Showing posts with label apocalyptic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label apocalyptic. Show all posts
Friday, April 15, 2011
TRIPLE MONKEYS : A Dystopian, Post-Apocalyptic Short Story OUT NOW!
Triple Monkeys, my dystiopian, post-apocalyptic, shit-hits-the-fan short story, which only ever appeared in the Chimeraworld #6 anthology in 2009, is now available!
Oh, and there's no Zombies in this one!
Amazon US
Amazon UK
Smashwords
Only $0.99!
EXCERPT - From Triple Monkeys : A Dystopian, Post-Apocalypse Short Story
A PERSONAL EMANCIPATION PROCLAMATION...
The moment I let go of my fear and sent that first 7.62 x 39 round flying, I was emancipated.
No longer would I live in bondage to those fears. No longer would I live with the daily terror at any moment being escorted to one of the interment camps. I would never again feel myself start to piss when I saw armed soldiers rounding up people and throwing them in the back of trucks, like cattle.
At last, that icy knot I had carried around with me in my gut melted away.
With the penetration of that first traitorous skull, I was free.
AFTER THE FALL...
After the fall of everything we knew, after the infrastructure crumbled, the internet was killed, the cell phone towers shut off, the stores all closed, the electricity stopped flowing, and the water plants stopped pumping, most people were as defenseless and vulnerable as newborns.
Most of those who died were killed were within the first few weeks, in the days when everybody lost their mind.
As many died in the riots than did from the virus. But the Endgame came when everybody lined up for the new super-duper, cure-all anti-viral shot - even those who had always rebelled against getting flu shots or other vaccines stood in line for it.
The hysteria-inducing propaganda campaign about how horrendous a disease this was worked fabulously. People rioted to get shot up. They trampled others to death to get a shot. They pushed people out of the way, punched them and kicked them and threw them aside, people who were their friends and neighbors, family members.
Once the virus reassembled itself with new viruses in the shots, that was when millions more died. Within 48 hours, more than half of those who took the new shot were either dead, maimed or comatose.
And most of the rest lost their ability to think. They lost their own will. They lost their capacity for reason.
Taking away fast food death burgers, big screen TVs, and their two-for-one Cool Whip coupons was enough to make most people riot or lay down and die.
We were all lost.
There were millions dead.
Tens of millions.
And the death toll just kept on rising.
But some of us – just some of us – found the way back to our own humanity.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
HEAD SHOTS : Scenes from the Zombie Apocalypse
OUT NOW in Kindle Edition!
US – CLICK HERE TO BUY! - $0.99UK – CLICK HERE TO BUY! - £0.74
DON'T HAVE A KINDLE? NO PROBLEM! You can download FREE Kindle Apps HERE for : Windows PC , iPhone, Mac, Blackberry, iPad, Android & Windows Phone 7.
DESCRIPTION -
Meet Vic.
She used to be a cheerleader but her heart was never in it. She'd much rather have spent her time curb-stomping the high school Rah Rah Girls than cheering with them.
The daughter of the local "Vet who never left 'Nam," Vic had to fight tooth and nail for every single popularity point she ever earned.
But it was the skills her not-so-crazy father drummed into Vic her entire life that made her excel at surviving, starting with the day the world ended.
HEAD SHOTS : SCENES FROM THE ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE is a novella-length taster of a future full-length novel, HEAD SHOTS : LOVE SONG FOR THE APOCALYPSE.
Taking a slight departure from the usual continuous narrative, this 10,000 word novella is told in scenes, allowing for a lean, mean, rip-roaring read.
Excerpt from the opening of HEAD SHOTS : Scenes from the Zombie Apocalypse -
THE CHEERLEADER
WEEK 12
She stood in front of a broken window in the abandoned house they'd just looted. She was still. Silent. Others in the room whispered and whimpered, all of them terrified. They all knew what was coming.
Vic didn't even screw up her face when she caught their scent anymore. The stench carried over distance and you could always tell they would be here soon when the breeze smelled like the dead.
She heard shuffling coming from the left of the window. She stiffened, knife raised, ready to strike, muscles taut and glistening with sweat in the evening heat.
There was a gargling noise and the stink intensified. A young man behind her – no more than seventeen – bent double and heaved his guts up on to the floor as the scent of one of the dead fucks assaulted his nostrils. Some people just never got used to the aroma of rotting flesh.
That was what Vic usually called them, dead fucks. Each time she said it, she said it with venom. She said it with hatred. The F sound elongated when she spat it.
And then it was right in front of her. She grabbed at its head with a gloved hand, getting a fistful of maggots as well as hair.
She plunged the buck knife into its eye and wiggled it back and forth, up and down. She remembered her dad telling her they called it scrambling in Vietnam, “cause it leaves the brain looking like scrambled eggs – and 'bout as useful.” Then he would laugh, joyless, hollow laughter. Darkness would descend behind his eyes and color his gaze.
Vic knew that darkness now, she saw it in her own reflection.
She knew how it felt to be haunted, the way he was.
She pulled the blade out; it made a wet sucking noise; rancid vitreous humor dribbled down the loose meat face of the dead thing. The room voiced its disgust but she didn't even flinch.
Almost too easily she sliced through its neck, down to the bone. She hacked and stabbed at it, shattering vertebrae.
Then she punched it, just out of pure anger, needing the sting of pain in her own flesh to know she was hurting it, just to have that feeling of bone connecting with bone. The force of her blow separated the head from the neck and it fell backward, making the thing look like a rotten hoodie top. She laughed at it, but it was mirthless laughter, just like her dad...
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