Which can only mean more from Book 2 of The SAGA of the DEAD SILENCER, Grace Among the Dead. This is your final warning.
Derek Grace, our titular Dead Silencer, is fleeing what’s left of the invaders of his safe house and the things they drew towards them in the course of their noisy invasion. Just because it’s middle-of-nowhere Colorado ranch country doesn’t mean you’re at all safe. People did live out here, once.
The gunfire is loud enough to wake the dead. Here they come, pushing through the littered, overgrown fields, limping up the highway, homing in on the sounds of desperate, frightened food.
Deputy Grayson’s best bet is to get everyone into the house. That is, assuming they really want to live for another hour in a situation that still ends with them being eaten alive. I can see the former deputy barking orders at his wife as she shrieks and weeps, his children freeze in terror, and Big Jim blissfully craps his diaper. They’re doomed, no two ways about it.
I swerve among the dead crossing the road, their yellowy flesh scraped and torn by their progress though vast fields of nettles and barbed wire. I never knew so many people used to live out here, but judging by the numbers I see staggering through the overgrown pastures, it’s enough to make a good sized mob. A horde, even.
I slow and duck left down one of the dirt side roads. I pass a gaunt woman of indeterminate age in a pale blue nightgown. I can’t see any wounds, so I wonder if starvation killed her. She might even be one of the Original Risen, a Final Flu fatality. The latter seems most likely, given how she’s dressed for bed.
There’s something about her face. I ease my foot from the accelerator as I approach.
She doesn’t have the blood-beard. She has yet to feed.
She knows what the gunshots mean, though. She glances over her shoulder as I pass, but she’s shuffling forward as fast as her legs will carry her. I put my foot back down and tack towards the middle, lest anything stumbles out of the tall grasses to the road.
There’s love and redemption ahead for our wounded warrior of the post-apocalyptic wastes, but he’s still got a mess of living dead to take care of first, along with some ornery humans. Read all about it from the beginning while I finish the third book in the series, which will actually manage to top the Battle of Wal-Mart, the exploding fire truck, the weaponized undead behemoth, the writhing zombie parts in the trees, the monster truck, and all the other crazy stuff I’ve got going on in Bleeding Kansas and Grace Among the Dead. Seriously, I need to get back writing The Wrong Kind of Dead so I can see what totally insane shit is about to happen next.