As our clip opens our intrepid heroes in the monster truck Xenocider, followed by a convoy of pickups and SUVs full of fellow refugees, approach a heavily armed checkpoint. They have just narrowly escaped a herd of undead. Now they have to contend with an encampment of decidedly hostile living, with whom they have a serious grudge.
Who has time for a grudge in the zombie apocalypse? Derek Grace explains on the way, in this clip from the forthcoming THE WRONG KIND OF DEAD:
There’s no place for us to stop. No place that won’t be swarmed in minutes. Somehow the long straightaway into the checkpoint has managed to stay clear, but the guards could see us stopping.
“Brother Christopher wants to know how we’re handling the checkpoint,” A.J. says, looking up from her phone.
“Blast-text everyone, ‘What checkpoint? Bethany Jamison.’”
The look on A.J.’s face as she thumbs in the message is…well, let’s just say she knows exactly what I mean.
As Bethany Jamison’s stillborn daughter was pulled out that bitterly cold night not too long ago, we shuddered at the thought that she should wake up, as we knew she must. As we knew Bethany would. Any minute. Her husband, Justin, was still out, but these were things we could not, would not, bear witness to.
Elyssa handed me the .22. The look on her face nearly broke my heart for how sorry I knew she felt for me. Permitting mother and infant daughter to rise with the hunger of the unholy would be the foulest desecration of their pain-wracked remains. But who would want the job of putting a slug into their skulls?
The decision was my responsibility. So I accepted responsibility for its execution as well—as well as explaining it to Justin when he got back. Hooray for patriarchy. Right there in the room. Two bangs of the pistol, and a chorus of stricken, mournful screams shook the walls.
Nine-year-old A.J. was there the whole time. No one noticed her until it was all over. What with so many other people in the room, among so much screaming, so much blood, and so many tears, A.J. didn’t miss a thing.
Of course, it’s not as if she hadn’t seen death before. And unless she’s about to close her eyes for the next five minutes, she’ll see some more. A.J. knows it’s because of these people ahead that we couldn’t get Martha over to midwife Bethany’s labor.
Her eyes are fixed straight ahead on the armed men as we approach.
NEXT: Post-Apocalyptic Cooking with the Living Dead
Here’s a little something to read while you’re waiting on me to finish this.
Who has time for a grudge in the zombie apocalypse? Derek Grace explains on the way, in this clip from the forthcoming THE WRONG KIND OF DEAD:
There’s no place for us to stop. No place that won’t be swarmed in minutes. Somehow the long straightaway into the checkpoint has managed to stay clear, but the guards could see us stopping.
“Brother Christopher wants to know how we’re handling the checkpoint,” A.J. says, looking up from her phone.
“Blast-text everyone, ‘What checkpoint? Bethany Jamison.’”
The look on A.J.’s face as she thumbs in the message is…well, let’s just say she knows exactly what I mean.
As Bethany Jamison’s stillborn daughter was pulled out that bitterly cold night not too long ago, we shuddered at the thought that she should wake up, as we knew she must. As we knew Bethany would. Any minute. Her husband, Justin, was still out, but these were things we could not, would not, bear witness to.
Elyssa handed me the .22. The look on her face nearly broke my heart for how sorry I knew she felt for me. Permitting mother and infant daughter to rise with the hunger of the unholy would be the foulest desecration of their pain-wracked remains. But who would want the job of putting a slug into their skulls?The decision was my responsibility. So I accepted responsibility for its execution as well—as well as explaining it to Justin when he got back. Hooray for patriarchy. Right there in the room. Two bangs of the pistol, and a chorus of stricken, mournful screams shook the walls.
Nine-year-old A.J. was there the whole time. No one noticed her until it was all over. What with so many other people in the room, among so much screaming, so much blood, and so many tears, A.J. didn’t miss a thing.
Of course, it’s not as if she hadn’t seen death before. And unless she’s about to close her eyes for the next five minutes, she’ll see some more. A.J. knows it’s because of these people ahead that we couldn’t get Martha over to midwife Bethany’s labor.
Her eyes are fixed straight ahead on the armed men as we approach.
Here’s a little something to read while you’re waiting on me to finish this.
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| Book 1 has ONE exploding head on its cover. |
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| Book 2 has TWO exploding heads. See the pattern here? |
BLEEDING KANSAS, GRACE AMONG THE DEAD, THE WRONG KIND OF DEAD Copyright © 2013-2015 by L. Roy Aiken. All rights reserved.
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