” he replied. Keith drew a timeworn WWI trench knife from a sheath on his hip. The old knife had seen better days, but a better zombie-killing weapon did not exist. The handle of the knife was essentially a set of brass knuckles. The bottom of the knife had a pointed tip, known as a “skull crusher.” The blade of the knife was roughly six inches long, completing the tool. It was a mean-looking piece of work.
Keith dropped the pack. The immediate relief of losing the extra fifteen or so pounds was evident on his face. He slumped his shoulders and let out a deep sigh.
“God I thought I would never get rid of that damn thing,” Keith quipped. He tugged at his shirt, the copious amount of sweat sticking to the gray material.
Curtis shook his head at Keith and eased toward the door. Nails scraping against the inside of the door gave away the position of the unfortunate soul trapped inside. A strangled, throaty growl came from the shed.
Keith eased closer to the shed. The flimsy aluminum door – which was no more than a large section of aluminum siding – bowed and flexed with the meager shoving of the zombie trapped inside. The door was secured by a rusted hasp and small lock. Keith reached the door and nodded to Curtis. Curtis returned the gesture.
Keith bashed the lock once, smacking it hard with the brass knuckles of his trench knife. An instant later, the lock was no more, as was the hasp. A decade of rust had not been kind to the mechanism, and it fell away. The resulting cacophony of noise gave newfound life – so to speak – to the undead intruder inside.
The radio shack zombie lunged forward, bursting the door open. The zombie came out of the doorway and spilled onto the ground. The unfortunate soul looked as if he had been tasked with working for the local power company, dressed in a disgusting pair of khakis and a shirt that – in its prime – had been red.
“Fucker! Dammit, I hate it when they do that!” Keith blurted out, startled for a moment.
Curtis casually stepped on the power company zombie’s back, pinning him down. He knelt down and ended the creature’s existence with a swift stab to the back of the skull with 1095 Cro-van steel. Curtis wiped the business end of the knife on the power company zombie’s khaki pants before putting it away in its sheath.
“Nasty bastards. I’m with you on the whole ‘getting back to normal’ thing, Keith. This shit used to be a challenge. Feels more like a job now.”
Keith forced open the flimsy door. “Yeah, well it is the shittiest job I believe I’ve ever had, and I worked for some uppity assholes before I became a cop.”
“Like what?” Curtis asked pushing the zombie aside with his foot.
“In college I worked landscaping for some rich fuckers in New York. Builds character, but I had to listen to more than my fair share of well-to-do assholes complain about how their hedges weren’t exactly the same height. I paid my way through college with a shitload of blood and sweat.”
“Fair enough.” Curtis removed the SINCGARS from his own pack and carried it into the radio shack. “Time to see if all this work has paid off. Let’s get this thing hooked up and…” Curtis trailed off, noting that Keith was no longer in his presence. He looked left and right swiftly, finally spotting his partner.
Keith had wandered away from the door and to a spot on the other side of the ridge. Since they were at one of the highest points in the area, a little recon was in order. Keith stood at the top of the ridge and peered through a set of binoculars. The magnification wasn’t the greatest on the old set, but he saw something that warranted another look. He pulled the binoculars away from his eyes and waved Curtis over.
“Curtis, you better take a look at this,” Keith said, his voice on the edge of cracking.
Curtis sat the SINCGARS down and joined Keith on the side of the hill. “What’s up, brother?”
Keith silently handed him the binoculars, never taking his eyes off what lay in front of him. Curtis frowned at him and pulled the binoculars to his own eyes. After a few seconds of scanning, he saw what had given Keith so much worry.
The main four-lane road stretched out a mile or so beneath them, travelling east/west. From their vantage point, they could see almost all the way to Bluefield, nearly five miles away. It was the same road that Joe and the rest of the team had taken a week or so ago in the mission to the East River tunnel. The road had been sparsely populated with undead, except for one notable exception – the tunnel itself. The East River tunnel had been packed with thousands of zombies a little over a week ago.
Curtis lowered the binoculars. “Let’s get the radio up and running. We need to get on the horn with Joe and the rest of the boys. We’ve got a big fucking problem.”

Wednesday, December 2, 2015

A look ahead

Since 2015 is slowly dwindling away (already!) I thought that I would go ahead and give everyone a look at what 2016 has to offer. 2015 saw the start of 2 new series' with The Travelers Saga and Refuge From The Dead. The Travelers Saga was my first foray into Sci-Fi and is a novelization of a short story that I did a couple years ago titled The End of days...Again. Refuge From The Dead is a zompoc series that Six Feet From Hell fans will LOVE. Speaking of Six Feet From Hell, the final entry into the series will be out in 2016, as well as sequels to others. I promise it will be a helluva year!

Planned releases for 2016

Refuge From The Dead - Fortress
Refuge From The Dead - #3
Lost Within - The Travelers Saga #2
Dead Legends #2 (Follow up to R.I.P. Van Winkle)
Six Feet From Hell: Endgame

Sunday, November 22, 2015

Refuge From The Dead - Lockdown available now!

Refuge From The Dead - Lockdown is available now on Kindle! $2.99 to buy or read for FREE with Kindle Unlimited! Grab a copy HERE

Thursday, November 12, 2015

Guest Post - Greg P. Ferrell #WinterofZombie 2015

Guest Post: Greg P. Ferrell #WinterofZombie

In honor of being a part of this year’s Winter of Zombie blog tour, here is a set of short stories written exclusively for the visitors to the tour. These were started back during the Summer of Zombie tour. They’re from the perspective of one Tony the Zombie and his personal gripes against us humans. Typed out by Greg P. Ferrell because really, have you ever seen a zombie use a keyboard? It’s not pretty.

A day in my dead life!
Chapter 5
By: Tony the zombie
Translated by: Greg P. Ferrell

Tony the zombie here, and I want to have an honest open dialogue with you about our feelings. I’ve been talking with some of my fellow undead, and we all have a similar gripe, name calling. Seriously people, this has got to stop. We are zombies and that is what we want to be called. The names you scream out are kinda hurtful and we would like it to stop. What names am I talking about? As much as I hate to say them out loud, I will do it this one time for your learning benefit.

First off Undead American, just another example of political correctness gone wrong, we are a global people not just in one region. Slab, zed, infected, turned, walker, lame brain, meat sack, maggot face, stinkers, rot heads, decayed, dead heads(that one I think is trademarked anyway), lurkers, creepers, jerks, geeks, roamers or any of the other creative things you people come up with. Please stop it. Even though our way of life or death, however you look at it, might make you think otherwise I’m here to tell you we do have feelings.

Sure I know you look out at us living free with no jobs or responsibilities and you’re jealous of it. You feel you have to say some of those things to make yourself feel superior to us. Well I have a solution for you. Step outside and put down your loud bang sticks and let us bring you into our ranks. Membership drives are constantly going on and we only have to take one bite and you will be one of us lucky ones. Once we are all one people again we can move past all the name-calling and hurtful things we do to one another.

So in closing remember, we were once people too but we got better. We want nothing more than to bring you into our way of life and become one again. Now I won’t promise that all of you will be accepted and we might completely eat a few of you in the process, but thats just the chance you will have to take. It’s worth it though if you make it through the hazing and become a full fledged member of our awesome new race of gut eaters, I mean zombies. Damn it! Now you have me doing it.
Now I have to go apologize to a pair of maggot bags that walked by when I said that out loud. See you next time. Oh well, for now this is Tony the Zombie signing off.
2015-05-09 15.04.05_resized
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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!