The first three chapters of “Comes The Dark”
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.
Chapter 1
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.
Chapter 2
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.
Chapter 3
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.
Move.
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.
Move!
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.
“MOVE!”
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.
Boom!
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.
Comes The Dark is now live on Amazon.com!
My first novel has hit amazon.com. So if you’ve been waiting for it to arrive there, now is the time to get your copy. Don’t wait, buy one today! And once you’ve read it, please feel free to write a review on Amazon as well.
Thank you…oh, and here is the link:
Another Anthology I am in has been released! The Zombist.
Yep, ladies and gents, I am pretty excited about this one, which has both zombies (awesome) and the Wild, Wild West (kick ass!). So if you love zombies, cowboys, and indians, then you will love this sucker.
Oh and did I mention, it’s HUGE. Twenty Nine stories from twenty nine different authors…this sucker is one thick book of gunfights, bloodbaths, and gruesome old west fun.
Check it out here: https://www.createspace.com/3422384
It will be on Amazon and other online stores in the next couple of weeks, and on the Kindle as well in a short while too.
Interview with That Book Place and book signing announced.
I was interviewed for a book signing I will be doing with my good friend, Ben Rogers on October 23rd at That Book Place in Madison, Indiana (www.thatbookplace.com) and it appears on their website, here: http://www.thatbookplace.com/interviews/56-interview-patrick-dorazio
I would like to that Beth, PR Guru Extraordinaire for setting up both the interview and the book signing, which will be a lot of fun. I would like to also thank Frank Hall from That Book Place for inviting us to sign books at his store.
Video Trailer for Comes The Dark
Here is my attempt at a video trailer for Comes The Dark. Many thanks go to Ben Rogers for making my mediocre effort into something presentable. He did a great job of adding effects and turning this into something compelling. Enjoy!
Copies of my book arrived today!
Copies of Comes The Dark arrived in the mail today, which may seem like not a big deal, but given that this is my first published novel, it is HUGE for me. That this thing is real and not just something that I created in my imagination, but is something that is tangible and can be shared with everyone else out there feels pretty dang remarkable.
COMES THE DARK is live on Createspace!
It has finally happened. My book is live on Createspace. The publisher has approved the proof and this book is now available to the world! This is the first step. It will be available on Amazon and other online sources within a week to ten days, and then will be available on the Kindle (no release date on that as of yet). You will be able to pick it up in PDF format via The Library of the Living Dead website for a very aggressive price as well.
More to come on all of that, but here is the link which will allow you to purchase my book from Createspace. Again, it should be available from Amazon very soon for those of you who want to wait for it’s release there. But don’t wait, buy a copy…buy 2! Buy several for your friends, family, your dog, your cat, and anyone else you can think of!
https://www.createspace.com/3469412
Thanks to everyone who has made this book possible…too many to thank without making this post a mile long, but you know who you are!
First review of Comes The Dark!
The first full review of my book has show up out on in the world! That along with the news that the book may be ready to go within a week or two if the proof looks good have me feeling quite giddy at the moment.
Matt Nord, aka Zombie Custodian, posted a review of Comes The Dark on his blog that can be found here:
http://zombiecustodian.blogspot.com/2010/07/review-of-comes-dark-by-patrick-dorazio.html
Final Cover of Comes The Dark complete as well as formatting…as well as a few other things
Well, the file is pretty large, so it would be tough to add it here, but the finalized cover is complete for the book and it looks great. Philip Rogers did a fantastic job with it and was able to fit all the blurbs on the front and back along with all the logos and other little touches that will make this complete.
Since it’s a pdf, it’s too large to effectively post here.
Also complete is the formatting for the inside of the book. An ISBN number needs to be set up for the book and then a proof will be ordered from the printers, which I get to look over and make sure it looks good. If it is all set, then the book gets rolling.
In some ways, it is pretty scary that things have gotten to this point so quickly. I sort of find it hard to believe that my first book is this close to being completed so that I can start bugging everyone to start buying this sucker.
In other ways, it feels completely right after such a long saga. Many thanks to Michael West, aka Dr. Pus, for making all of this possible. I can’t repeat that enough. The man is driven and dedicated to his authors, and I have always felt as if the Library is a wonderful home for a lot of great people, with Doc as our wonderfully wild patriarch. Imaging a trip to Pittsburgh in September to meet him and everyone else is almost too much to imagine. It’s going to be a profound experience. Especially since I will be on one of the author panels with the chance to read from my book.
As Doc has told me more than once: “Buckle up and keep your hands and feet inside the cabin-it’s gonna be a wild ride!”
Update: I was able to get a lower sized version of my wraparound cover saved…so here it is:
Updated Cover and back of Comes The Dark
Here is the updated version of the cover and back of Comes The Dark. Note that there will be some more text and some other touches added still. Philip Rogers, the artist, is incredible, and more of his artwork can be found here: http://philipr.deviantart.com/gallery/
Chapter 2 of Comes The Dark
As the release of Comes The Dark gets closer, I want to provide just a few introductory chapters for you, the reader of this humble little blog. I have already posted Chapter 1, so if you haven’t read it yet, please dig around and you’ll find it here in June’s postings.
I am posting Chapter 2 here, to continue providing you a taste of what the book is about. My intention is to post Chapter 3 in a few more weeks and then wrap it up in time for the release of the book, which is going to be here faster than I could have ever imagined. September, in time for Horror Realm, is still the objective release time frame, but as things roll along, my guess is that it will be sooner.
So, without further ado, here is Chapter 2 of Comes The Dark. Enjoy:
Chapter 2
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.
Origins Game Con…helping out a friend promote his book
This past Saturday, I ventured up to Columbus and the Origins Gaming Convention, where my friend Ben Rogers and his wonderful PR Queen, Beth LaFond, had a table set up and were promoting Ben’s book, Faith and The Undead. This was the first experience of book signing for Ben, and was for me as well. I consider it something that will allow both of us to lay the groundwork for future cons, and more specifically, conventions that are more targeted toward the audience we are selling to.
Origins is what I suppose is a typical gaming convention, with a huge array of colorful characters walking around in costumes that consist of armor, spandex, leather, and a wide assortment of other materials that perhaps are not what you would typically see on the street these days. It was entertaining watching so many people dressed up as their favorite fantasy characters, although the Ghost Busters crew was also interesting. I can’t deny that the corsets and woman dressed in the naughty nurse outfit weren’t just a tad bit distracting, but some of the apparel was also highly amusing. But hey, I figure a convention like this gives folks a chance to let loose and have fun. My guess is that when I attend Horror Realm in September, chances are that I will be garbed like a zombie at least for one night, so who am I to judge?
Since I was only there on Saturday, I did get a taste of the convention experience, but I am sure that Ben and Beth are worn out after being their Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, where as I only had to show up and chat with some folks who came by the booth to see what Ben’s book was all about for a few hours. I don’t think either of them were thrilled with how the convention managers set up the authors (there were four that were supposed to have tables, I believe, but only a couple of them were there, and typically only for an hour or two, with very little product to promote to the convention goers). Ben had the table decorated and had quite a few books ready to sell to interested conventioneers. It was nice hearing him and Beth describe the book and give the audience an understand of what it is all about. What was also interesting was going to Ben’s reading of his book that afternoon. He actually read a few chapters and then some short stories and poems in the hour he had. He did an excellent job. I myself have been giving presentations my entire career, but somehow the idea of reading things of my own creation instead of speaking about some manufacturers new product or a new solution for a customer makes me feel like when my time comes, there will be plenty of butterflies.
Overall, I would have to say the experience was a blast. Given that we writers tend to live in our own worlds part of the time (that is inside our heads), and our connections to other members of the writing community tend to consist of message boards and on occasion Skype conference sessions late at night, it was terrific meeting a couple of people who I have not interacted with previously on a face to face basis. I feel like I am definitely part of a bigger thing than myself when we are all trying to get together and help one another to promote our books and “pimp” our stuff. There is a cohesion there because of our shared passion and that makes all the difference. As you may or may not have surmised, I do not spend my days and nights with other people who like zombies or give them much thought. The same goes with horror…science fiction and fantasy has been a bit more prevalent in my life, since I grew up with friends who enjoyed those genres immensely…but even with that, much of the interaction with others of a like mind is with people not in my own physical world. I am sure I could find a community of zombie fans here in Cincinnati, and my understanding is that Horror Hound is a convention occurring here probably in August that might be interesting to attend, but it was almost surreal having several people to chat with, face to face, about zombies and seeing that there passion is as great as mine on the subject. That was new, and probably the most exciting part of being at this convention.
Great experience and I can’t wait for my next convention…hopefully after my book comes out so I have something of my own to promote alongside Ben and whoever else I am with.
My handout for Comes the Dark
As the date of the release of my book, Comes The Dark, gets closer, I am working to do what I can to promote it as much as possible. That includes creating a flier that I can pass out at events like a convention I am going to this weekend to help out a fellow author to promote his recently released book. Since I’ve gotten a rough draft of the cover of my book, I can add few images to the brochure to add a little punch. Here is the text of the piece. Big thanks to Tim Long, another fellow author, who showed a flier that he had created for his book, The Zombie-Wilson Diaries, on The Library of the Living Dead message boards. I essentially copied exactly what he did. I think it will help tremendously.
Well, here it is:
Synopsis
The end came with a whimper, not a bang. The mysterious virus came out of nowhere and engulfed the world in a matter of days. Everyone who was infected seemed to die…and then rise again. Governments collapsed, armies disappeared, and entire civilizations turned to dust as the human race tore itself to pieces.
Jeff Blaine had a good life: a beautiful wife, adorable children, and a nice house in the suburbs. He liked his job, loved his family, and spent his lazy suburban Sundays out on the deck, barbecuing with the neighbors. Things were perfect until everything fell apart. And no matter how hard Jeff tried, he could not spare his family from the horrors scratching at the door.
Now, with his family gone, his life in ruins, the only thing left is raw anger and pain. As the world continues to sink into darkness, Jeff does as well. So he ventures out into the desolation with no better plan than to destroy as many of the monsters that stole his life away before they destroy him as well.
But soon Jeff will discover other survivors unwilling to give up. They will force him to decide whether or not to succumb to the venom that gnaws at his soul. Should he continue to fight to survive, or succumb to the things that come with the dark?
Patrick S. D’Orazio
Patrick D’Orazio resides in southwestern Ohio with his wife, Michele, two children, Alexandra and Zachary, and three spastic dogs. He has been writing since he was a teenager but only recently clued into the fact that unless he attempted to get published, no one else would really care.
Several of his short stories appear in various anthologies from Library of the Living Dead, including “The Moron’s Guide to the Inevitable Zombocalypse,” “The Zombist,” “Night of the Giving Dead,” “Zombidays,” and “Letters from the Dead.” He will also be appearing in May December’s “Eyewitness: Zombie” anthology and Pill Hill Press’ “Daily Bites of Flesh 2011.”
Comes The Dark, the first book of a trilogy, is Patrick’s first novel and is being released by The Library of the Living Dead Press this September.
Undead Praise for Comes The Dark
Comes the Dark is well-written, relentless, fast-paced horror. Be ready for blood, carnage and a wild ride in this tale of the Zompocalypse! –Stephen A. North, author of Dead Tide and Dead Tide Rising
A tense apocalyptic survival tale with a powerful heart at its center. -David Dunwoody, author of EMPIRE and UNBOUND & OTHER TALES
COMES THE DARK by Patrick D’Orazio is a high speed adrenaline ride through the madness and insanity of the zombie apocalypse. From beginning to end you question your own sanity and strength through the eyes of the characters. Can’t wait to get my copy! – Benjamin Rogers, author of FAITH & THE UNDEAD.
Excerpt from Chapter 1
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.
For more info on the book, head over to http://www.patrickdorazio.com
Comes The Dark
Ben Roger’s Book Signing at The Origin’s Game Fair this weekend
My good friend Ben Rogers will be signing copies of his recent release ‘Faith and The Undead’, this weekend at the Origins Game Fair at the Columbus, Ohio Convention Center Friday (10-6), Saturday (10-6), and Sunday (10-4) and I will be in attendance along with Ben’s publicist and another good friend, Beth LaFond. I can only be there on Saturday, but am really looking forward to the opportunity. I am very excited about helping out a friend while he promotes his book and because it will be a learning experience for all of us. This is Ben’s first show and mine as well. Given that my book is not released yet, I will get the chance to ‘pimp’ Ben’s book and learn from the experience.
Having been to trade shows on numerous occasions in the past for various jobs I’ve had, I have a inkling of what something like this will be like, although I am guessing it will be a lot more fun and passionate audience than you typically get at a Security & Alarm or telecom industry trade show. Getting the chance to meet up with die hard fans of multiple genres like horror, science fiction, and fantasy should be a real blast. I want to really help Ben and Beth make this show a success for them and learn some tips on how to grab people’s attention at events like this one.
Since my book isn’t out yet, I’ve created a flyer that I can hand out to people who take look at Ben’s book. I have also created some business cards as well, which will give me the chance to promote Ben and give folks a little reminder of my stuff, since they are already checking out an excellent zombie novel from a fellow author. This trip will be all about Ben though, and I am there to support him and get his message across. He is a great guy with a tremendous novel and I’m excited to do my little part to help his book get the attention it so richly deserves.
A few blurbs for my book.
A few of my fellow authors have taken the time to look at Comes The Dark and had some impressive comments for it. I am honored that these guys are impressed with my story, when I am so impressed by the work they’ve all done.
I can’t help but get excited as things continue to progress with the book-I have seen a few drawings for the cover art thus far and it is coming along fantastically well, the formatting is going to begin soon, and it seems like everything is coming together.
So here they are, without further ado…blurbs for Comes the Dark:
Comes the Dark is well-written, relentless, fast-paced horror. Be ready for blood, carnage and a wild ride in this tale of the Zompocalypse!
Stephen A. North, author of Dead Tide and Dead Tide Rising
“A tense apocalyptic survival tale with a powerful heart at its center.”
-David Dunwoody, author of EMPIRE and UNBOUND & OTHER TALES
COMES THE DARK by Patrick D’Orazio is a high speed adrenaline ride through the madness and insanity of the zombie apocalypse. From beginning to end you question your own sanity and strength through the eyes of the characters. Can’t wait to get my copy! – Benjamin Rogers – Author of FAITH & THE UNDEAD.
Review for Iain McKinnon’s “Domain of the Dead”
Domain of the Dead begins with a group of survivors living in a warehouse that was stocked with food when the zombie apocalypse began. There were 27 survivors at one point but they are down to a handful of them and one, Sarah, has decided that it would be best to end it all, because their food is about to run out after being tucked away in this place for as long as they all have. She climbs up to the roof, ready to jump, and sees a helicopter off in the distance and the decision is quickly made to try and make a break for it to the helicopter, rather than starve to death by the few people left in the warehouse.
A few of them survive the quick and violent trip to the helicopter, with the help of the military personnel who had set down and were patrolling the area. Some are left behind, because the helicopter doesn’t have enough room for all of them, and they fade out of the story for the most part, as Sarah and a couple of other warehouse survivors: Nathan and a little girl named Jennifer, fly back to a ship where the military is running experiments on zombies, trying to discover a cure or vaccination against the mysterious ailment that causes the dead to rise. Not long after that,things go a little nuts and a breakout of the zombie virus has the survivors fighting for their lives as the ship becomes a graveyard of the undead.
The book is a fast paced, quick zombie read that clearly intends to have a sequel based on how the story ends. I thought it was unfortunate that the people left behind on the mainland were not returned to the spotlight in this book after the helicopter returns to the ship, and the entire focus was on what was happening on the ship. The author provides some interesting suggestions based on science as to why the dead were rising and a good chunk of the book is spent on that discussion in the second act. Unfortunately, that felt like a slight disruption to the plot, as we start out with a high octane beginning to the book as the survivors from the warehouse are rushing to escape the hordes and get to the helicopter and then there is a lull until the action starts again towards the final third of the book. While that is a bit of a criticism, as well as the lack of connection to those left behind back on the mainland, the story itself is entertaining and does provide some good zombie gore, guts, and action. I think this series of books, whether it is two or more, could be quite interesting, as the fate of those who remained behind will likely be revealed pretty early on in a second book and things certainly will be different for the survivors who had been on the ship. I just wish they had remained a part of the plot of this first book.
Domain of the Dead can be found on Amazon at: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1934861278/ref=cm_cr_thx_view
Chapter 1 of Comes The Dark
The edits have been completed and the book is in the publisher’s hands, ready to get rolling. There are a few more things to be worked out, including the cover design, which is the next big part of this process.
Since the edits are complete, I wanted to provide you with a glimpse into my book, Comes The Dark, by letting you take a look at the first chapter. Word of warning, this is a horror novel and a novel made for adults. This is not meant for the squeamish or anyone not of legal age. There…the disclaimer is out of the way.
As we lead up to the release of the book, I will more than likely post a few more chapters.
For now, here is Chapter 1. I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 1
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.
The ongoing saga of becoming a published author…
Yep, it continues to be an interesting journey for me. Currently, I am dealing with plenty in my life and the writing aspect is only one sub-section of that, but even with all the administration that goes into getting a book ready and prepared for the publisher, it is a fun experience.
I haven’t written for a few days due to other distractions, but I want to focus on it full steam over the next couple of weeks. I am starting to feel the compelling need to begin writing my next novel, since I have been so short story happy that the idea and outline has been sitting there, collecting dust for a long time. It is going to start beating on my brain pretty soon, demanding that I start paying it attention. That is the thing about writing. It’s all in there, in the brain, hanging out in various locked rooms, banging on the doors trying to get out. Sooner or later, the wood starts to splinter and you either let it out or it overwhelms you, keeping you from doing anything else until you appease it and pay it some much needed attention.
In other news, I finally got my Amazon author page going. Here is the link, but do NOT prepare to be dazzled…at least not if you are reading this around June 1st, 2010…when all of one anthology is listed. http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B003O5GJBC. Still, it is a beginning. I still have not taken the plunge and gotten a Facebook fan page going just yet. I will definitely do so in the near future…before the book comes out.
I reached out to an artist today to see if he would be willing to work on the cover of my novel. Since nothing is official yet, I will remain quiet about who this artist is but he sounds interested, which is exciting. He is an excellent artist and will do the cover great justice if he takes this project on.
I am currently waiting for the edits to approve for Comes The Dark, which will allow me to start getting blurbs going with several other authors and a reviewer who publishes their reviews on the net. Now the blurbs are assuming that they like the book (fingers crossed) and as such will give it a nice comment. I have done what needs to be done as far as other things that will appear in the book: introduction, biography, dedication, etc. But until the edits are done, things are pretty much in stasis.
But as time rolls on, I get the privilege of seeing more of my short stories come out…promoting them, making sure they are listed on my Amazon Authors Page, and trying to convince anyone and everyone to check them out. I am also waiting to hear back on several submissions outstanding…and I need to start writing again.
The real trick is to keep writing, despite how many distractions there are. I could focus on all the mechanics of the book and just keep the writing to a minimum and feel like I am accomplishing something, but that really doesn’t cut it. The first rule for me seems to be: write as much as you can, read as much as you can. The rest tends to follow that.
This stuff is hard
As the world rolls on and I try to “become” an author through all the other processes involved with the translation of writing a book to having a book actually published, I have realized that this stuff is hard.
This belief stems from the fact that I have spent all day today trying to create an introduction to my novel, Comes the Dark because my publisher, the esteemed Dr. Pus, asked me to start putting together all the little things that surround the novel. I have had the back cover written for a long time, which has undergone a few changes but has remained close to what I originally created back in 2008, which I foolishly believed I had finished the book…the first time. But its the other little things that I am now focused on: my biography (not just for the back of the book, but to post on Amazon with the book), the introduction, the dedication, an extended description (once again for Amazon)…and various and other sundry things.
You see, a book is not just about getting it accepted by a publisher, getting it sent to an editor to do that voodoo they do so well, having an artist create a cover, and then slapping it all together. Nooooo, it is far more complicated than that! I am sure if you are in the biz, you already knew this and are having a nice little giggle under your breath at this point. But for those out there like me, who are novices, you have to understand what all goes into this, even when you are dealing with a lean and mean publishing house like Library of the Living Dead.
I never gave much thought to the inside of a book. Now I am not speaking about the actual story itself (duh) but the outline of the book. The table of contents, the font used, the way it sits on a page…but there is someone handling that little tidbit, and as I have discovered, that person has to deal with all of your mistakes, just as the editor and publisher do. How you format the manuscript makes a difference as to how they have to deal with the layout of the document.
A manuscript is expected to be in a certain format, whether you are writing a short story or a novel. The biggies, as I have seen them, are 12 point courier, double spaced, with an indent at the beginning of each paragraph. But watch out! Different publishers want different things. Some want headers, others do not. The gentleman who does outlining for Doc at the Library does not want the indents set automatically, but manually. Italics that you use in a story may or may not be acceptable in an manuscript. Some publishers want you to underline everything that is to be italicized, while others want the story to appear as you want it to be when it comes out as a novel.
In addition to the stuff I have listed above, I have the duty of seeking out blurbs for my book. What are blurbs you ask. Blurbs are the comments made by other authors that you want to appear on the cover and inside of your book. So how do you get these? Not by being bashful, of course. You submit a request to the authors (hopefully, you already know them) and provide them with an edited version of your book if they are willing to take a swipe at blurbing your work. Of course, you have to cross your fingers that they like what you have written and will get you something back before all the formatting and book design occurs.
Yep, this stuff is hard. It’s fun, so don’t get me wrong, but writing a novel is just the beginning of this process.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention all the promotion and “pimping” I need to do as well…things like getting a Facebook fan site going, an author page on Amazon (both still in the works), promoting the book on this blog and promoting it via other blogs, as well as doing interviews, attending events like Horror Realm, and other stuff that will come about as I continue to move forward.
More on that later. Right now, I need to keep rocking and rolling with all of this, while I try to find more time to write and read other folks stuff as well, which is something I love doing. It keeps you busy, that’s for sure!
Letters from the Dead Now Available!!!
Well, its out on Createspace and will be on Amazon in about a week.
It can be purchased at https://www.createspace.com/3443967
Here is the description:
Defying all logic and reason, the dead returned from death. All over the world, dead human bodies rose and walked the Earth in search of living human flesh to consume. Despite the valiant efforts of the living’s vast armies and superior weapons, the dead won the Zombie War.
Defeated, the surviving governments of the world fled to the safety of their underground bases, leaving the last living survivors to their fate. All alone, trapped, for them there was no last second rescue, no escape. The Dead surrounded them, pounding on their barricaded doors, smashing in their boarded windows. It was their last chance to say goodbye, their last chance to shout out in defiance. It was time to write their final words.
For decades, the dead ruled the Earth unchallenged, but their reign was finite. In time, they returned to the dust from which they came.
When the living survivors emerged from their underground shelters, they would discover hundreds of thousands of tattered decaying messages, the letters left behind by the last to perish in the Zombie Apocalypse.
These are those “Letters From The Dead”.
Update! Now on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Letters-Dead-Mark-M-Johnson/dp/1451583079/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1274811102&sr=1-6
Cover for Letters From the Dead revealed!
The first Anthology I will be appearing in.
I am over the moon excited about this, the first anthology from Library of the Living Dead that I will be appearing in. I don’t have a specific release date as of yet but I am very excited about this. It should be ready to go very soon!
Letters From The Dead is on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Letters-Dead-Mark-M-Johnson/dp/1451583079/ref=sr_1_6?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1274811102&sr=1-6
My first interview!!!
Tim Long, Horror and Fantasy Writer Extraordinaire, was kind enough to include me in a interview he did with several different up and coming writers who are getting published in various Library of the Living Dead Press works.
It was a blast to do. There is plenty of other good stuff in his podcast for the horror fan, so check it out!
Patrick D'Orazio's Blog 