Yep, you heard that right. Comes The Dark has been reviewed by Another Pissed Off Geek. But not just any pissed off geek, but the ones over at http://www.pissedoffgeek.com. Yep, my book got the geek treatment! I happy to have another review out there of my book, and am happy of what they thought of my book. So check it out!
I will be attending the Horror Realm Convention in a couple of weeks. Horror Realm is one of the premier convention for horror fans, and in particular zombie fans, and is held every year in Pittsburgh, PA, the birthplace of the modern zombie, when George A. Romero filmed Night of the Living Dead there over forty years ago. I haven’t had the opportunity to attend this event in the past, but I am very excited to not only having the chance to be going as a visitor, but also as a member of the Library of the Living Dead’s group of authors who will have tables at the convention. I will be selling and signing my book, Comes The Dark, and sharing space with a large group of other fantastic authors. In addition, I will have the opportunity to read from my novel on Sunday afternoon in one of the Author Panels and will be sharing the stage with Jake Bible, Robert Cordray, and Steve North. It will be a blast hanging out with these great group of writers. I just hope I have the opportunity to check out some of the other panels that are running all weekend long, which include both film and book panels, but I will promoting my book as much as I can, so I may be glued to my table most of the time. Not that I’m complaining-I can hardly wait to have the chance to meet and greet other horror fans like myself and talk up my book.
The Convention runs from September 17th-19th at the Crowne Plaza, Pittsburgh South. Check out the website: http://www.horrorrealmcon.com/ for all the information you’ll need to get tickets, find out who is going to be in attendance, and the schedule of events. That weekend will be jammed packed with a huge array of events that every horror fan will love. I am really looking forward to the costume party on Saturday night. Given that I will be getting all gussied up for a video spot being done a couple of hours before that for the Library of the Living Dead, I will fit in perfectly!
So if you live in the region and have the opportunity, head on over to Horror Realm the weekend of September 17th-19th and check it out. And if you can’t make it, check back here after that weekend to see what pictures I post and the stories I will have to tell about having the chance to meet all these fantastic people involved in writing horror novels and staring in horror films. I’m just hoping I don’t act like a total goofball when I get the chance to meet these people…but there is little doubt that I will.
I was recently interviewed by Mike Gardner over at Living Dead Corner about Comes The Dark as well as some of the short stories I’ve been working on. We also chatted about the upcoming sequel and the third installment in my trilogy, along with some other interesting topics. Take a look see over at: http://livingdeadcorner.blogspot.com/2010/08/interview-with-author-patrick-dorazio.html
I want to thank Mike for taking the time to interview me and asking some great questions. It was fun doing the interview with another up and coming horror writer.
So click on over and check it out!
Eden: Crusade is the sequel to Tony Monchinski’s first novel, Eden, which was essentially a murder mystery set in the community of Eden, a walled and barricaded sanctuary in New York City during the zombie apocalypse. The saga continues in book two with several of the key characters who survived Eden, and the primary story in Crusade is of their journey north, out of the city, toward a place that promises to be a safe haven for them. We are also introduced to a sizable group of other survivors who end up connecting with the characters from the first book toward the end of this story. The novel is book ended by chapters that take place in the future, where Bear, one of the key characters of both book one and two, taking it upon himself to start a crusade to destroy every last one of the undead in existence.
Overall, the storytelling style of Crusade is similar to the first book. The author is unapologetic of what happens to his characters, taking them in whatever direction serves his story rather than parceling out mercy or softening his touch anywhere along the way. He gives each character, minor or major, tremendous depth, which is impressive given the volume of people the reader is presented with in between these pages. We gain new insights into the old characters from the first book, but newer characters like Steve, Eva, and Sonya are also fully formed and felt very real and vital to me. Tony Monchinski has the knack of creating characters that revel in their shades of gray. What I mean by this is that it appears that almost anyone is capable of doing anything good or evil, given the means and motivation, and Tony is willing to explore that, no matter how sentimental the readers may be about a character they have gotten to know. That may be tough to swallow at some points in this story, but it is something I respect a great deal, because it shows a willingness to push and keep pushing as far as is necessary to get the storytelling job done.
As I try to do with my reviews, I bring up what I felt didn’t work for me along with what did. With Crusade, surprisingly, what didn’t work for me was in the first chapter. The book begins with a massive and lopsided battle pitting two characters against a mob of the undead that numbers in the thousands. I felt that it went on longer than was necessary, with an extensive description of all the weapons used, every tactic examined. I think it had a visceral appeal to it, but after a few pages, it felt repetitive to me. It could have been condensed and had the same impact on the story in my humble opinion. I thought it was certainly a powerful opening, but again, could have been shortened and still worked quite well.
With that one minor gripe out of the way, I consider this book an excellent sequel to Tony’s impressive debut. Again, I say that this writer has a talent for developing characters that are fully formed and razor sharp. He also gives his stories a gritty realism that is unapologetic. I am excited to see what the third book of the Eden trilogy holds, and look forward to reading it with great anticipation.
Eden: Crusade can be found on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Crusade-Eden-Book-Tony-Monchinski/dp/1934861332/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1282884119&sr=1-1
Matt Nord, aka Farmboy, aka Zombie Custodian, has just posted an interview we just did. So if you can stand to read some more of my babble about Comes The Dark and some of my short story stuff, take a looksee over at:
I would like to thank Matt for asking me to answer his questions. It still does amaze me that anyone out there is interested in anything I have to say on any subject whatsoever. It was a lot of fun.
Peter Lyles has the misfortune of having friends on spring break who can’t tell the difference between sleeping pills and ecstasy. So when he ODs after they give him five pills of the latter when he has never taken a drug in his life, this nerdy virgin looks like he is going to have a pretty unimpressive obituary after leading a very dull life. But that is before he hooks up with Madam Sangrail. One of Peter’s friends knows the Madam, who is a New Orleans Voodoo priestess that has been known to raise the dead (among other things) and they take Peter’s body to her with the hope that she can work her charms on him. Given that she is a Tantra priestess, Peter not only rises from the dead, other parts of him rise as well.
This is the story, told in first person, of a insecure, intelligent, nerdy teenager who has the fortune of dying and coming back for the erotic ride of his unlife. Madam Sangrail not only turns Peter into an intelligent zombie, but she teaches him how to control the hunger for flesh that comes with being undead by feeding off the sexual energies of the women he beds. She tutors him in how to avoid the inevitable rot and unattractive appearance of his dead flesh with a combination of magic and clean living that will allow him to use his endless sexual appetite to his advantage. Understand, this is not a story where the reader is regaled with an endless series of conquests Peter has after leaving the sweet company of his Madam, but instead are treated to the highlights of his journey, which do admittedly include some of his key conquests, but also tells a tale of frustration, sadness, the search for happiness, understanding, and love as he grows to maturity as a man.
I haven’t read much in the way of erotica, instead, I have an affinity for the undead and all sorts of stories about them. I have never limited my intake of different creative approaches to the zombie genre, and this book is a great example of a writer really mixing things up in a wonderful way and giving us something entirely new. Tonia Brown has done a nice job of melding the voodoo and Romero variants of undead for this story. Peter is a zombie, but his brain is just fine-he is intelligent and can function as a normal human being as long as he takes precautions and realizes that he must always feed-he has to devour the sexual energies of his partners or he will end up devouring their flesh. It’s a nice twist and provides us with a story with plenty of twists and turns as we learn about the unlife of Peter, an undead gigolo with a romantic streak a mile wide and a non-beating heart of gold.
Peter, in many ways, is the ideal lover. He never grows weary, has unlimited stamina, and seems to genuinely appreciate woman for both their inner and outer beauty. This is no rogue account of the lusty conquests of Peter, but more of a coming of age story that allows a boy to become a man. A man who must remain in temperatures below seventy degrees so his body parts don’t start to rot off, mind you, but a man never the less.
This is a well written, entertaining novel that will give the fan of romance and the fan of the undead both something new and creative to enjoy.
Lucky Stiff can be found at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1452833974/ref=s9_simh_gw_p14_i1?pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_s=center-2&pf_rd_r=1SMSKB3G2JDV3W2D5S8B&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=470938631&pf_rd_i=507846
Well, I have learned that it is not good form to write reviews for anthologies that you contributed to-at least not in places like Amazon, where the reviews are scrutinized for any affiliation to the author(s) of a book and anything that appears to be biased is treated as less than sincere, unfortunately. I do understand the logic there, though I am a compulsive reviewer, at least of every zombie book I can get my hands on. I don’t feel the need to review everything I read, but certainly those books that are near and dear to my heart are ones I like to review, and The Zombist certainly falls into that category.
I just got finished reading this massive tome, which clocks in at more than 450 pages of tales of zombies in the old west. Twenty nine authors provided stories for this book, and the amazing Dr. Pus, publisher for The Library of the Living Dead, couldn’t resist bringing out something that was heavy enough to bash a zombie’s brain in rather than breaking it into two separate volumes. So anyone who is a fan of zombie fiction is going to have a lot to entertain them and get a great bargain in the process. We get a pretty good cross section of creative stories in this book, with the traditional Romero slow movers and speedier creations that have become more popular more recent years, zombies sent from hell, zombie ghosts, and the voodoo zombies as well, which are sprinkled through out this book and offer a nice change of pace from the regular flesh eaters (don’t get me wrong- I LOVE my regular flesh eaters!). My own story “The Woeful Tale of Dalton McCoy” is one such story, and I have to say I enjoyed creating a bit of voodoo and setting it in the area of the country I grew up in.
Quite a few authors I have gotten to know over the past year contributed to this book, along with many others I wasn’t familiar with, but loved discovering them through their stories in this book. Many, if not most of the stories in this book stood out as excellent, and the one that really stuck with me was probably Michael C. Lea’s “The Hot Springs Zombie Incident of 1875” which gets some big bonus points for creative use of a zombie as well as leaving me torn between laughing and cringing by the end of his tale. A lot of the other stories were just as entertaining and some were even quite touching, as the occasional zombie story tends to do. Most folks who don’t read this sort of stuff tend to think it is all about the gore and the zombies themselves, but those of us in know enjoy zombie stories because of the compelling human element of them. I think that is what sets the zombie genre apart from most other monster based horror genre tales-the monsters aren’t the stars of the story, the human beings are.
Another writer with an excellent story in this book is Jamie Eyberg, who unfortunately passed away, along with his wife, in a tragic accident this week. My sympathies go out to his family on their loss. It is my hope that Jamie’s memory will live on through the wonderful stories he has created and that this may provide his loved ones some small comfort in the years to come. I know that at least a couple more of his stories will be appearing in upcoming Library anthologies. Jamie, you will be missed.
I am very proud of my work in this anthology and even more proud of the fact that I am sharing a Table of Contents with such a tremendous group of writers. I won’t be writing a review of the book on Amazon, so instead, I offer this: if you enjoy westerns, and enjoy horror, then The Zombist is right up your alley. You get a huge value with such a massive tome of twenty nine different tales of undead mayhem, along with six guns, shamans, Voodoo Priests, and even a few historical characters, like George Custer, thrown in for a bit of added flavor. Go check it out-you won’t be disappointed!
Check out this latest review of my novel, Comes The Dark. This one comes from Tony Schaab over at The G.O.R.E. Score. I’m pretty thrilled to have another positive review of my book and hope you check it out.
Reviews keep coming in and thus far, they have all been positive. Tony gave me an honest, constructive review, which I love, because it will help me continue to become a better author and story teller with my future stories.
So if you haven’t checked out Comes The Dark yet, after you check out some of the reviews I’ve posted, give it a shot. 🙂
I haven’t really posted something that was just my thoughts on writing since this whole process of the book actually being publish began a few weeks ago. At this stage in the game, it seems to be all about promoting my work more than anything else, so I really haven’t talked about what is going on with my writing efforts nowadays (except for short stories that are being released now, or very soon). So I thought I would take a few moments and actually contemplate where things are at the present moment.
I have given some thought to posting some of the extra “stuff” that I wrote for the three novels that start with Comes The Dark here on my blog. Stuff that helped me develop the story and give it some background-stories about the characters that didn’t make the final cut. Since there was so much of that, it might make sense to provide a few blog entries on the story of George and Jason, or Megan, as well as some of the other things that took place ‘behind the scenes’ as it were. In time, when the book has been out there for a while, I may start doing that, although not on any specific schedule. I will have to see what comes of things. What really makes me think that it may be worthwhile to do this is the fact that one of these ‘stories’ has been accepted as a stand alone short story for an anthology called Eye Witness Zombie, being published by May December Publishers, and are tales of the zombocalypse told from a first person perspective. I had to do some modifications to make it first person, but after that was done, the story worked well as a stand alone. It has ties with the second novel in my trilogy, which will be released early next year, but not enough that it actually reveals any (or much) of the plot of my novel. I remembered originally writing this story in one fevered pitch-I pumped out about 16,000 words in one night, most of which was unintelligible garbage at the time. It was a total tangent-loosely related to the novel, but off on its own, with a character who appears nowhere else as the central focus. He had a very vague connection to two characters in the books though and that led me to write it that night. The unintelligible garbage got reworked and inserted into the novel, then I realized it was a massive amount of words that took the reader on a journey that was off the primary path of the story, even if i felt it was a good story to tell. So finding it a home after I cut it from the final novel made me extremely happy. I really believe it is a story worth telling. Now if only the other ones I have in mind are as well. They will be more closely related to the novels with main characters at the heart of them, so it will be much more difficult to promote them as stand alone short stories, but giving them a home here on the blog may be the idea place for them.
In other news, as I have been doing since I started this blog, I have been writing a lot of short stories. I am probably not the most prolific writer, but I do try to hit as many submission calls that my publisher has, as well as some others out there from other houses that look interesting. I wish I had specific release dates on some of the ones that have been accepted, but whether they are coming out this year or next, I am pretty excited about all of them (as most writers would be about their babies). I am currently trying my hand at a bit of erotic horror, which is much like bizarro for me in that I have never written anything in this particular genre before, and doubt it will ever become my forte. Then again, my bizarro story made the cut in an anthology, so if my erotica tale does as well, who knows? I don’t know much, but what I have learned so far is not to pigeon hole myself as a writer. I am keeping all doors open, especially as I help my son write his YA zombie/vampire/werewolf story. The boy has no boundaries when it comes to ideas, so it is always a trip to hear him talk about it.
As I continue promoting my novel and work on getting the second one ready to go for my publisher (the first round of edits are already complete and I have turned in my revisions, so that process is going great), I also need to start working on my next book, which I have been saying to myself as well as anyone else who will listen, that I have already started on it. Given that it is outlined and I like the outline a great deal, the time is probably ripe for me to start pounding it out on the keyboard. Outlines for me are guides that can be adjusted and modified as needed for as many sudden changes that need to take place in a book or story. Many writers I know find outlines to be restricting and binding to the point that they hate them. I guess I am not that type of writer, because while I love to have as many sudden inspirations that change everything as much as the next person, I need a skeleton, even a weirdly shaped one, to start pinning stuff to, which is why I outline so much. So I build a blue print, which for others may be the equivalent of actually starting to write the story, since my outlines often take on a rather deep complexity, with minute details in them that sort of defies the idea of it being only an ‘outline’. But since I don’t consider it writing until I start putting it into the actual MS word document, the term outline will have to due for whatever it is I have already done for novel number 4.
I guess that is enough rambling for now. Tomorrow is another day for me to keep attacking this new erotic story and to beat myself up a bit more about the next novel, and to think about all the formatting stuff I need to do for the second novel…and some of the other submission calls and what their due dates are, because I don’t want to miss them.
Another review has been posted on the web for Comes The Dark, this one from Living Dead Media, another great website for all things horror and zombie. Check the review out here, at this link:
I am pretty thrilled with this review, and pretty excited about the word of mouth my book is getting. If you haven’t had the chance to check out my book yet, take a lo0k at reviews like this one and the one from Dollar Bin Horror (the link is a few posts down from here), as well as the reviews posted on Amazon.
Please consider posting your own review on Amazon once you read my book. I would love to know what you think!
Getting Comes The Dark for your E-Reader…as well as many other titles from The Library of the Living Dead.
Did you know that you can order various books from Library of the Living Dead Press in pdf format that you can read on your computer or upload to your e-reader, like the Kindle, Nook, and others?
Just another way to access Comes The Dark along with a ton of other great books with ease.
Check out this link for details on how to do it:
Comes The Dark and virtually every other book that can be found at www.thelibraryofthelivingdead.com can be ordered this way.
I just wanted to shout from the rooftops after seeing this new review for Comes The Dark over at Dollar Bin Horror. Head on over there and check it out!
In my epic quest to get my novel in as many different places as possible, it is now available at Barnes and Noble’s website on this link:
It is currently selling for $10.76, which is the same sale price over at Amazon. So if you are so inclined, feel free to head over to B&N and make a purchase there. Also, feel free to drop a review on that site after you read my book, since it is currently barren of reviews, while there are four at Amazon.
Kevin and Angel have survived in his apartment during the first month of the zombie apocalypse with a group of other survivors who are living, essentially, in denial. The zombies are getting in despite the insistence of others that they cannot get in. Even though they have barricaded the place pretty tightly there are less and less of living souls as the days go on. So the duo pick up and depart the complex, heading toward the mountains nearby, with the hopes of steering clear of the mass of the undead in the city. Before they get too far, they end up at a university research facility which still houses several scientists and a few others who have decided to continue on with their research in an effort to discover the cause, and possibly a cure, for what has caused the dead to come back to life. Unfortunately, they are all working at crossed purposes and none of them except a security guard named Janet seems to care about what is out beyond the fence. The undead have mostly left them alone and no one really seems to like it when Kevin rocks the boat by suggesting that they take a more serious approach to defense, since all they have is a chain link fence to protect themselves and more and more zombies seem to be gathering at the gate every day.
This book is broken up into the main story, which is novella sized, and then a short story that is almost novella sized, that finishes things up. I do not want to give away much of the plot, but I will say that this book does take a different approach than many other apocalyptic zombie books that you will see out there in how things occur, especially with the novella tacked on to the end of it. The writing is solid and well edited, with very few typos, but the story itself may not appeal to all people, especially those who have faith that in the end, humanity will win out. I was frustrated at points with certain characters and how they acted, but not because I didn’t think what they did wasn’t realistic or anything of the sort-it is more like getting frustrated because some of the characters who buried their heads in the sand, or seemed willing to give up on things too easily, remind me way too much of how some poor souls act in real life when faced with challenging or harrowing situations. You almost have to shake your head at them and curse under your breath. If it was a movie, you would scream at the movie screen and tell them to wake up. Does that mean I disliked how the story unfolded? No, I think this was a grim story and none of the characters came across as heroes or heroines…just people sleep walking through what little remained of their lives because they don’t really know what else they can do. Despair has gripped them all, and it is difficult for them to hope for better in the future.
This is perhaps not the most upbeat tale of the apocalypse (which sounds like a contradiction in terms), but perhaps one of the more realistically brutal ones. The senselessness of it all rings true in this story-Kevin and Angel do what they have to care for one another, but cannot truly love each other-they need to hold on tightly, but cannot feel much in a dead world. It is perhaps a matter of understanding HOW to survive, but perhaps not really knowing WHY to survive.
Dead Beyond The Fence can be found at Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0615345786/ref=cm_cr_thx_view
I am very excited to announce that Comes The Dark is now on the Kindle device, and can be bought for the low low price of $2.99! We are talking less than the price of a Happy Meal, and dang near less than a gallon of gas!
So if you have this device, do yourself a favor and check out my book.
Here is the link:
I had never taken a swipe at Bizarro fiction previously, but decided to take up the challenge when a submission call was put out earlier this year for Bizarro Horror Short stories. I came up with a little piece of oddness called “Consumer’s Paradise”, which appears second in the Table of Contents of this book. It has not been released yet, but as you can see, the cover has been designed already. Hopefully, it will be out soon, because I can’t wait to check out the rest of these strange stories.
For those not in the know, Bizarro is defined as:
1. Bizarro, simply put, is the genre of the weird.
2. Bizarro is literature’s equivalent to the cult section at the video store.
3. Like cult movies, Bizarro is sometimes surreal, sometimes goofy, sometimes bloody, and sometimes borderline pornographic.
4. Bizarro often contains a certain cartoon logic that, when applied to the real world, creates an unstable universe where the bizarre becomes the norm and absurdities are made flesh.
5. Bizarro strives not only to be strange, but fascinating, thought-provoking, and, above all, fun to read.
6. Bizarro was created by a group of small press publishers in response to the increasing demand for (good) weird fiction and the increasing number of authors who specialize in it.
7. Bizarro is Franz Kafka meets Joe Bob Briggs, Dr. Suess of the postapocalypse, Japanese animation directed by David Lynch.
Very excited about this and will definitely be posting something once it has been released.
My original plan was to post the first three chapters of my book before it was released here on my blog, but my publisher did such a great job of getting the book out and available so quickly that I didn’t get the chance to post chapter 3 before this whirlwind of events started happening. So I thought I would post all three chapters here, back to back, to save you the trouble of searching for the previous chapters further back in the blog. My hope is that if you like the first few chapters, you will give my book a shot and buy it over on Amazon. It can be found there at http://www.amazon.com/Comes-Dark-Zombie-Patrick-DOrazio/dp/1453701281/ref=sr_1_11?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1280498. It will also be available on the Kindle within the next week to ten days and there are rumblings that it may be available on http://www.barnesandnobles.com as well as the Nook down the road. In addition to this, you can order the book through any brick and mortar bookstore by requesting it through the Ingrams catalog and referencing the ISBN number, which is:
- ISBN-10: 1453701281
- ISBN-13: 978-1453701287
Sorry, I am not sure how ISBN numbers work, so I figured I would post both of them.
Anyway, without further ado, here are the first three chapters of Comes The Dark.
Jeff bit his lip as he tried to maintain a grip on the aluminum baseball bat in his sweaty hands. He splashed through a slick puddle of blood as he continued running down the sidewalk.
The backpack jounced up and down and he slipped his hand around the strap to make sure it stayed in place. The tin cans and boxes of crackers thumped in time to his footsteps. Increasing his speed, he tried to suck in another lungful of air.
The howls of rage had grown distant but slowing down wasn’t an option. Not until he was safely back inside. As he crested the hill a smile tugged at Jeff’s lips—there were only a few more houses to pass and he would be home free.
Pulling tighter on the frayed strap hanging over his shoulder, he moved onto the grass to avoid hearing his own footsteps. Eyes darting back and forth, he spied no movement as his house came into view. It was hard to believe it had only been an hour since he had crept out to go on a hunt for food. He spotted the dark brown side door, which stood in stark contrast to the light beige siding that surrounded it.
Skidding to a halt in front of the door, Jeff’s eyes narrowed. There was a smudge near the knob. A rusty red finger-shaped outline caused his heart to skip a beat.
Feeling a rush of white hot terror flooding his system, Jeff looked around, eyes shifting to the bushes at the back of his neighbor’s house. He could feel his heart racing and pulse accelerate as he tried to keep his breathing normal. Turning quickly, he looked across the street at the other houses, scanning for movement among the shadows. Ignoring the moans and howls off in the distance, he tried to reassure himself no one was watching or waiting to pounce. Taking a deep breath, he tried to tell himself that everything was going to be okay.
The smudge had not been there before. He recalled staring at the door after shutting it earlier and wondering if leaving, even if for a little while, was such a good idea. There had been no scratches and certainly no blood on the door when he left. That was not something the detail oriented man would have missed.
Jeff dug into his pocket and curled his fingers around the house key. Regardless of whoever…or whatever…had left the mark on the door all that mattered now was getting back inside before he was discovered out here.
As the key touched the knob and the door moved slightly, Jeff’s eyes widened and his hand began to quiver. The door was already unlocked. Worse, it wasn’t even shut. He began to shake his head and whisper “no” over and over. It couldn’t be.
Jeff knew he had locked the door when he left. He had hugged Ellen, told Frankie and Mary to behave for mommy, and then…
A cold, stark fear for his family’s safety overrode the slow itch of terror in Jeff’s gut as he slammed his fist into the door and burst into the garage. Staring into the darkened space, he nearly stumbled but somehow his watery legs managed to hold him up.
Mark, his next door neighbor, was bent over Ellen, teeth buried in her neck. A wide pool of bright red fluid gushed from where he gnawed at her torn flesh.
Jeff froze in the doorway as he desperately tried to comprehend what he was seeing. The guy he had shared a few beers with over discussions about politics, baseball, and the Horton’s Rottweiler crapping in their yards was tearing into his wife’s throat. Jeff couldn’t quite see Ellen’s face because Mark’s blood-drenched hand was clasped over her eyes and nose, but it was definitely her. There was a faint scent of jasmine in the air mixed in with the rich coppery scent of blood. It was that perfume she always wore. The tenth anniversary diamond ring he had given her a year before sparkled in a splash of sunlight as her arm flopped to the side. Jeff’s eyes gravitated to the ring but it was hard to catch more than a brief glimpse of it as his wife’s fingers twitched violently in response to the tearing motion of Mark’s teeth.
The door, already forgotten, banged against the wall. Jeff did not hear the sound over the pounding of his heart but Mark did. The grayish figure lifted his head and hissed at Jeff, his teeth caked with bits of Ellen’s flesh. Ragged runners of gruel bubbled from his mouth as the lunatic huddled protectively over his prize.
All Jeff could think was that this was madness. In a few seconds Mark would wink at him and Ellen would sit up and say something like “gotcha.” Then they would all laugh at how gullible Jeff had been to even believe for a second that any of this was real.
But as waves of horror washed over him, Jeff tried and failed to deny the reality of what he was seeing. Mark’s milky white eyes peered up at him; dark pinpricks that had been his pupils the only color remaining in them. Forcing himself to look away from the crumpled form of his wife, Jeff stared at his neighbor once again. Mark’s shirt was torn open and hung slack on his oddly colored flesh. There were various sores and open wounds displayed on his neck, arms, and chest. Greenish-black ooze stained the infected man’s clothing and as he began to lever his body up, the stench slammed into Jeff like a sledgehammer.
Jeff wanted to run. He wanted to run screaming from this place and never look back. But as he shifted his gaze back to the only woman he had ever loved, a hundred different memories flooded into his mind, blotting out the image of the gore-stained lump of flesh that remained behind: kissing her for the first time at midnight on New Year’s Eve…burning the dinner he had cooked for her on the night he proposed…watching her and Mary drench the kitchen in flour when they tried to bake cookies together. There was an echoing scream rattling inside Jeff’s head but he couldn’t get it past his lips. All those memories, along with his wife, had been obliterated in the blink of an eye.
Jeff tried to take a step back but discovered his shoulder was pressed against the doorjamb, blocking his escape. His legs had moved of their own volition, dragging the stunned survivor backwards until there was nowhere left to go. As Mark finally rose up and moved slowly toward him, Jeff realized he couldn’t breathe anymore.
Mark’s eyes fixed on Jeff and he felt his legs and arms stiffen in terror. The lunatic’s pupils were almost hypnotic as they burrowed into him. There was great pain and rage in those eyes, but more than anything, there was hunger…a profound hunger that could devour the world if given the chance.
As the ghoul dragged its ruined body over Ellen’s corpse it tripped and staggered. Jeff blinked as he watched the bogeyman right himself awkwardly. In that moment, it was as if the world suddenly snapped back into place. Mark had turned into some kind of monster to be feared, that much was true, but he was also the bastard that had murdered his wife. Watching carefully as Mark pulled his back foot over Ellen’s prone form, Jeff gripped the baseball bat tightly as he got into a wobbly batter’s stance.
The swing was not his best but it still connected with Mark’s arm, sending him sideways. There was a muffled thump as the bat connected with the infected man’s spoiled flesh. Jeff’s eyes widened when Mark did not react to the painful blow, his milky-white eyes never losing sight of their target. Adjusting, Mark got his feet back underneath him and kept coming.
The second swing was stronger, aimed at Mark’s face. It connected with the ghoul’s neck instead and there was an audible crack as bones broke. Mark’s head twisted, wrapping around the bat as his skin stretched and tore. His knees buckled but he did not fall over immediately. Instead, one of his arms shot out in an effort to grab a hold of Jeff’s shirt.
Letting go of the bat, Jeff pushed back against the wall even harder, doing his best to burrow through the drywall. The bat clattered to the floor and Mark took a single wavering step forward before collapsing. His head slammed into the concrete with an audible thud.
Jeff stood stiffly next to the slumped over body for what seemed an eternity. He stared into his neighbor’s eyes as a torrent of emotions poured over him. Irrationally, he feared the repercussions of murdering his neighbor though Mark would probably argue that he wasn’t dead if he could still speak. Instead, the ghastly creature stared balefully up at Jeff as small noises burbled from his shattered throat. Unable to move his body, Mark continued to grind his teeth and hiss, unchecked rage carved on his face.
When Jeff’s heart rate settled and he started to breathe normally he unglued his eyes from the man at his feet and looked at his wife, whose appendages were no longer twitching. Crumpled, with legs bunched up underneath her, Jeff could see the rubber burn marks on the floor beneath her beat up sneakers. It was clear she had struggled fiercely, even as Mark sunk his teeth into her throat. She was always a fighter, he thought. Now that Ellen’s face was no longer covered Jeff could see that her eyes weren’t shut, a look of terror still on her face. There was agony in those green eyes…an agony that must have been the last thing she had felt.
Jeff’s knees gave way and he crumpled to the ground. Slamming his eyes shut he willed the horrible images of Ellen’s death that were burned into his retinas to go away. He felt dizzy and nauseous but since he had not eaten in nearly a day there would probably be nothing but dry heaves when the sickness finally overpowered him.
That was when he heard a blood curdling scream from down the street.
It had taken every last bit of his willpower to not curl up in a ball when he heard the noises coming from less than a block away. They had tracked him down. By the time he levered himself up from the floor and moved past Mark to slam and lock the door, he could hear them getting closer. His neighbors were closing in on the house. Jeff didn’t have the strength to look outside and see how many there were. Instead, he leaned against the door, panting and exhausted as the moans grew louder.
Raising his head, his eyes suddenly darted around and his body tensed. He tried to blot out the noises outside so he could capture another sound just hitting his ears. He looked at the door leading into the house.
Adrenaline flooded Jeff’s system again as reality came crashing down. The sound coming through the door was clearer than the muffled roars of anger and hunger bellowing from outside and yet…it sounded very familiar.
He began to hyperventilate, shaking his head in disbelief. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have blanked out and forgotten?
But the blood splatters in the laundry room confirmed what the cold, calculating part of Jeff’s brain already understood but the rest of him refused to believe.
Mark wasn’t the only one that had gotten into the house.
Jeff flew through the door. Everything inside him screamed that he had to move quickly, get inside, and stop these marauders. But as he heard the moans coming from upstairs he feared he was already too late.
Jeff steeled himself as he rushed inside; hoping against hope that he was wrong, and that somehow these monsters that had once been human had not found his children’s hiding place upstairs.
A short time later Jeff returned to the garage, his eyes dull, his arms splattered with blood. The aluminum bat was slung over his shoulder, dripping a thick, tar-like substance.
He ignored the pounding and screams of rage outside the garage door. They had found him, after all this time. The insanity outside had finally broken into his home and annihilated everything he knew.
As he slumped to the wooden steps, the small window on the side door shattered and was quickly followed by the sound of fists thumping on the thick slab of wood nailed behind it. Jeff idly wondered how long his jury-rigged barricade would hold up and if it really mattered anymore. He set the bat down and put his chin in his hands, propping his elbows on his knees.
As he sat listening to the scratching and clawing, interspersed with ragged fists splattering against the wood, he glanced down at the two bodies in the garage. He took a deep breath into his lungs, doing his best to ignore the thick taste of death that came with it. Mark was facing away so at least the man wasn’t staring at him.
His eyes slid from Mark to the pile of gas cans in the corner. Several propane tanks sat next to the smaller canisters, along with some other odds and ends Jeff had picked up a few weeks back when things had started getting dicey. He shook his head in disbelief. Back then their worst concern was potential power outages and being forced to use the barbeque grill for all their cooking.
His eyes left the pile of supplies and moved back toward his wife. Jeff wondered when he was going to cry. His eyes were still dry, even as he looked at the ragged blood filled hole Mark had left where her throat had been. He hadn’t cried inside the house, even as he cradled his dead daughter and whispered her name over and over again.
The pounding outside was getting louder. It sounded like there was an army of them out there. They hadn’t moved to the front yard yet, but it wouldn’t be long. Then it was only a matter of time before they tore through the hastily nailed up boards and plywood covering the windows and found their way inside.
Twisting his neck around to loosen up the stiffness, Jeff stood up. Gazing down on his wife, he recalled how her eyes used to sparkle like a thousand tiny emeralds. That green was gone now, replaced with the telltale cloudiness that warned of infection.
When her hand twitched Jeff backpedaled, slipping on the stairs and falling hard on his ass. Slowly, he felt his body grow cold as it became clear what was happening. Head slumping in defeat, he rubbed his eyes and knew what he had to do.
Her hand twitched again. Ellen was waking up.
Grabbing for his bat, Jeff cradled it to his chest. His hands felt weak and useless, but he held on to the aluminum cylinder like a security blanket.
Suddenly, a sound like someone ramming their head against the side door made him jump. Looking over, he saw that the wood was starting to splinter.
Spying Mark out of the corner of his eye, Jeff saw that despite a broken neck, his neighbor had managed to shift his head enough so he could stare at Jeff again. The hunger in those eyes was undeniable and Jeff knew he couldn’t bare it if he had to see that same look in Ellen’s eyes.
Taking another deep breath, he stood and lifted the baseball bat. The fear was gone, replaced with a depthless despair. His wife’s legs were starting to move. Her eyes were still vacant and empty, but wouldn’t be for long.
“I love you honey,” Jeff choked out as he felt the strength return to his hands. He gripped the bat tighter and raised it above his head.
The first swing took every ounce of courage he had.
The ones after that came a lot easier.
Ten minutes later Jeff was in the kitchen, stuffing the remnants of his dwindling food supply into his son’s backpack. There wasn’t much left, just some half-eaten boxes of cereal and dry noodles to gnaw on. That was what it had come to. It was why he had left the house to search for supplies. Jeff blinked as he suddenly realized his family had died for a few cans of beans and some crackers.
He angrily jammed the last of his meager rations into the bag and ran toward the steps leading to the second floor. From the back of the house came the sound of more glass shattering. He had covered the big picture window with plywood and it was holding for the moment. The wood vibrated under a barrage of hammering fists but stayed in place. He rushed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Glad to get away from the stench of infection filtering through the windows and doors, he took a right into his office, trying his best to ignore the shattered door on the left side of the hallway and the carnage that lay beyond it.
Rummaging through one of his bookshelves he found a souvenir mug and dumped its contents on the desk. Sifting through the coins, bits of paper, and other faint memories, Jeff spotted a tiny key. Grabbing it, he went to the top of the bookshelf and pulled down a lock box. Unlocking it quickly he spotted the gun. The tiny pewter weapon with the black grip was still in its original box. Jeff looked at the etched wording on the barrel: MODEL RAVEN CAL-.25 AUTO. He picked up the small clip sitting next to it and slid it into the gun. He nearly laughed. It was a pea-shooter that carried a meager six bullets in the clip. Shoving it in his pocket, he promptly forgot about it.
Moving to the other side of the desk he began to rifle through it. After grabbing a pocket knife and the Mag-Lite, Jeff looked around his office. That was it. He sighed and shook his head. He was no survivalist but a baseball bat, a purse gun, and heavy flashlight probably weren’t going to get him very far.
As he turned to leave he spied something else on one of the book shelves and stared at it for a moment. It was the photo of Ellen and the kids on their last vacation at the lake. Jeff remembered taking the picture. It had been early, maybe about six a.m. Ellen had been trying to drag the kids out of bed for ten minutes. They didn’t want to go out on the boat and didn’t want to swim. They just wanted to sleep. She started tickling them and after a couple of minutes the three were wrestling in a tangle of sheets, screaming and giggling. Taking the picture had been spontaneous; Jeff had grabbed the camera out of his bag without thinking. They were smiling, laughing, their eyes lost in a moment of pure bliss. When he showed Ellen the picture she hated it. Her hair was a mess and she had no makeup on. When he put it on display in his office she was angry until he explained. “Everything that matters to me is in that picture. It’s you and the kids, happy. That’s all I care about.” She never said another word about it.
Jeff’s fingers quivered as he traced the outline of their faces. Another angry scream filtered from below and he tore his eyes away from the picture. Cramming it into his pocket, he headed back downstairs.
It’s time to go.
The urgent thought beat out a staccato rhythm inside his head as he made it back to the main floor. Rushing into the garage he could hear the roar outside. They were actually starting to throw their bodies against the side door now. The sound of them crashing against the house was nearly overwhelming but Jeff ignored it and tossed his small amount of supplies into the minivan. Snatching up the baseball bat he ran back inside.
He was out of breath as he got to the front door. Bending at the knees, he tried sucking in as much air as possible and tried to settle down. The noise at the front of the house wasn’t nearly as bad. The mob had not spread to the front door yet, which worked well with his hastily cobbled together plan. Bending over, he snatched up the hammer dropped there a few minutes before and started prying at the two by four nailed across the door.
It took some effort but within a couple of minutes the board was down and the only thing that stood between Jeff and the outside world was a deadbolt.
Digging into another pocket he pulled out the key to the car sitting in the driveway. Palming the dark plastic key fob, he pressed the red alarm button. Suddenly, an urgent honking cut through the tumult of screams and howls that had nearly driven Jeff’s family mad over the past few weeks. For a moment it seemed as if this new noise, so shocking and ordinary, would overpower all others. But it was not to be. A tide of rage carried the volume of his neighbors above that of the horn as they began attacking the car.
“Stupid mother-fuckers,” he snorted with disdain. After listening for a few more seconds he pressed the red button again and the alarm cut off, replaced with the sound of wet slaps on the hood of the Impala. Glass shattered and Jeff could imagine a thick press of bodies trying to get at whoever had been honking the horn.
He strained to hear as much as possible. There was frustration and rage, but more importantly, he heard no one on the porch ready to punch a hole through the front door. Taking a deep breath, he slowly let it out as he scooped up the baseball bat and put his hand on the deadbolt. Turning his head, Jeff took one last look around the house. He wanted to remember it as it had once been and not what it was about to become. Nodding to assure himself, he tried to keep his breathing steady as he turned to face the door.
Flipping the dead bolt, he tensed as his hand slipped down to the knob.
“Well, here goes nothing.”
Jeff opened his front door.
A wall of sound washed over Jeff. The depth of the noise was profound and he felt as if he was on a stage, the world around him vibrating with excitement. His skin contracted around every hair on his body all at once. It was almost painful as the goose bumps puckered his flesh and the sound jarred his bones.
There was the smell as well. It had been out there before, when he had slithered through the neighborhood, but nothing like this. The stench, the miasma from a hundred infected and befouled bodies, had no discretion as it poured over him, baptizing him in its corruption.
Opening the door hadn’t drawn any attention but as he let go of the knob it slammed against the wall, making a loud thumping noise as the door slowly began moving back toward Jeff. He jumped slightly and swung his head toward the mass of stiffened bodies milling around his car.
The mob turned as one to stare at him. The sounds, the hissing and moaning, suddenly stopped as the corrupt shifted their gazes from the car they had been demolishing to face the man standing in the open doorway.
None were on the porch. They were busy climbing all over the car, trying to capture the little gremlin inside terrorizing them with its bleating horn. Some were closer, shambling on the front lawn, but were still a few feet away. Jeff’s heart raced but it felt like time had begun to slow. His vision dimmed and the dread that had been pouring over him like warm molasses began to evaporate.
He caught something out of the corner of his eye beyond the crowded front yard. When his eyes tried to follow it, seeking out the blur of motion, it was no longer there. But it had been; he was sure. It was something that could move much faster than his neighbors. They were slow and sluggish, but whatever he had seen moved with a fluid grace.
There it was again, at the back of the crowd but getting closer. He could see glimmers of light flicker between the gaps in the mass of bodies. Whatever was making the shadows dance cut smoothly through the sluggish creatures on Jeff’s lawn as it slid closer. He heard a blood curdling scream.
He barely recognized his own voice. The fury of the word was jolting; setting him in motion as the mob surged forward, closing the distance to the front door. Stepping back into the house he spent a split second trying to rediscover what had caused the blur of motion at the periphery of his vision, but it was already gone.
The first group of neighbors was almost at the door, close enough that two in front were leaning in to take ragged swipes at Jeff. They missed as he quickly stepped back inside the house. Their groans merged with the others but Jeff could have sworn he heard a different tenor to their gurgling cries. They were excited to be this close to someone still warm and breathing. He continued to move backwards into the foyer.
Turning, he ran to the stairs and jumped onto the couch he had hastily set in front of them, stepping on an arm rest and vaulting over it. He stood watching as more bodies poured in through the front door, scratching and clawing at each other as they tried to force their way through the narrow opening. They were a crazed mob, frothing at the mouth and howling at him. The first few were already at the couch, trying to get over, around, or through it. They smashed, clawed, and tore at it, angry that something stood between them and their prey.
“That’s it, you bastards! Come and get me!”
He had to yell to be heard over the pounding fists and squeals of anticipation. The moans were louder inside. But when Jeff spoke they seemed to go still and the noise died down for a moment. He had their complete attention.
He continued to back up the stairs as more bodies crammed into the foyer and spread into the dining and living rooms. He wouldn’t be surprised if there were enough of them to fill the entire first floor. One knocked over the vase on the end table near the door and it instantly turned to powered shards underfoot. A few of the ghoulish apparitions appeared to be distracted, wandering toward the dining room table and grabbing at things like they were at a rummage sale. The rest, however, continued to crowd around the base of the staircase, staring balefully up at him. They raised their hands, reaching toward Jeff with unimaginable need.
The weaker ones were crushed underneath the churning mass of bodies as they poured over the couch. It looked like some sort of blender, where whatever was dropped into the spinning vortex was sucked to the bottom to be pulverized, but in this case it was only the smaller forms, children and the mutilated, being sucked beneath the trampling feet.
The first stiff form able to make it past the couch got a shot in the mouth from Jeff’s baseball bat. It was a world class upper cut that shattered the woman’s jawbone and knocked her back into the crowd. She knocked another person flat and Jeff lost sight of her as she was swallowed in the mass of pulsating bodies. The others ignored her demise as they pressed against the couch. As three more bodies flopped over it Jeff rushed to the second floor landing.
Ignoring his shaking hands and ragged breathing, he pushed the massive bookshelf that stood next to the stairs toward the top step. He had dragged it there a few weeks back as a precautionary measure in case the infected managed to break in the house. In hindsight, it had been foolish to hope that mere furniture could hold back the horde, but he was still glad he had moved it into position.
Jeff felt a white hot flash of fear at the sound of a loud grunt nearby. The infected were almost to the top of the steps. He responded with his own desperate grunt as the bookshelf teetered over and started falling sideways down the steps.
The loud crash he had expected was muffled by the wall of flesh the heavy cherry bookshelf landed on. It smashed into the two leaders of the pack, driving them back into the convulsing crowd. As he watched, Jeff eyes widened in surprise. The six foot tall piece of furniture did not fall to the ground but hovered as the monsters behind it struggled to free themselves of its bulk.
The bodies were piling up behind the bookshelf and he could see it slowly turning like a heavy door being pushed toward the wall. It had smashed a few of them pretty good but was no deterrent to the rest. They were still coming.
As Jeff turned and began running toward the master bedroom he heard a thud as the bookshelf finally hit the floor. They had pushed it out of the way and were on the move again.
He screamed a few expletives as encouragement, though none were needed, before slamming the hollow door to his bedroom shut and clicking the button-lock on the knob. As Jeff moved toward his closet he could hear his neighbors screaming in frustration from down the hall.
Moving past the heavy chair he had put in the closet, he pushed on it, forcing the door shut with its bulk. The large walk in closet went pitch black and he nearly yelped when the first fist slam into the bedroom door.
The darkness felt overwhelming but Jeff knew how little time he had. He felt his way past a minefield of shoes and piles of clothing strewn on the floor.
Finding the back wall, Jeff dropped quickly to his knees, setting the baseball bat down as he began sliding his hands over the carpeted floor. Where is it?
He jumped again as the master bedroom door splintered and quickly broke. The mob was already forcing their way past the shattered remains of the feeble barrier and clambering into the bedroom. They would be at the closet door in less than a minute but that was all the time Jeff thought he needed, if he could ever find what he was looking for.
Cursing under his breath, he began tossing shoes out of the way. He knew the spot on the floor was not covered up but could feel panic setting in as he continued his furious search.
Jeff let out an involuntary yelp of surprise as the closet door vibrated in its frame. There were excited moans beyond the door, as if his neighbors knew he was caught like a rat in a trap. It would be mere seconds before he was in their grasp.
“How in the world did you know I was in here, you stupid bastards!?” Jeff screamed as he frantically continued his search. His words echoed in the small, confined space and filtered out into the bedroom, where squeals of delight at hearing his voice cascaded back in on him.
He heard the chair move slightly across the carpet, inching backwards as the press of bodies crammed against the door began forcing their way in.
“I mean, Jesus! You fuckers can’t even turn a goddamn doorknob anymore but you can sniff me out in a matter of seconds? What the hell?” Jeff’s voice cracked as he spoke, his frayed nerves nearly past the point of no return as he clawed blindly at the carpet.
The chair slid another few inches inward and with it came a splinter of light from the bedroom. Immediately, Jeff saw what he had been searching for, a few inches to his right. He whimpered in relief as he pulled the hinged door in the floor open.
The clothes shoot was something he had built shortly after they had moved in, when Ellen realized the laundry room was directly below their closet. It made the transfer of dirty clothes a breeze.
He stared down at the washer and dryer. Breathing a quick sigh of relief when he saw that no one had wandered into the small room off the garage, he quickly swung his legs over and down through the hole.
Twisting around as he lowered himself through the narrow opening, Jeff saw the chair get pushed completely out of the way of the closet door. The first shadowy figure stumbled into the room, falling inward, pushed by another four stiffs behind it. Jeff snatched up his baseball bat as he contorted his hips in an effort to get his mid-section through the tight gap in the floor.
His neighbors turned as one toward him, their eyes going wide with excitement as they saw the man trapped in the corner. Their potent smell blasted him, curdling his stomach. It was like a landfill, stockyard, and a mass grave all wrapped up in one. As they reached for him, Jeff screamed and felt something give. The sides of the laundry chute scraped his sides but as he landed on top of the washing machine he heard the spring loaded door on the shoot slam shut above his head.
He slid off the washer. There were cries of outrage from above. They were already scraping at the small door, desperate to open it.
The sounds on the first floor were overwhelming as he stared at the kitchen door. Beyond were those inhuman things…probably more than a hundred. Jeff hoped silently that they were still climbing the steps and cramming themselves into the various bedrooms on the top floor in a futile effort to find him.
He grabbed the gas can he had left in the room and opened it. The smell of the fuel was pure and intoxicating compared to the noxiously rich smell of death now permeating the house. He splashed the flammable liquid on the walls, watching as it ate at the traces of blood the first set of intruders had left behind. He drained the can, splashing the last bit of it on the ceiling, specifically the hinged door above the washer.
The shoot door opened slightly and then slapped back shut. A dark smile crossed Jeff’s lips. He had put a set of really tight springs on the sucker to discourage his kids from playing with it. The clumsy bastards upstairs were having a hell of a time trying to get a grip on it because of that.
Setting the gas can down, he picked up the road flare he had also tossed in the room. Cracking the door leading to the garage, he relaxed slightly as he saw that the side door had not been breached. In fact, it appeared as if no one was pounding on it anymore. Wedging his foot in the door to keep it open, he turned to face the kitchen.
There was only one thing left to do.
Pulling the cap off the road flare, it burst to life and startled Jeff with its ferocity. Quickly, he touched it to a rag he had soaked in gasoline that sat on top of the washer and watched it burst into flames. Reaching for the knob on the kitchen door, he opened it just wide enough to slip the flare through. He heard it drop on the floor and quickly shut the door.
Snatching up his baseball bat, he used it to slide the flaming rag off the washer and directly into a puddle of gas on the floor.
“The house is all yours, guys. Enjoy it,” he said as he scrambled into the garage. He made sure the metal door was shut tight, knowing it would hold back the flames for a while. As he slid into the minivan he thought about the rest of the gasoline he had drenched the house with, including the kitchen. Along with the propane tanks he had opened in the bedrooms upstairs, it should create one hell of a bang.