Untitled Novel Excerpt:

So another recurring article in this wicked horrible place called a blog will be my additions of certain chapters from the book I'm currently working on and hope to sell upon it's completion. Honestly, part of creating this blog is to further my writing career on a whole but mostly to gain attention and something close to a fan base for my book. That's why your help in visiting constantly and telling your friends to visit is so important to me.

What you need to know about my book: It's a multi-genre character study on how to survive a Zombie apocalypse. It will be a trilogy and this is the first book. I basically took my plan for how to survive a Zombie onslaught from my little corner of the world and put it to page with interesting character's with their own dynamics and relationships.

Enjoy:

The morning came and was brilliantly bright without a cloud in the sky. One of those rare days fresh with possibility and beauty. You couldn’t exactly put your finger on it. But the birds’ song sounded BETTER. The air was cleaner, crisper and the dew that sprinkled here and there was shiny and lovely like beads of crystals generously poured over the landscape.

Needless to say, as she slung her purse over one shoulder and walked to the car parked in the driveway and hummed an old familiar tune, Tara Parker felt GREAT.

It was going to be a good day!

She backed out of the driveway and headed off to her job not once lamenting that it wasn’t Friday. After all, the weekend would come with or without you as her grandmother always used to say.

Tara couldn’t believe how giddy she was! NOTHING was bothering her! And nothing COULD.

Her longtime boyfriend, Steve had proposed to her last night! In her eyes life could ONLY get better.

She still could not get over the fact that she hadn’t seen the proposal coming. Tara had always prided herself that she was very intuitive. The women in her family had a history of being so. The kind of scary certainty and knowing without knowing that could almost be called the “touch” that probably would have gotten her tied and burnt to a stake had she lived in a less evolved time.

There was no way in Hell she could be called a psychic, but maybe she had somewhat of a sensitivity in that area. That was probably the best way to put it. She was sensitive. Pretty damn vague, but it was what it was just as the woodpecker peck’s. Another of Grandmother’s sayings.

Steve just said it was your basic women’s intuition.

For about the seventh hundred time since she had awoken, Tara glanced down at the new ring resting on her left hand. It was perfect. It was modest without being underdone. It wasn’t flashy. A decent-sized diamond swimming in a sea of silver. And to think, she hadn’t even really given Steve any idea of what to work with. Yet somehow he had picked exactly what she would have if she had been present for the choosing. She knew that was another proof (as if she needed any) that she belonged with the man.

They had met three years ago.

It had been in passing, but of course, does anything ever really JUST happen? Tara didn’t believe so.

She had been finishing up with her English degree at San Diego State University and was serving tables at a local Italian eatery for extra pocket cash. She was twenty-four.

Tara had always thought of herself as somewhat plain, but for most men she was absolutely desirable (and she DID notice that most men seemed to tip her better than some of the other servers). Standing at around 5’6”, she wasn’t short but neither too tall. Slender, but with ample curves. Her chocolate brown hair fell layered just past her shoulders, framing a roundish face with full lips, a short pixie-like nose and beautifully large almond-colored eyes.

Steve Dwyer fell in love with her the second she appeared at his table, throwing those piercing eyes down into his, he hadn’t known how half-alive he was until that moment. Corny, yes, but that was exactly how he felt. He knew then. Which was unfortunate for the girl he had brought with him for dinner.

The rest of the evening had gone on fairly badly for a first date, considering that while Steve flirted with Tara (Tara TRYING to act professional, but letting her giggles betray her true feelings) while she neglected her other table’s and Steve’s date pouted, arms crossed in what seemed to him another world.

After their dinner, Steve escorted his “date” home and then returned to the restaurant as it was closing just to continue talking and flirting with Tara. They spent that night in heavy discussion, flowing easily from one topic to the next as though they were just hold friends catching up after a long absence from each other. It had been so comfortable and EASY. For her, it had been one of the first of many magical nights that she would share with Steve.

Three years later they were living together and engaged to be married.

Life couldn’t get any better.

Lost in thought, Tara didn’t immediately notice, but soon came to realize that she had been waiting at a red light for several more minutes then was normal.

The two-lane street she was currently on was an active one, especially during the morning. Both lanes were backed up with cars. Directly in front of her Jeep Cherokee were some type of sedan and an oversized SUV, which she thought was a Hummer. Behind her, there was a line of various vehicles stacking up and in the number one lane on her left, there were was an older Cadillac and a brand new BMW. The driver’s of the cars in front of her looked PISSED, with the exception of the man in a fancy business suit driving the BMW.

This man looked sick.

He was slouched in the driver’s seat, with his head slung back and even with the window open, he was pouring sweat from his forehead. His face was pale, cheeks were slack and he appeared to be panting.

Sirens blared and Tara looked up ahead as Paramedic’s arrived flying down the cross street and stopped somewhere in the middle of the avenue.

It seemed as though the reason the light and traffic were being held was due to something going on just past the crosswalk. She really couldn’t see anything, though. Why weren’t they directing traffic AROUND whatever was going on? She wasn’t angry or agitated, just curious.

Although the lack of common sense and logic in this world sometimes got the better of her.

Jackasses began to make their impatience known in the form of honking. One of the worst ideas EVER was that of putting a loud, obnoxious noisemaker in front of a usually restless and/or frustrated citizen who was either strung-out on caffeine (or something worse), tired, or incapable of properly handling the usually multi-ton vehicle they were supposed to have EARNED a right to pilot by going through a “test” at age sixteen.

Frustration signaled upon Tara’s face in the form of a crinkle between her eyebrow’s as these thoughts came to her and not for the first time.

Then the man in the BMW vomited loudly in his car (and all over himself).

Equal parts revulsion and worry led Tara to put the Jeep in park and open her door. She wrapped her coat around herself as the cool, sharp morning air pierced the skin of her face and threatened to flow down underneath her layer of clothes. Ignoring the curious and flabbergasted looks of other driver’s wondering what she was doing, she made her way around to the driver’s side of door of the BMW.  

The window was still rolled down so Tara was able to get a much better look at the guy. He was very slender, in his mid-forties at least, balding and with hawkish-features that screamed-within her animated imagination-accountant, or worse: LAWYER.

He looked to be barely conscious, which was hard to believe with the terrible aroma of bile and half-digested food creeping it’s way out of the car. Some vomit still covered his bottom lip and chin as well.

Tara fought the urge to gag. Bending down, she spoke softly, “Sir, are you all right?”

Slowly, the man rolled his head, squinting at her with confusion and pain. He leveled his half-open eyes towards her and she could see the misery within those bloodshot eyes.

This was beyond her. The man clearly needed medical attention. She couldn’t fathom why he would be trying to drive in a state like this?

Looking towards whatever was going on ahead in the middle of the intersection, Tara was troubled that she STILL couldn’t tell what was going on.

Suddenly the man grabbed her arm with surprising reflex and strength. She looked down at him and he locked eyes with her, surprisingly terrifying and spoke with a fierceness of voice she would not have believed he possessed in this weakened state:

“It wasn’t my fault. THEY attacked ME first! Attacked!”

His hand held her arm like a vice, fingers like talons, the skin pale and tight.

“Sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but we’re going to get you some help, okay? Now if you’d just let go of my arm.”

The man threw his head back as his body racked with a coughing fit. Tara took this moment to try and free her arm but his strength was astounding. Sick now but skinny to begin with, the man had become Hercules in seconds.

Through clenched teeth, the man strained to continue on, “they kept BITING me...my OWN children, biting ME! Even...even when I shot them, they kept COMING! What was I supposed to do?”

“Your CHILDREN?” Tara looked disbelieving at the man. He must be delirious, probably a fever.

“Biting and biting and b-biting. T-th-thought I was all right, but I keep seeing their dead eyes.” He was shivering now, getting worse and less lucid by the second.

Fervently, Tara worked to free herself.  “You have to let me go, sir, I have to get you help.”

Pulling hard, the man brought her down closer to face him. Despite herself, she was alarmed. He looked crazed, half-alive, but half-something ELSE.

“They’ll come BACK!” He screamed.

And then she was free. Pausing only for a moment out of sheer bewilderment before regaining her senses and sprinted towards the intersection looking for help.

Once in sight of the crosswalk she could see that the intersection was blocked off with good reason. There were two police cars parked in a perpendicular fashion blocking both her street and the one going across that headed West. The ambulance had pulled up on the rear and there were two paramedic’s working on someone lying on the asphalt. One of the policemen was trying to direct traffic around the site while the other stood anxiously over the paramedic’s, waiting, hovering.

More sirens could be heard in the distance.

“Lady what’s going on?”

The voice came from someone off to her right, but Tara could barely focus on anything else besides the boy in the back of one of the squad cars.

He seemed to be maybe all of twelve, however he was thrashing around in the backseat with the intensity, power, and strength of a man. Foam drained out the sides of his mouth and spittle flew against the windows of the car as he screamed and butted his head against the glass. His arms were restrained behind his back at the wrists by handcuffs, but this hardly seemed to stop his relentless storm of motion. The kid really was a blur. Kicking and throwing himself at every single side of the car, Tara wondered how much longer the vehicle could hold him, cop car or no cop car.

The voice from the right came again:

“Is that chick gonna make it?” There was a certain tone of impatience in the man’s voice that bothered Tara. It was that irritation that broke her fugue.

She looked over and saw that one of the driver’s in the number two lane was staring both intently and anxiously at her. He was overweight and balding wearing a Guiness baseball cap and smoking a cigarette. Leaning halfway out of his window for what his mass could afford, his fingers twitched nervously and he made an impatient shrugging gesture as if to say: WELL?

“I can’t tell, I have to move closer. Did you see what happened?” Tara couldn’t believe that the man could be absorbed by anything other than the boy in the squad car.

“Nah, whatever happened, it happened just before I reached the light here.” He paused to take a drag from his smoke, “late for work, they better get this thing rolling.”

Tara stared at the man and couldn’t believe his lack of compassion. Then, as if lighting had struck her, she remembered why she had gotten out of her car. The sick man!

Determination carried her forward. As she moved closer, she could see that there was a woman lying down in the street and at that moment, the paramedic’s were performing CPR on her. It didn’t look good. There was a LOT of blood, the woman on the ground was practically swimming in it. Her hair which had once been blonde and her blouse which had once been white were all but stained dark red. 

The police officer standing at attention looked up at her with both worry and apprehension. “Ma’am you should go back to your car, we’ll have traffic moving again in just a few minutes.”

Tara struggled with the words. Everything had been so clear this morning, but in the space of a few minutes, the trauma and shock of what she had seen (and she had seen so little) took her completely off guard.

“Did that boy do this?” She pointed towards the frenzied detained who she now thought resembled some sort of monster rather than a boy.

The officer looked cautiously at her and then, “Ma’am you really should just get back in your car.”

That was the instant that a car driving about 50mph slammed into the officer directing traffic on the other side of the ambulance.

The car hit with such force and continued upon it’s trajectory with such ease that the man was dead instantly, even as his ruined body was mangled underneath the heavy vehicle. Flying across the intersection, the car bounced up onto the sidewalk with a loud “thud” and then cracked into the hill occupying that side of the street with a small explosion of dust, dirt, and sod.

After that, everything happened so fast.

The surviving police officer had his gun out and was screaming into the radio mounted on his shoulder.

Sirens screaming, another police car flew through the intersection coming from the North without so much as pressing slightly on the brake pedal.

Someone screamed in the distance.

An explosion.

A dozen smaller explosions which sounded to Tara like fireworks. It was gunfire.

Another car flew into the intersection, somehow avoiding the parked cop car and slammed into the stopped traffic facing West.

Glass shattered.

The boy in the back of the police car struggled out through the broken window, all the while making this pathetic mewing sound.

He had somehow freed his hands of his restraints!

Once his feet were on the ground he half-ran, half-stumbled towards the paramedics and immediately tackled the nearest one. The officer with the gun was shouting warnings.

On the ground, the boy and paramedic struggled, but the boy seemed to have the upper hand, he grabbed a handful of the medic’s hair, pulling his head back roughly and then, mouth gaping, the boy brought his teeth down quickly upon the poor paramedic’s throat. There was a choked scream and a soft crunching sound as a stream of arterial blood flew up into the air. The boy growled as he jerked, pulling his head up and the ripping sound that could be heard made Tara gag.

The police officer was firing his gun.

She had to turn away from it all, but everywhere she looked, something was wrong. Smoke in the distance, more gunfire, more sirens, people running (the one’s closest to her abandoning their cars), and more, oh so much more screaming.

She felt dizzy. The world was spinning in a different axis. Less than an hour ago, the world had been fine but now something was terribly wrong.

Distantly and somewhat faintly, she watched as the sick man in the BMW slowly, almost methodically got out of his car. He stood, slightly hunched over and raised his head, locking unbelievably dead eyes with her very much alive ones. He started to walk towards her.

She tried to place why his walk looked familiar but couldn’t get it. But his eyes, oh his eyes, she had seen before. She had seen them in the body of a twelve-year old boy who had just ripped the throat out of a fully grown man.

Behind her, the police officer screamed but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around. She felt helpless and locked in place. As though the new terrible, and awkward spin the planet was taking was somehow centered on where she stood and the force of inertia and gravity held her too tightly for her to be in any kind of control.

The BMW owner was right on top of her, he was baring his teeth, and she new what was to come.

His look was pained, but to her he looked so hungry. The rage within her swelled as she realized that she was his craving. She was his sustenance.

But she couldn’t move. She couldn’t even look away.

As his cold hands reached her shoulders and she could smell his wretched breath tears welled up in her eyes as she thought about Steve and how much she loved him.