Award Winning Author Jonathan Maberry sits down for a chat about writing with Mark Tufo

MARK TUFO: What was it like to be on TV as one of the History Channels experts on Zombies?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I had a great time with the guys from the History Channel. We shot my segments in a deserted and crumbling building in New York City during a couple of the hottest days. It was about a million degrees and they had lights on me. But even with all that, we had a blast. The producer, director and writer were all pop culture geeks like me, so between shots (and later over beers) we talked zombies, apocalyptic fiction, monster movies, and comics. It was great.

The documentary itself, ZOMBIES: A LIVING HISTORY, did a lot of good for putting the monster in its proper historical context. They did a top notch job with the production, and it’s been an enormously popular special that’s been re-run over and over again.

MARK TUFO: Seeing the Indy publishing market boom, is it something that you would ever consider doing?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I worked with Indy publishers before I signed with the bigger houses, and I contribute short stories and novellas to many Indy anthologies. I have a lot of respect for the independent houses, particularly in the creative freedom they offer. But for my novels, I’m quite satisfied being with the bigger houses. They have a longer reach into the reading community.

MARK TUFO: What is your schedule like, do you write daily? Take time off after writing a book? Switch between writing comics and books?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I’m a full-time professional writer. I write 8-10 hours per day –and a little less on weekends. My agent keeps me hopping by selling projects before I write them. I’m in a cycle now where I write two-three novels per year (one teen novel, one thriller, and one horror novel), as well as short stories, novellas and comics. It comes out to about a million and a quarter words for publication per year. Since I have to produce a novel about every four months, I don’t get much time off between books. And, over the last two years, I’ve been touring heavily in support of my books, which means I have to write while travelling.

MARK TUFO: My wife’s favorite saying is “No writer can please all readers, its an uncertainty.” I saw you go head to head with a reviewer which you advise others not to do. Do you regret it, or did you find it liberating?

JONATHAN MABERRY: Only someone with a weak ego or a delusional mind thinks they can please everyone. Otherwise every book would sell seven billion copies. I usually take negative reviews in stride because everyone gets them. Occasionally though a particular review will be so asinine or offensive that I break my usual ‘non-involvement’ rule and post a comment. It’s never a good idea. There seems to be an unwritten rule that writers are not allowed to defend themselves, even from those reviewers who clearly are using the anonymity of forum-based reviews to publish what amounts to libelous character assassination. Usually, though, my better angels encourage me to ignore those comments and focus on other, more positive things. Usually I listen.

MARK TUFO: With all of the changes in the publishing industry in the last few years, what do you think are the best? Worst?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I love the upsurge of digital markets for books. A lot of authors –conventionally published and self-published—are making good money because of eBooks. But the thing that makes me really happy is the dynamic increase in audio books. Because the digital recording and editing technology has changed to become easier to use and far less expensive, more audio books are being produced. And, because most audio books are bought as downloads rather than on CD, it’s drastically lowered the cost for the producers and the consumer. As an audiobook fan myself, I love this change. It’s also resulted in anthologies being produced on audio, which was quite rare a few years ago.

MARK TUFO: I read that your profession of choice is writer with 2nd being a teacher. It looks like you have successfully tied the two in together with your writing conferences and workshops. Did you set out to be a writer or happen into it?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I’ve always been a writer. Even before I could read and write I told stories with toys and drawings. Everything else is second to that for me. That said, I haven’t always been a full-time writers. For much of my career I worked various day jobs and wrote on the side. Most of those day jobs involved one form of teaching or another. I taught at Temple University for fourteen years (Women’s Self-Defense, Martial Arts History, etc.), I’ve been a jujutsu instructor all my life; I was the CEO and chief instructor for COP-Safe, a company that provided defense workshops for all levels of law enforcement including SWAT; I developed self-defense programs for special needs groups (the vision-impaired, the disabled, etc.); and I’ve been teaching writing for quite a while now. Over the last decade or so I’ve been teaching a number of writing programs that are a balance of craft and publishing-industry savvy. Many of my students have gone on to publish.

MARK TUFO: You write both adult and YA fiction. Which is your favorite and why?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I don’t really have a favorite. I’m fickle in that the book or genre I love most is whatever I’m currently working on. For example, I just finished FIRE & ASH, the fourth (and final) book of my ROT & RUIN post-apocalyptic zombie series for teens. While writing and revising that I was totally in love with that genre and with YA fiction. But right now I’m writing CODE ZERO, the sixth book in my Joe Ledger series of thrillers for adults. Which means I’m totally immersed and in love with science thrillers, espionage, global terrorism and hard-core action.

MARK TUFO: What is your favorite thing to do in your “off ” time if there is such a thing?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I definitely take time off –usually nights and weekends, with the occasional vacation. My wife and I love to travel, so we build that into my book tours. For personal relaxation, I’m a film and TV geek, an avid book collector and a science geek. Lots of stuff there to keep me interested.

MARK TUFO: What is the strangest thing a fan has ever sent you?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I received a formal printed obituary for one of my characters, along with photos from a memorial service a group of readers held. Everyone wore black and people were crying. Yikes.

MARK TUFO: What do you have in the works that the readers can look forward to?

JONATHAN MABERRY: Geez…how much time do you have? Issue #3 of MARVEL UNIVERSE VS THE AVENGERS hits comic book stores soon. My first anthology as editor, V-WARS is out in hardcover and it’s full of very scary vampires. My teen zombie series, ROT & RUIN is now in development for film. And in March EXTINCTION MACHINE hits stores –it’s the 5th Joe Ledger novel and deals with an arms race based on technologies reverse-engineered from crashed UFOs.

MARK TUFO: What is the one question you wish someone would ask you but never has and the answer?

JONATHAN MABERRY: I guess I’m surprised no one’s asked about how I feel about how fast everything’s happening. Prior to 2006 I was known only for magazine feature pieces, college textbooks, and a few mass-market nonfiction books. Then I wrote my first novel, GHOST ROAD BLUES, which was published in April 2006. Since then I’ve sold nineteen novels, fourteen of which are written and twelve of which have been released. EXTINCTION MACHINE and FIRE & ASH are written and scheduled for release in 2013; and I have five novels sold that I haven’t yet written. I’ve won over three dozen awards for my various books, including three Bram Stoker Awards, the Cybils Award (for ROT & RUIN), the Scribe Award (for THE WOLFMAN); etc. Because of my novels I was scouted by the editor-in-chief of Marvel Comics and now I freelance for them, writing stories about characters I’ve been reading since 1966. I have a movie in development, I appear on TV and the radio. And I’m making more money than I ever thought I would.

So…how’s it all feel?

Deeply weird. Surreal. Mind you, I totally dig it…but it feels like the sort of thing I’d read about in the biography of someone else. And I’m loving every minute of it. I get to play inside my imagination all day long and get paid for it. If this is a dream…then for god’s sake don’t wake me up!

I can be found online at….

http://www.jonathanmaberry.com

http://www.facebook.com/jonathanmaberry

http://www.twitter.com/jonathanmaberry

Pin It Now!

Indian Hill 3 New Audio release giveaway!

Goodreads Book Giveaway

Indian Hill 3

by Mark Tufo

Giveaway ends January 01, 2013.

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

Enter to win

Pin It Now!

In the mind of Award Winning Author Joe McKinney

Joe McKinney Interview with Mark Tufo

Thank you very much for taking the time to join us Joe.

1. Are you still working as a sergeant with the San Antonio Police Department?

Thanks so much for having me. It’s a pleasure to be here. Yes, I’m still a sergeant in the SAPD, and have been for about two years now. The writing career has been going well enough for the last few years that I could support my family on just that, but I love being a cop too much to quit. In the fifteen years I’ve been on the job I’ve done just about everything. I’ve been regular old patrolman, a disaster mitigation expert, a homicide detective, I’ve run the 911 Call Center, and I’ve been a Patrol Commander, which is what I do now. I love it!

2. Out of everything you have written who is your favorite character and why?

I’d have to say Lily Harris, from Quarantined. Stephen King has a quote (and I’m paraphrasing here) that goes something like: “For every novelist – and hopefully it comes early in their career – there is a book that forces the writer to work above and beyond what they thought they were capable of. Those are the books that make you grow as a writer.” I believe that’s true, every word of it, because that was what happened to me while writing Quarantined. I had used women characters before, obviously, but I’d never attempted to carry a novel length first person narrative in a woman’s voice. Being true to her character forced me to focus on every word. I learned a lot about my craft from writing Lily, and for that reason she’ll always be my favorite.

3. How in the world do you find time to write with a full time schedule, wife, kids, writing workshops, well you get the idea?

It’s not easy, that’s for sure. It seems like every day there’s something going on, be it Girl Scouts or basketball practice or one of my speaking engagements or something for my wife’s work (she’s a college English professor). The calendar on my iPhone looks like a pinball machine going full tilt. But I wouldn’t have it any other way. And really, I owe my writing method to that busy schedule. I learned early on that I would only have a few stolen moments out of every day to write, and that if I was going to do it I’d need to be organized about it. That’s why I started outlining everything I do before I start writing. My outlines for novels can run as long as 90 pages, and are usually detailed enough that I could write chapter 3 today and chapter 16 tomorrow and chapter 9 the next. It works for me.

4. What is your favorite form of social media to keep your fans up to date?

Facebook, definitely. Twitter is cool too, but Facebook is my favorite. I’m on Facebook as Joe McKinney (I’m the writer, not the Irish actor famous for his Guinness commercials) and on Twitter as @JoeMcKinney.

5. Out of all your book covers, which is your favorite?

Up until a few weeks ago I would have told you Flesh Eaters. I love that Megan Fox looking girl zombie on the cover. She’s sexy and scary at the same time. But now I really like the cover to my haunted house novel from Dark Regions Press called CROOKED HOUSE. This is what it looks like:

Wayne Miller and I talked about what I wanted for the cover and this is what he came up with. I am over the moon about it. The fangs really stand out and make it seem so incredibly menacing.

6. You have two new books coming out. Crooked House and Inheritance both look excellent are either based on your old trick or treating grounds?

Actually, yeah! Funny you should ask. Both are ghost stories, but very different from each other. Inheritance is a police procedural. It’s about a young police officer named Paul Henninger who celebrated his eighteenth birthday by killing his father in self-defense. Six years later, he’s a policeman learning the ropes on San Antonio’s East Side. But then the ghost of his father returns, hell bent on passing on the black magic he perfected in life to Paul. That is Paul’s inheritance, a gift he most certainly doesn’t want, but can’t avoid either. But Paul has other problems, for his father is murdering everyone stuck in his path, and the murders keep pointing back to Paul.

Writing INHERITANCE I got to cover a lot of familiar ground. Paul’s experiences on the job mirror my own education as a young police officer. I remember how wild it was back then, when I was first starting out. Every night I was getting into fights and foot chases and car chases. I was handling crazy calls from the public, and at the same time building some of the best friendships of my life. I put all that into Paul’s narrative. But there’s a parallel narrative running through the book. There’s a Homicide detective named Keith Anderson hot on Paul’s heels. Anderson is older, a little worn down and overworked. He’s tired, but he’s also relentless, and damn good at what he does. His world comes from the world I lived in during my Homicide days. But there’s another “old stomping grounds” in the novel as well: the many scenes of Paul’s old family house in the Texas Hill Country north of San Antonio. I spent a good many years out there, living amongst the horses and peach orchards, and so that part of the novel was a real joy to visit again.

CROOKED HOUSE is a haunted house story, but of a different world than INHERITANCE. I did my undergraduate work at Trinity University in San Antonio. Trinity is set in the middle of the Monte Vista neighborhood, which, during the late 1800s and up through Prohibition, was where San Antonio’s wealthiest people lived. There are sprawling mansions just a few blocks from where I went to school that take the breath away. Trinity in fact owns quite a few of those mansions, and from time to time, as an incentive to lure some distinguished professor from another university, they offer one of these mansions as part of their hiring package. That was the premise I started with. Well, that, and a baseball bat.

First, let me tell you about the bat. A lot of serial killers keep mementos of their kills, some little trinket that enables them to relive the thrill of the kill. For me, every book is memorialized on the shelves of my office by some little trinket that was significant to me at the time I was writing it. While I was writing Dead City, for instance, the wallet the police department issued me at my graduation from the Academy (the one that holds my ID and all my other stuff I need to present while off-duty to prove I’m really a cop) fell apart. Literally, it fell apart. But I kept it for some reason, and it sits to this day on a shelf about three feet from my desk. Anybody who’s read Dead City will probably remember the scene where Eddie Hudson takes out his police wallet and looks at the picture of his newborn son he’s put over his official police ID. My oldest child’s baby picture rests in the same place in my wallet.

While I was writing Crooked House, the object that stayed by my side night after night was a Louisville Slugger baseball bat I used while playing baseball for Trinity University. I’ve loved baseball my entire life, and I’ve played it in one form or another, from Little League all the way through college. Recently my unit in the police department formed a softball team, and of course I joined. I took my favorite bat out of storage and kept it next to my desk in my office. Using it again, I got the inspiration for one of the characters in Crooked House and the bat figures in a big way in the book’s ending.

So I had a main character, but no house to haunt. That’s where the second source of inspiration came in. The living characters in Crooked House all work for Lightner University in San Antonio, which is loosely based on Trinity University, where I went to school. Trinity is surrounded by one of San Antonio’s oldest and wealthiest neighborhoods, Monte Vista. And Trinity owns quite a few of the homes close to campus. They tend to give these to distinguished professors as part of their hiring package. I was visiting campus just after you approached me about doing a book for Dark Regions Press, and I happened to see one of the homes owned by Trinity. It was an enormous fourteen-room mansion built in the style of a Tuscan farm, you know, the kind you’d expect to see surrounded by vineyards. Well, the house next door was an equally fancy Mediterranean style villa. I looked from house to house, wondering what they’d look like sandwiched together, and that’s when the idea for Crooked House popped into my head. It was a weird experience, because the entire novel really did pop into my head at that moment. The setup, the big finish at the end, all of it. Just like that. And it all came from my old stomping grounds back in my undergraduate days.

7. With your background have you ever considered doing a who done it series?

Already done, in fact! I’ve already done the murder mystery several times (Quarantined, Dodging Bullets, and most recently Inheritance) but I’ve also got the first novel written in an ongoing police procedural series written. It’ll follow a female Homicide detective who gets regular help from a mysterious man who may or may not have been a spy in his former life. I’m hoping the series will come across as successful blending of the sexual tension on Castle and the gritty, hard-edged realism of Michael Connelly’s Harry Bosch books.

8. How is your home office decorated?

This is where the magic happens!

You can’t see it in this picture but the wall to the left (the one directly across from my desk) is one solid bookshelf sagging under piles of horror books. Plus, there’s usually a cat sleeping on the arm of the chair to the left and a dog sleeping under the desk.

There’s a passage in Edmund Spenser’s The Faerie Queene where the Red Cross Knight has to fight a monster called Error. The scene sticks in my memory because Error distinguishes herself by spewing books and pamphlets containing heresy. Imagine that, a monster that pukes books! Kind of looks like what happened to my office.

9. With the poor economy throughout the world right now do you feel that an apocalyptic event could take place?

Unfortunately, yes. Look at the riots in Greece and France, and in the Middle East, and in West Africa, and in Pakistan and India. I don’t know if our world is any closer to complete anarchy than we’ve ever been in the past, or whether TV just allows us to notice it, but things are pretty scary. Thinking of what the world will look like 30 years from now terrifies me. I have two young daughters who will be living in that world. I can only hope that things settle down a little by then, but something tells me that they probably won’t.

Realistically, I think that’s the most likely form an apocalyptic event would take, mass rioting. With economic collapse, rioting would be inevitable, and we certainly seem to be heading toward a major economic event. I’ve got my fingers crossed, but my shotgun loaded just the same.

10. Are there any new authors that have caught your attention and why?

Quite a few, actually. In the last two years or so I’ve started watching John Palisano (his novel NERVES is amazing), Brad C. Hodson (his novel DARLING scared the crap out of me), Pete Giglio (who writes the short novel so well he stands up to the likes of masters like T.E.D. Klein and Dan Simmons) and Nate Southard (whose writing reminds me an awful lot of Richard Matheson). There are more, but those come immediately to mind. Also, there’s this guy named Mark Tufo who writes a damn good zombie story, but you don’t want to hear about that…

11. What is the one question you wish someone would ask you and the answer.

Q: How would you like your steak?

A: Medium rare, please!

…or maybe…

Q: Honey, can I bring you a beer?

A: Yes please!

…or…

Q: (From my publisher) Will there be any more books in the Dead World Series?

A: Yes! Two more, in fact.

Pin It Now!

Mike Talbots Haunted Adventure

Hi all my name is Michael Talbot until fairly recently I was just a normal guy trying (unsuccessfully I might add) to make ends meet, you know, mortgage, car payment, satellite cable bill (arsenal for the apocalypse). Normal stuff. Something happened where I angered one of the lesser gods and she has put me through one living hell after another.

“Well surprise, surprise, Poena I’m still breathing!!” (Why do I feel the need to egg her on, I’ve never been great with the fairer sex my brashness tends to get me in trouble, how my saint of a wife Tracy deals with me is beyond my reasoning capabilities. So back to the present, because of my past this group, Paranormal Examining Society has decided that I would make a great tour guide for certain haunted venues around the globe. They’re paying me a hundred bucks and a case of peanut butter kit-kats for every tour. They could have kept the money I would have done it just for the pb kit-kats.

I probably should have thought this out better, I’ve already dropped a hundred and twenty bucks into the gas tank of my fire engine red Jeep Wrangler to get here.

“Is this the place?” I asked as I stepped out of my Jeep.

A little kid nodded, his mother had a death grip on his shoulders, as she stared at the imposing structure.

“Michael, Michael so glad you could make it.” A small bald headed guy exclaimed as he ran up to me.

His name was Dwayne I think he was the one who had started the group, I’m pretty sure he shaved his head to look like Jay from a far more popular Ghost Hunting team, but hey to each his own. I used to want to be Luke Skywalker when I was a kid (wait let’s go with Hans Solo, he was much more rugged and he wasn’t trying to make-out with his sister).

“So do I just talk about the building from here?” I asked hoping.

“No to really understand Eastern State Penitentiary you have to go in.” Dwayne informed me, like I was crazy to ask.

“You got the kit-kats?” I gulped as I looked at the dilapidated, decaying, decomposing structure.

“There was a problem with customs.” He started.

“I’m outta here.” I told him, didn’t need much more excuse than that.

“Two hundred dollars.” He shouted.

“Warmer.” I told him.

“Two hundred and fifty and then I’m lucky if I break even.”

“Fine when do we start?” I asked.

“We? I can’t go in, I’ll contaminate the experience for the group.”

“You’re kidding right?”

He shook his head slowly.

“Hey kid, yeah you.” I was shouting to the one whose mother had his shoulders locked in a death pinch.

“I’m Peter!”

“You’re going to be my point man, the rest of you (there were 13 lost souls including myself) are going to form a defensive perimeter (around me - I added softly).”

That was how our adventure began, a big huddled mass of spooked out humanity.

‘Hold it together Talbot, think of all the ammo you can buy with two hundred and fifty bucks.’ I thought. Then I realized it was going to take me another 120 bones (wrong phraseology for the occasion) in gas to get home. I’d be lucky if I could get a box of Pop-Tarts when this was all over. Wonderful let the adventure begin.

“Are you an expert on the paranormal?” A woman possibly in her mid-thirties asked me, it was difficult to tell as she was dressed all in black like the specters we were looking for.

“Umm well I’ve had a bunch of paranormal experiences, so kinda.” I answered.

“Jack I told you this was a waste of money, ‘our guide’.” She said contemptuously to her traveling companion and by his whipped dog expression I figured Goth girl was his wife. “doesn’t know anything.”

“Yes, dear.” He said to his wife as he nodded in commiseration with me.

“Well, this is the lobby.” I said as we strode through the oversized double doors.

“Sheer genius.” She said sarcastically.

“Something’s wrong mister.” My little point man said to me.

I knew that was the case just watching the words come out of his mouth, mainly because I could see them. Yeah it was October in Pennsylvania, but it was a relatively balmy 50 degrees. Even in the dimming light I watched as goose bumps traveled down the length of his arm, as if the dead were caressing him.

“Whoa.” He said in a soft exclamation, the air had got so cold his words crystallized into ice and tinkled to the floor. Or that might have been me tinkling tough to say, I was plenty scared. “Neat trick mister!” Peppy Pete said.

“Yeah, yeah, good stuff.” I said as I rubbed my hands together.

“You guys have a good time.” Dwayne said as he pushed me in over the threshold. Nearly clipping my heels as he rapidly closed the door.

“Who’s got the flashlights?” I might have asked with a little too much lilt in my voice. I coughed to try to cover it up.

“Look at this place.” An older gentleman said as his light splayed across the far wall.

The receiving room was huge probably fifty by fifty feet. To call the paint peeling would be the same as saying zombies had mild psoriasis. ‘Chips’ the size of standard pieces of paper hung in suspension against the walls. Rusted rails looked down at us where the guards could hold the high ground and show the newly interned prisoners exactly where they stood.

“What was that?” The older gentleman with the flashlight asked.

I turned and checked the door it was locked like I figured it would be. I pulled out my cell phone, the glow of the screen somehow comforting in the pressing gloom of this place.

‘BT where you at?’ I sent a text to my best friend. He’d been getting me out of jams for longer than I cared to remember, plus he was like 6’5” 315 pounds of pure meanness.

Glared at me. “On my own, I guess. What’s your name?” I asked the older man.

“Jed.” He told me.

“What’d you see?” I asked him. I had my fingers crossed hoping it hadn’t been werewolves, vampires or zombies. A cat if it was alone might be an acceptable answer.

“It happened so fast.” He continued. “It’s tough to say, it was like this black mass darted past my light.”

“Why’s it always a black mass? No chance it could be like a heavenly white light?” I asked the heavens.

“Is this all part of the tour?” A heavyset man with a shirt three sizes too small asked. Had we still been outside I would have told you looking at his hairy gut was the single most scary thing, but that changed once we got inside.

“I was assured this would not be a tampered with investigation” Goth girl said nearly stamping her feet. “What should we expect next? A man in a sheet perhaps.” She said staring right at me.

I put my hands up. “Hey I have no knowledge of anything going on in here.”

“That’s my point exactly, You have no knowledge!” She added.

“You do realize the loudest person in the movies is always the first to go don’t you?” I asked.

She shut up, I could only wonder how much time I had bought.

“I really think my son is getting scared and wants to leave.” Pinching mom said. “I’m fine mom.”

“No, you’re not!” She said hysterically. “You really want to get out of here!” “I’m having a blast.” He told her.

She wrenched him by the arm and pushed past me. “Open it!” She shrieked at me, when she realized it was locked.

I shrugged my shoulders. “They didn’t give me the keys.”

She banged on the door a couple of times. “My son is nearly in fits, you need to let me...him out of here!” She screamed.

Jed came to the rescue. “Listen I have the itinerary for the tour here and how we are to get out, it says here that our next stop is Cell Block ‘C’.”

“Cool!” Peppy Peter said ripping his arm free from his mother’s claws.

She rested her head against the door. We both said “Wonderful.”

“Well let’s get this show on the road.” I said. “Jed lead the way.” Mostly because he had the flashlight, partly because he had the map and knew the way and thirdly he was the lead man and would announce danger before it got back to the main part of the group. I could only hope it wouldn’t involve, multiple screams and cries for help.

Small Shirt Sam was next. Peppy Pete kept trying for the front but his mother was holding him back and in front of her. It looked to me like she was using him as a shield. My gut told me we were in for a whirlwind of a night so I took a quick stock of my traveling companions, who would be chafe, and who would be helpful.

There was Jed, his wife and me, definitely on the plus side. Small Shirt and his wife. He was a plus if we ran into werewolves or zombies as it would take them a long time to eat him. There was Pete and his mom. That was a split down the middle. Goth and her servant (I mean husband) double negative. Three college aged guys, probably from a frat, they looked like they’d been drinking since the start of the school year. And a female who I hadn’t got a clear look at since I’d walked into the place. I didn’t remember her from the front of the building but then I hadn’t been really looking at the group.

For some reason her back was always towards the group, even when she was off to the side, she gave me an uneasy feeling but I attributed that to the building itself.

“Well we’re here!” Jed said excitedly, “I heard there’s a lot of activity in this area.”

The last time I’d been that excited about getting somewhere it had involved getting on Spinning Teacups and I was seven.

“Where’s Alan?” Goth women asked in a demanding tone. She was looking at me like I helped him escape from her clutches. “This isn’t funny! Alan you get out here or I’ll never allow you to paint my toenails again!”

The three frat boys did something I wished I could and busted out laughing. “Something’s coming!” Jed shrieked, uncharacteristically. At least I think it was uncharacteristic, he didn’t look like the type that was prone to fits.

We all could hear heavy footfalls running towards us.

“Alan?” Goth asked questioningly.

But it wasn’t Alan unless he had got past Jed by fifty yards, gained 100 pounds and was now wearing heavy boots as he tore through the shadows unaided by light.

Jed was backing up, as were we all. His light was pointed towards the noise wavering slightly. I was glad I wasn’t holding the light, it would have been moving as if a crack head standing on Jell-O was holding it.

My back hit a wall, there was nowhere else to go, the rest of the group huddled around. We were about as close as we could get without calling it a Roman Orgy. The footfalls were getting louder and closer.

“Alan?” Goth whispered quietly.

The screams started. I don’t think it was me, but it could have been. A mass roughly human shaped but shaped as if from a malformed hand came towards us. It was easily double the size of a normal man and in what could be construed as it’s arms it cradled Alan or at least the body that housed Alan. His head looked like it was at a strange angle to the rest of his body. The mass stopped about ten feet from us and hurled Alan’s body. It slid to a stop at Jed’s feet.

Jed kept his flashlight pointed at the being, the light from it not illuminating the creature at all, in fact it seemed to pull the surrounding light out of the air making the place somehow dimmer. It’s mouth opened, how I even knew that was beyond comprehension the blackness of its open mouth darker even than it’s body.

The small female who I had not seen earlier stepped forward, the being before us grumbled out words that felt like an icy cold wind blowing over gravestones. “You do not belong here.” And then it turned, its heavy steps fading into the distance.

I did not know if that message was meant purely for the girl or for all of us.

I started to ask her, but Goth was shrieking so loudly I couldn’t. Just this one time I could empathize with her.

“Alan, Alan are you alright?” She asked as she pressed her foot up against his head. Rocking it back and forth on the hard stone surface.

“What are you doing?” Jed’s wife Grace asked as she bent down to check on Alan. “He’s alive help me get him up against the wall.” Grace said to the rapidly sobering frat boys.

“Mike what was that?” Jed asked, inadvertently shining the flashlight in my eyes. “Please tell me that was part of the tour, some sort of prop.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “You saw what I saw, do you think it was a prop?”

Small Shirt Sam spoke. “We gonna chase that thing down?”

I looked over at him. “You first.”

“We need to get out of here.” Pinching mom stated the obvious. “We should go back.”

“The door is locked mom.” Her son added. He seemed to be the only thing that was keeping her from losing it all together.

“I think we need to keep going forward, that’s the only way out.” Jed said as he was reading his tour map.

“Where to next?” I asked.

“The morgue.” He said shallowly.

“Of course.” I said.

I got intimate with quite a few people on the way down to the morgue. Unfortunately none of it was intentional. Some tried to act brave like what we had just witnessed was some sort of elaborate hoax. The rest of us, the ones that wanted to survive we knew better. There was strength in numbers, if even the only true strength was that the odds of any particular one of us being ripped from the group was decreased. Other than that I didn’t think any one of us could do anything against the entity that was in there with us.

Goth’s husband was sandwiched between two of the three young men who were keeping him propped up. His head was lolling about like a broken bobble-head might. He was conscious but definitely not aware.

“What’s the matter with him?” Goth screamed at me.

“Besides being married to you, I don’t have a clue.” I told her.

She took in a sharp intake of air at my comment.

“Shit did I say that out loud?” I asked.

I could see Jed’s head nodding.

The man on Alan’s left side, snorted at my reply.

“This funny for you?!” Goth ripped into the youth.

“It was.” He told her as he hefted a sagging Alan back up.

“According to this map, the morgue should be right there.” Jed said as he pointed his flashlight about 15 feet down the corridor.

I will swear that it felt like the hallway was narrowing as we walked, constricting might be a better word. I got the same impression of a light sucking void as I did when we had met our harbinger. (Now why did I use that word?) That brought a chill up my spine.

“Jed you need to find us another way out man.” I told him.

“The path goes through the morgue, there’s an exit to the next part of the tour through there.” He replied.

“Time to put on my big boy pants. I suppose.” I said aloud.

“Really? Is all the dramatic flair called for?” Goth asked. “Let’s just get this over with so my husband can get some air.”

“Any volunteers to open the door?” I asked as we cautiously approached. “I’ll do it!” Peter said excitedly.

“You’ll do no such thing!” His mother said as she gripped his shirt tighter. “I got it.” The frat brother that wasn’t carrying Alan volunteered.

He moved a few feet ahead of us. I noted that when his went to touch the handle a blue arc of electricity jumped from the handle to his hand.

“Fug!” He yelled (I would imagine he was shooting for a curse word), just as his body went completely rigid. We could have laid him on his stomach and used him as a surfboard he was that rigid.

“What’s wrong with him?” Pete asked his mother.

His right hand was on the handle and with some unseen force the handle depressed and the door slid open, the freaky part was that frat boy still hadn’t moved, his feet were dragging in the heavy dust as the door swung open.

“Oh shit, are you seeing this?” The kid on the left side of Alan asked.

It would have been impossible not to considering Jed’s light was directly on him.

“Derek man what are you doing?” The kid on Alan’s right asked.

Derek’s head, with difficulty, turned to us, his mouth opened but no words came out, it was the eyes though, those will haunt me forever.

“My God!” Grace yelled. “His eyes...they’re black!”

Well, I was now officially freaked out. I’d seen scary movies with this particular effect and it always scared the hell out of me. Seeing it in real life, well that will put the fear of the devil in you. I noted that as a group we had moved to the far side of the corridor, not so that we were closer to Derek but rather so that we could see into the room he had now entered.

I had been under the impression that I had the fear producing juices at full operating power, that was of course until Derek’s feet began to lift off the ground and then I found a whole new threshold of nightmare nectar. His feet lifted completely up and got to the point where they were parallel to the ground, if he were to stick his hands over his head he would have been in the classic Superman pose.

“This can’t be good.” I said. I ran the ten feet to get to him. I grabbed each of his legs by the calf and wrapped them under my arms. I could feel a pulsating power reverberating throughout his body. It was a nauseating sensation, as if he had thousands of maggots crawling under the top most layers of his skin.

Then he started to pull away from me, his hands dropped from the handle and he started to get sucked into the morgue.

“Help me!” I yelled as I arched my back trying to get leverage.

It was more moments than it should have been before I heard the approach of feet, by the time Jed got next to me I only had the very ends of Derek’s boots tucked up under me. Jed grabbed his right leg, I had his left and then as if someone had turned the vacuum cleaner on high Derek was ripped from our clutches, I ended up with one untied Timberland in my hand, Jed had nothing to show for his efforts except a ripped fingernail.

“What the…!?” One of the men holding Alan asked as he had rushed forward. “He’s...he’s gone. Jeets man what just happened?”

“I don’t know.” Jeets replied never coming closer.

I felt someone press by me but didn’t take my gaze from the room in front of me. The girl who I had not seen walked silently into the morgue. I don’t know why I followed that hooded girl in there but I did.

“Derek?” One of the frat brothers called out. I got the sense the morgue was huge and the question asked should have echoed through the large chamber. Instead it sounded as if he had yelled it into a pillow. The sound was swallowed up, much like his friend.

“Jed let me see your flashlight.” I asked sticking my hand backwards. I was trying to keep an eye on the hooded girl as she walked deeper into the room. I felt the cylinder as he slapped it into my hand. I immediately turned it to where the girl should have been. She had vanished as completely as Derek had.

“Anyone know the girl’s name?” I asked as I pushed in deeper into the room using the flashlight to probe even further.

“What girl?” Grace asked.

A chill like an icicle held in the hand of a dead man dragged up my back. (Which seemed appropriate considering our surroundings.)

“The girl with the hoodie, haven’t seen her face yet.” I answered Grace, hoping that just maybe she was a very unobservant person.

“This is ridiculous are you purposefully trying to scare us?” Pete’s mom asked.

“Me? Are you on the same damn tour as I am? I didn’t create that black mass or make a frat boy levitate.” I almost yelled, okay if I’m being honest almost shrieked, luckily I clutched a little harder to my man-card.

“Fraternity.” One of the frat boys said off to my side.

“What?” I asked.

“We prefer fraternity not frat, would you call your country a,...”

“I get it.” I said holding my hand up, “there are kids here.”

“You’re not pulling our leg about this girl?” Jed asked.

I shook my head solemnly. “She’s as real as anyone here.” I added, I purposefully reached out and touched Jed’s arm just to make sure, he didn’t look too pleased about it.

“We’re leaving!” Pete’s mother said.

We all jumped when we heard banging from the far side of the room.

“Let me out of here.” Drifted over in muted volume.

“Derek?” Frat boy 2 asked (I don’t care what he said about shortening the name.)

“Jeets help man!” Came a little louder.

I swung the flashlight over to a row of gleaming chrome. “He’s in one of those.” I said as we looked at the body lockers.

“No way man, I ain’t going over there.” Jeets moaned.

Peter ran over before his mother could stop him, he pulled the handle to open the door and then pulled out the tray. Derek looked like the first prop of the day as he sat up, he was far too pale and shook too much to be human.

“Hellll....helll....helllllp me.” He was chattering.

We were all almost as frozen, as he was, us figuratively, him literally. (Did that need explaining?)

“Cool! He has ice on his hair!” Peter said as he touched the man’s head.

“Peter don’t touch him!” His mother shrieked, I think she ripped my eardrum in the process. “You don’t know where he’s been.”

“Never have truer words been spoken.” I said to her, not believing I was agreeing with her.

Jeets and Frat Boy one who was also known as Reginald finally rushed over to help their friend. Alan who finally seemed to be getting his legs back under him was leaning up against Goth although she seemed none too pleased with the burden.

I had my light on Derek as his ‘brother’s got him down, I was watching their movements when something else grabbed my attention, something had moved inside the locker Derek was in.

“There’s someone still in there.” I said as I held the light higher.

“Or something.” Jed said as he grabbed my arm and kept me from advancing although I hadn’t moved and was unsure if I was going to.

Peter swiveled from watching the frat boys to looking inside the tray. “Gee mister there’s nothing in there, I think you’re letting this place get to you.” He said a smile beaming across his face. I wanted to pinch his cheek...hard. (The darling boy.)

“Shut the door.” I told him as Jeets and Reginald got their buddy down and were as masculine as possible rubbing him down to get some heat into him.

“For God’s sake, help him.” Grace said as she wrapped her girth around the boy sharing her heat.

Normally Derek I think would have been embarrassed right now he was extremely thankful.

“There’s the exit.” Jed said pointing across the room, he had dipped my light down so he could orientate the map.

“That leads out?” I thought I had asked it, but maybe I had just been thinking it. Peter’s mother seemed to be the one that had voiced the question.

“What’s that noise?” Triple S asked.

“Please be the ice cream man.” I said.

Jed was looking at me strangely.

“I said that out loud again didn’t I?” I asked him.

He nodded.

I swung my light to the tapping, okay scratching but tapping sounds WAY less terrifying.

“It’s coming from the lockers.” Peter said. This time he headed back to his mother without her incessant barking.

‘Smart boy.’ I thought.

We were once again a huddled mass as the scratching increased, it sounded like metal shavings were being ripped off the inside of that door. Then the door handle popped free, the clang as it fell to the ground was all the impetus I needed.

“Time to go.” I told the group.

“I second that.” Jed echoed.

“What if they need help?” Alan asked.

“Altruism is greatly over-rated.” I told him.

The door silently swung open, which was strange in itself because it had moderately squealed when we got Derek out. A bone white arm shot out.

“Oh shit!” I said startled.

“What?” Jed asked.

“Really?” I asked Jed. “You don’t see that?”

“I see the door opening.” He said staring hard at the door.

The arm moved further out. The top of the hooded girls head poked out.

“Nobody sees this?” I entreated to the crowd.

“Same as Jed.” Trip S said, just an open door, probably wasn’t shut all the way or it was busted.

Hoodie girl had pulled herself half way out when she finally looked up. That was at the point I guess I had gone insane, she had no face, no eyes, no ears, no mouth and no damn nose. It was as flat and smooth as if someone had taken a belt sander to her features and erased them from her countenance.

“Jed point the friggen way man, we gotta go!” I yanked him and put him in front.

He couldn’t see what I did, but he could pick up on my terror easy enough considering it was coming off me in sheets.

We were out of the morgue proper when I heard something wet plop down against those cold ceramic tiles behind us.

It was a good hundred feet as we raced (okay shuffled fast) to the exit. It was difficult traversing the hazards strewn throughout the hallways.

“Something’s coming.” Peter said.

“Can you see it?” I asked not daring to turn around and impale myself on some exposed rebar.

“No but I can hear it.” Fear was finally creeping into his voice.

Then came a blood-curdling scream (and it wasn’t from me). I turned so had Jed, somehow he had got the light back and was quick enough to catch Trip S being hurled against the wall. His head slammed off the concrete and shattered much like a melon would under Gallagher’s mallet (hope that reference isn’t too old - look it up on youtube). Blood cascaded down all around us.

“RUN!” I yelled stooping to grab something, anything, ended up with an old walker, not a very formidable weapon when dealing with specters. It was too late for Trip S, parts of him were dripping down the wall. He would never shop the boy’s department for clothing again. We were within 20 feet of the exit and the thing behind us still hadn’t shown itself but it was gaining. Unfortunately I couldn’t see it.

Jed’s light was bobbing up ahead as he made great time, something snapped in half not a stride from me, I turned wanting to face my demise instead of being shredded from behind. I figured I could delay it just long enough for the rest of the group to get free. I was slightly dismayed that Goth couldn’t share this moment with me but can’t have everything I suppose. I swung my aluminum walker not hitting anything. It did however make a cool whooshing sound as its sliced through the air.

In my peripheral vision I realized that the flashlight was not moving anymore, I turned as much as I dared to see what was keeping us from our forward momentum, I nearly dropped my weapon of mass destruction. The flashlight was on the ground spinning and the group was gone.

“What?” I asked trying to figure out what had happened.

The light came to rest pointing back the way we had come. Faceless was staring back at me, no more than a foot away. I’m sorry, I’m a big bad ass former Marine but I was screaming like a little girl those last ten feet as I pushed through the exit door.

I ran ten more feet before the biggest blackest bestest friend in the whole world grabbed me.

“Whoa Talbot man you alright?”

“BT, BT is that really you?” I asked reaching up and touching his face.

“You gonna be taking me to dinner now?”

“It is you.” I said hugging the giant.

“What the hell is going on here? I got your text, so I called your wife. Tracy said you left some cryptic message about leading some group down here on a tour.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll explain maybe let’s just get a little further away from this place first.” I told him. It looked like the door might be opening up ever so slightly.

“Yeah but Talbot, your missus she checked the name of the paranormal group you said you were leading there’s no such group. And certainly not walking through Eastern State Penitentiary, it’s condemned, no one is allowed in there anymore.”

“Wait....what? So I’m not getting my two hundred and fifty bucks?” I asked him.

“I don’t think you’re getting it man, there’s no paranormal group and certainly no tour.”

“BT I just spent the last hour or so in that effen place, I can assure you there was both.”

“Talbot I’ve been trying to find you for 24 hours, Tracy most likely has the National Guard on the way.

“I’d rather have Marines.”

“Are you alright, my friend?” BT asked stooping down to look carefully into my eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be alright BT.” I told him as we walked away from my latest waking nightmare.

“So how’d you know I was really in there?” I asked BT, he was driving my Jeep home and me. Most of the ride I had my head pressed against the passenger side window looking out not really focusing on anything.

“This Jeep man, anything short of an apocalypse and I knew you wouldn’t leave it behind. You know man your love affair with this car borders on the creepy.”

I ignored his comment; he didn’t like to drive so he couldn’t know the affection a man can have for his ‘ride’. “How’d you get here?” I asked.

“Cab.”

“You took a cab from New York?”

“You owe me a shitload for cab fare.”

“Thanks BT.” I said solemnly.

He glanced over quickly. “You know Mike I’d do anything for you. You’re the one real white friend I have I can’t afford to lose you.”

“Kiss my ass BT.”

“I mean without you around as a bad example the women can’t see just HOW good I can dance.”

“We gonna do basketball jokes now too?”

“Naw man too easy, I must have 3 or 4 feet on you.”

I saw what he was trying to do, I was wrung out from my encounter and he was just trying to get me to move on. “Just know that I appreciate it.”

“I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have.” He replied in a more serious tone.

And he was right there was nothing I wouldn’t do for family and BT was most certainly a part of my family. “Is Tracy pissed?” I asked.

“Let’s just say that I have a ride waiting at your house so that when I drop you off, I can get in and go.”

“That’s not very protective of you.”

“Hey man you’re on your own there, last time I pissed Tracy off, well let’s just say the bruise hasn’t gone away.” He said as he absently rubbed his sternum, Tracy’s favorite finger prodding spot.

It was a few more hours of comfortable silence before we got home, BT wasn’t kidding his wife was in the driveway talking with Tracy, they both turned as we approached.

I stepped out, gave a hug and kiss to BT’s wife and headed towards Tracy, she wrapped me up in her arms.

“You alright Talbot?”

I nodded.

“Any idea when this is going to end?”

I shook my head.

“You two want to come in for coffee?” Tracy asked as she turned me around.

Henry my English Bulldog was waiting for me by the gate, his stub of a tail flipping back and forth.

“It’s good to see you too.” I told him as I got down on my haunches and squished his face.

BT had declined the coffee. “Good to see you again Tracy.” He told her. “We still on for next weekend?” He called out.

“Sounds good my friend.” I told him as I turned and waved. I watched their car go down the driveway. I hoped I could fulfill my promise and see them next week, I never quite knew what my wayward pissed off demi-god had in store, only time will tell.

Pin It Now!

Tufo and That Damn Mayan Prophecy

I was getting ready to lay down and I heard something bang up against the side of the house. I'm thinking 'deer' because we live in the sticks, maybe a friggen moose because that would be awesome. So I go downstairs the puppies are in the back room hiding under my office desk. I was like 'typical!' I turn on the porch light and I didn't see anything. So I'm a little scared, I said screw this, grabbed my .357. Now I'm brave! I opened up the front door, and I'm looking around, I can see nothing because it's dark as hell, but I hear this real heavy breathing.

I'm like 'shit what is going on?' Went back in grabbed a flashlight (still have the gun). I walk out on to my deck and go behind my house. The breathing is louder, I shine my flashlight down and there's a friggen black bear, looking up at me, I may have screamed, it was dark I couldn't tell. The bear didn't move except his head, he swiveled up to look at me. His eyes were wide and he looked petrified, I noticed wounds on his forearms and his back. I'm thinking what the hell attacked a bear. Pack of wolves maybe?

So now I'm thinking I'm way too far from the front door. I start edging back, the bear makes this low moaning sound and I hear him go thundering through the woods to the west side of my house. If he's spooked, I'm spooked. I start to hear shit in the woods on the other side of the house and I'm thinking, what a poor choice of weaponry I grabbed. I stayed a minute longer to see....them coming. It's started, my house is surrounded I don't know how much longer I'll have power. Good luck and God Bl....

I'm so exhausted. We made it through the night. The basement is lost...they...are...in...the...house. We've barricaded the door that leads downstairs, heavy oak, should hold them. But what's disconcerting is that I see the handle TURN from time to time.

It's just Travis, Tracy, Henry, Riley and myself. Maybe we should have done shifts to watch that damned door. I just want to be the first and hopefully last line of defense. I don't know what they are, human once. Not anymore. If you're reading this, you need to know THEY ARE FAST.

I thought I could keep them from getting inside the basement, went through two magazines. It looks like a head OR a heart shot will stop them. When I turned to pop my 3rd magazine in, they came and they came fast. I barely made it up the stairs ahead of them, felt more than one hand reach and grab for my calf. If Travis hadn't of opened the door I guess I would have been a late night snack.

It sickens me to think they're below us. My wife's Jeep is 25 feet and 500 ravenous sub-humans away. We're stuck, I heard sirens about 5 hours ago, pretty sure they're not going to make it. Once upon a time I'd wished for a zombie apocalypse. Be careful what you wish for, I don't know if we'll make it through the day.

I guess I figured it wouldn’t end like this. It’s kind of ironic, my last meal is going to be a fucking cherry pop-tart. I’m wincing every time I have to take a bite. The basement door is cracking, all efforts to keep that from happening have failed. Travis, Tracy me and the dogs have grabbed all the ammo and all the guns, and have retreated (fuck that Marines don’t retreat, we’ve withdrawn to readjust!) to the upstairs. We didn’t even bother grabbing anything besides some snacks this was not going to be a long withdrawn siege. Unlike ZF1 I do not have the luxury of being able to remove stairs.

Travis and I are shoulder to shoulder and will blow zombies to whatever maker they belong. Tracy after a quick lesson will be our re-loader. We’ve got enough bullets to coat my living room floor in 6 inches of enemy blood. If and when we finally fall even the zombies will have to take pause at the losses they suffered, and if this were middle-earth they would sing songs of our heroics.

Travis stiffened, I sagged, as we heard the basement door splinter, it’s show time. We locked the dogs in the master suite bathroom, I hope when the zombies are finished with us they leave them in peace somehow I could die a tad bit happier if that thought held true. The first zombies rounded the corner they were running so fast they couldn’t make the sharp turn to come up the stairs. More than a few slammed into the far wall and so it begins, Travis fired the first shot. I think it hit a shoulder but it was impossible to tell as we started to light them up. Rounds fired this close were devastating, arms fractured off, heads ruptured, dripping gray diseased mass across the wooden walls.

More than once my mind began to wander and wonder how I would get those stains out. They didn’t stop, no matter how many we blew apart, no matter how many times we changed out rifles and handguns, no matter how many times Tracy reloaded magazines and cartridges, they still came. No matter how many times that fucking cherry pop-tart threatened to reemerge, they came.

So far the zombies hadn’t got past mid-way on the stairs, still entirely too close, what’s that five, seven feet max? I thought for the briefest of seconds we would have to retreat to my bedroom. At that point it would have been a waiting game. This was our Alamo, our final stand was here, we left this spot and we might as well have turned the guns on ourselves and saved the zombies the trouble. It’s a stand-off right now, they’re slowing up trying to slog through the death and detritus of their dead, and we’re exhausted, thankfully we’re not yet running low on ammo, but the zombies seem to be in endless supply. I’ll write again when I can. Is it Christmas yet? We could use a miracle.

Been up 48 hours straight. I can barely focus. There were times in the Corps during battle I’d stayed awake 72 hours. But that was 6000 miles and 25 years ago. I’m a different man than I was then, I cared for little, including myself. This constant worry for my wife and son (and dogs) is draining. There is no cessation in fighting, the enemy needs not regroup, re-plan or reform, they just come unmercifully. There will be no quarter, no surrender, and no Christmas greeting across the span of the battlefield.

We were spent, physically and emotionally and it didn’t help that we had all suffered a fair amount of hearing damage from so many shots. Dialog was difficult. “Running low on 9 millimeter!” Tracy shouted. That was fine with me, gripping the small Glock 26 was murder on my hand and forearms anyway and if I didn’t damn near have the thing pressed against a zombie head it was difficult to hit something.

I could hear Henry barking off to my left, that was unusual although he could be hungry or Riley was beefing so bad he couldn’t breathe, both were highly likely. “Did you hear that!” Tracy yelled.

If she was talking about the mini-explosions that heralded the outgoing trajectory of a bullet, I’m pretty sure I’d heard it about twelve hundred times. I’d sent Travis into the master bedroom to see if he could get some sleep, we were going to have to do this in shifts if we were to have a chance. Typical teenager he was somehow able to sleep. The dead zombies had piled up so high they were an effective barrier against a bull rush of the smelly bastards.

Tracy even had some time to sit down next to me on the top step and take some shots. She kept closing her eyes as she pulled the trigger, maybe because she was afraid of the noise or just in the off-chance she would hit something and have to see the devastation the bullet caused. Either way I didn’t blame her.

I laughed.

“You laughing at me?” Tracy asked as she almost fell over from her last shot.

“Hell no, my enemy is to the front I see no reason to have one from the side.”

“Then what?” She asked.

“I’ve written, what? Ten books on zombies.”

“Probably.”

“I guess I thought I’d be better at this.”

“We’re still alive.” She said tenderly.

“Yeah that’s a positive. I’m going to be pissed if we die though.”

“What?”

“Do you know how many readers I’ve told that if I’m the first zombie or the first victim in a zombie apocalypse I’m going to be ripped!”

“I think they’ll understand.”

“Did you hear that?” I asked Tracy as I stood up.

“Gunshots. Our neighbors?”

We live in the sticks, ‘neighbors’ is a term used loosely. I’ve lived in houses where I could have reached out my window and borrowed my neighbor’s ketchup (not that I would mind you, who knows where that bottle’s been). We’d heard shooting from houses in our general vicinity but nothing for a long while.

“Mark you in there?”

‘It’s Ron!” Tracy and I exclaimed at the same time.

“Hon.”

“On it.” Tracy answered.

Our bathroom window over looked the driveway, the only viable approach. Although I guess that was wrong, the zombies had materialized through the dense thorn laden woods. Enough to stop a sane human, not so with our latest dinner guests.

I could hear them exchanging words, but like I said earlier I had suffered no small measure of hearing loss since this started and since I had been attending concerts since the ripe old age of 12 I didn’t have much I could afford to lose going into this battle.

“We’ve got problems.” Travis said coming out of the bedroom rubbing his eyes.

“You don’t say?” I asked him popping off the head of what looked like a 12 year old girl.

I retched a little inside my mouth, that was about the sixth or seventh time I tasted that fucking cherry pop-tart and it got worse each and every time. Serves me right for eating Devil’s fare.

“Uncle Ron’s leaving.”

“Fuck. Sorry.” What I thought was the cavalry was merely a message delivery.

Tracy’s head was hanging low when she came back out of the bedroom.

“He had to leave. They started to surround his car.”

Ron’s car was a 1992 Subaru, that was one pot hole away from its final resting place.

“Did he tell you anything?” I asked.

“Yeah he came here hoping to get more guns. There’s zombies everywhere.”

“Wonderful.”

Then our Christmas miracle started to happen (that would be a heavy dose or sarcasm laced with dread). Our post and beam house was starting to protest LOUDLY the number of uninvited we had in our living room and our stair case. A huge snap that was equal to or greater in sound than any of the guns we had fired exploded in the basement. I could only imagine that it was some sort of structural board as the house was being tested to the limits of its design and it was about to come up wanting.

“What was that?” Tracy cried. “Is someone in the basement?”

“I think our house is getting ready to fold in on itself.” I said in despair.

“Get some clothes on.”

“Why? Where are we going?” Tracy asked.

Travis knew better and had already headed into my closet to grab some hoodies.

“The roof.” I told her.

“What? Why?”

“Hon this house is going to collapse, we can’t be in here when it does.”

She was looking at me with panic in her eyes. My stomach was in full on tilt mode. My idea (see how I didn’t say plan) was to go out the skylight in the bathroom and onto the roof. Although from there I had no idea what we were going to do. It was twenty feet down to my yard which was frozen solid. It would be akin to landing on cement. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

“What about the dogs?” Travis asked.

“Gonna have to shove them in the laundry basket”

“The both of them?” He asked.

“It’s gonna be tight but we have no choice.” I told him.

I grabbed the sheets and started to tie them together, when I was fairly certain it would hold I tied it to the handles of the basket. This time I was confident enough to go with ‘plan’. I’d lower them down and they’d be able to get out when the basket went onto its side. Travis and Tracy got out on the roof, I was hefting up a very pissed off Bulldog basket and had it about halfway out when I heard in rapid succession the collapse of another two beams. And there were now zombies at our bedroom door. The hits they keep on a-coming! (Use your favorite DJ voice).

It’s Christmas Eve, I wish all of you that are still hanging on a very Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays.

Getting down off the roof wasn’t quite as bad as I had anticipated. The scariest part was when one of the handles on the Bully basket let go, cantilevering them off to the side. Not sure if they cared or not, probably asleep. I hated using the pups as test dummies but it wasn’t like they would be lowering us down. I knew the tied together sheets could hold at least the combined weights of the dogs, somewhere in the 130 pound range. Tracy was easily under that, she was up next.

“Run to the car when you get down.” I told her.

“Okay give me the keys.” She replied.

Pretty sure the expression on my face gave it away. “You don’t have them?” She phrased it as a question but it really was never in doubt.

“First things first.” I told her when another series of wood splintering sounds resounded from inside the house. “Go towards the street. Travis and I will be right behind you.”

Henry and Riley were outside the basket just looking back up at the house. I wanted to yell at them to ‘scram’ but I didn’t want to be a zombie early warning detector.

“Take the dogs with you.” I told her.

“Henry won’t leave until your there and Riley won’t go without him.”

“Fine go to the street.”

I gave a fast demonstration to Tracy on a quick rope decent I’d learned in the Marine Corps it really revolved around the one fact of getting down and away from the rope as fast as possible so you didn’t get your ass shot. It usually came with rope burns if you didn’t have gloves, we all were going to have red palms tonight. I could only hope that was our biggest problem for later.

She was down and heading out the driveway before I could even begin to churn up some stomach juice.

“You’re next.” I told Travis.

“You sure about this?” He asked looking over the roof line.

I had a smart ass answer all lined up for him, the caving in of the center roof line was all the impetus he needed. He was down faster than his mother if that was possible. Then I got my answer.

“Fuck my hands!” He yelled.

“No swearing.” Tracy yelled from the woods by the side of the roadway.

I was next and I was having the same doubts as the boy, plus I had an additional 30 pounds of added desk weight. (You know the kind you accumulate by eating peanut butter laden snacks as you type at your workstation.) I would later blame the sheet giving on the added ammo I was carrying in my pockets.

I was halfway down when I felt the free fall sensation of free falling or for you truly optimistic, ‘short flight’. I thudded to the ground solidly. This was punctuated by the rapid firing of guns, luckily not mine. Zombies were bearing down, I didn’t have time to lament the air getting knocked out of me. I’d once been blindsided by an opposing lineman in high school once. I felt that daze like quality at this very moment. And I didn’t have the luxury of taking the next play off at the sideline.

I stood up and wobbled mightily. Zombies were literally falling by my feet.

“Dad move your ass!” Travis was screaming.

I just about had those little stupid cartoon birdies swirling around my head. I started to head towards Travis’ yell. Zombies close on my heels. I saw Tracy jumping up and down waving her arms. She was facing away so I don’t know what the hell she was doing, I’d find out soon enough as I sped down towards her.

Travis waited until I got flush with him before he turned and followed. I could hear a car or something fast approaching, now I knew what Tracy was doing. She was trying to flag them down. Would they stop? Would I if the roles were reversed? I could hear the engine revving as if in answer. And then just as suddenly I heard tires sliding on gravel.

“Son of a bitch.” I breathed out.

Only in Maine. If we had the misfortune of living in New York they probably would have given us the finger as they sped past.

“Get in!” A grizzled old man said sticking his head out the passenger side window.

Tracy was hopping into the back bed, Travis had long since passed me and was getting in.

“Might want to pick it up dad!” He yelled.

“Yeah and you might want to kiss my ass.” I grumbled.

The truck was starting to pull away just as I got my first foot into the truck, I would have been left in the dust if Tracy hadn’t of grabbed my sweatshirt. It was close until Travis helped. I felt a zombie hand scrape down my back. And then we were off.

“Holy fuck.” I said as I leaned back, zombies were almost abreast of us and we were still building speed.

When I caught my breath, I thanked our savior.

“Name’s Jed.” He said sticking one hand through the middle glass that separated the cab from the bed.

Tracy looked at me. ‘No fucking way.’ She mouthed.

I could only agree. Life imitates art and all that shit, I get it, but Jed is a fictional character in a book that saved Michael Talbot’s ass a couple of times. Looks like I’ve found my own.

“Where you headed!” he shouted as he swung the truck to the left in a valiant but failed effort to avoid a zombie.

The resultant mist of bone and blood that shot over our heads reminded me of the cherry pop-tart I’d eaten a couple of days ago. “Headed to my dad’s in Belfast!” I shouted over the roaring wind.

He looked back, longer than he should have. “Belfast is gone son.” He said slowly. He didn’t offer a clearer explanation. “I’ve got relatives on Foster island that’s where I’m headed.”

He paused. Not sure what he wanted from us. I was still trying to wrap my head around my grief.

“You folks look like a deer in the crosshairs, do you want to come with me?”

I looked over towards Tracy. I didn’t have an answer, I mean it’s always easy to think up one when I’m sitting at my desk sipping coffee maybe eating a Devil Dog or two. But my house had just been destroyed and I had no idea where the rest of my family was. I needed some time to think.

I apparently took too long, Tracy was all about making sure her son was safe. “We’ll gladly take your offer.”

The truck came to a stop we all piled into the cab, I don’t remember much on that 4 hour drive. There was some traffic, some fighting and more zombies. I was lost, emotionally and spiritually, and hell even physically I had no fucking clue where Foster Island was.

When we finally did reach Jed’s destination, there were greetings abounding. I didn’t much care to stay in the house for small talk I went out onto the deck to watch as the sun went down, I was unsure if it would ever rise again.

When I was confident I had sufficiently frozen my body and thereby my brain so I didn’t have to think anymore, I went back in. The clock had just turned to midnight and two thousand, twelve years ago baby Jesus was born.

To paraphrase John Lennon - ‘So this is Christmas’ - Would there be a happy New Year?

More to come around the New Year

Thank you everyone!

Pin It Now!

Character Michael Talbot Sits down with Readers

Michael Talbot Interview With Readers

Stephen How have you been able to keep Tracy from killing you?

Well I go with the traditional bob and weave. You can’t kill what you can’t hit. Plus I have developed this uncanny ability to sleep with one eye propped open. In reality I do a lot of good which helps balance out all of the ‘stupid’ things I will invariably end up doing. It’s kind of like putting brownie points in the bank against a rainy day.

Audra Did you find all of the "hidden" areas in your big brother's house? Did you tell him?

I had no idea of the depth of my brother’s psychoses, I had figured I was the only one in the family that suffered from some many maladies. Apparently I was wrong. At every opportunity I look for hidden areas and secret button within his house that may open on to another hidden area but he never leaves me alone for too long. I find myself tailed by a nephew or niece almost constantly when I am inside the house. And who knows how many closed circuit televisions he’s got on.

Shasta What are your true feelings for Tommy, now that you know the truth? Is it hard to not still think of him as that special young boy? Do you think that goodness and innocence is still there somewhere deep inside? Do you feel like you've truly lost another loved one, even though he's not technically "gone"?

Tommy has been difficult. I cannot believe that I was so thoroughly duped by him in the beginning. Tommy is as much a part of the boy as is his alter ego Tomas. I love the one and loathe the other. I don’t feel that I’ve ‘lost’ the boy as much as I do the trust. I don’t know if he’ll ever try to exact revenge or if he’s happy that part of his life is over. I’ll be keeping a close eye on him, probably for a very long time.

Keith I'd ask talbot what he thinks would be worse, either more despairing, fatal or disgusting: a zombie apocalypse world or a world being over run by a vampire horde?

Zombies, zombies, zombies, have I made myself abundantly clear It’s hard to imagine that once upon a time I dreamt and begged for a zombie apocalypse. The hardship, the death, the vigilance necessary to survive, it’s taken a toll on all of us. Now if I had to choose which thankfully I don’t I stick with zombies (slow ones preferably). Having had the pleasure of knowing Eliza I cannot in my wildest dreams think that mankind would have stood any sort of chance in a world overrun with her kind.

Amber Germ-X or Purell?

Purell only because I could buy it in bulk at Sam’s Club.

Randy Can I call you Dad?

Can you shoot? Fine but I’m not shelling out anymore for allowance.

Anthony If you could bring back all the family members and friends who have died but that also meant that Eliza would also return - Would you do it?

Without a doubt I would bring every single one of them back even if it meant two Eliza’s. To hold those that have fallen just for five more minutes would be worth it.

Michelle What is your favorite weapon?

I love that Gatling gun of my brother’s I know it only shoots .22’s but there’s something so menacing looking about it. Although that .50 cal machine gun was a sight to behold, the weight is a little much though plus the ammo.

Dave What do you think of this Tufo chap?

Tufo’s alright, I heard he’s a fellow Marine so he can’t be all bad, he stays on his side of the world and we’ll be fine.

Pauline Is there ever a stressful situation you get into and you are NOT a smartass?

Smart-assedness is how I deal with stress, so I would have to say if I stopped with the comments that there wasn’t anything really bad going on OR we were above screwed.

Scherrie what could you have done better from day one, having to forego your shower and go into survival mode?

I wished we had left Little Turtle right from the start. Would Eliza have been able to track us down? Probably. But the odds that Justin would not have got hurt or I would have felt the need to make a final stand and lose my best friend, those events may have never transpired.

Franklin How do you think your crew would act if they meet up with the zombies from resident evil series?

Smart, fast zombies is not cool, mostly likely we would have taken heavier casualties than we already had. It’s bad enough out there without that kind of problem.

Matt Why does mark tufo hate you so much?

It was a girl. Why does any man hate another?

James If you had to chose between saving BT or Henry, who would it be and why?

Oh James why would you go there? I love Henry as I love any of my kids, he is not just a dog to me. But BT is my best friend I would have to save him because he’d probably kick my ass in the afterworld if I didn’t. I love Henry though.

Pin It Now!

Fans sit down and ask Character BT some tough questions

Melissa was there ever a time you seriously thought about separating from Michael and the group and why?

Hi Melissa, I still think about separating from the group. Well at least from Mike. And do I seriously need to answer the ‘why’ part? The guy is a danger magnet, if there’s a shitstorm to be found you can rest assured Mike will stumble into it and then he’ll have some half-assed ‘plan’ on how to escape it.

Catherine What was the oddest thing you learned about Mike T?

There’s isn’t enough paper to write down the oddest things I’ve learned about the man. If I have to narrow it down I’ll go with the spoons thing. I thought there wouldn’t be too many more things the man could surprise me with until I watched him eat a bowl of cereal. He had to have a stack of plastic spoons with him, he would eat one bite, put the spoon in the sink and grab the next off the stack. “Okay man I’m curious, what are you doing?” I asked him. “Come on BT, just let me have this.” Mike answered me. I threatened to take his food away. “Fine man, I think putting a saliva coated spoon into my milk is beyond gross. I need to have a clean spoon to do it.” He kept explaining but I had already left the room, my gut hurt from laughing so much.

Stacey Do you ever feel regretful about joining the Talbots despite your friendship you've developed with them?

I’m pretty sure life would have been way easier had we parted ways and I stayed with Alex or even gone off on my own. But even through it all, I love him, I love his family, hell they’re my family now as well. I’d be saner if I had left, but not happier.

Jessa Using just ONE word, describe each person in the group.

Mike - FUCKINGNUTS

Tracy - Saint

Nicole - Chatty

Justin - Strong

Travis - Caring

Tony - Missed

Ron - Protective

Gary - Funny

Mrs. D - Biotch!

Tommy - ???

Henry - Stinky

Kesha If u could find anyone in the midst of this mess who would it be, family member, friend, personal hero?

Most folks don’t know this but I’m an only child, so I love being around the hustle and bustle of a large family like The Talbot’s. My parents died when I was younger, I would love to find my fiancée but since I had to put a bullet in her head that’s not going to happen.

Molly Where were you during the alien invasion? Seriously

Hey man Mike might have you believing all of his alternate realities bullshit but that doesn’t mean he needs to drag me down the rabbit hole. During that time frame I was in college enjoying myself, not defending the earth against intergalactic invaders, and trust e that’s just the way we all would have wanted it. How do you think his story would have ended up if I were at the concert as well?

Lori What is your ultimate zombie apocalypse weapon if choice?

I’m with Mike on this one, screw the close combat, give me a rifle any time. I’m not the gun nut like he is but I’d take a nice semi-automatic any day to a sword.

Gregory Upon realizing that the Talbot's were more than they appeared, did you question why God kept the vow of non-interference, even though the damage to the human species was so devastating?

I’m Southern Baptist because my parents were. And if I learned anything in those hot churches, God helps those who help themselves. And if I were to truly dwell on it, I would have to say HIS influences were present all throughout our journey.

Jordan I would ask BT why he thinks I never win these unfair contests.

Tell them you want to win or you’ll take all the plastic spoons in a ten mile area around his house, I can almost guarantee you’ll have something in the mail.

Phillip what went through your mind the moment you got bitten?

That I was finally going to see my fiancée. And then disappointment that I didn’t get to see this through to the end. And then regret because I knew there was no way Mike was going to be able to pull this off without me and I felt like I owed at least that much to his family.

Marcus So big guy in all honesty if it were a match between you and Durgan who do you seriously think would win, id be rooting for you either way.

This wouldn’t even be close. Durgan was insane and he fought that way. This would have been over before it started. BT - 1, Insane bastard - 0

Phillip Who scares you more... Mike or his wife?

Hands down Tracy, I know Mike isn’t going to touch me. It’s almost like Tracy has a mental block against opponent size. She’ll attack regardless of the odds against her. I learned much like Mike - Don’t piss Tracy off.

Christina Do you miss your scooter? if so did you give it a name when you had it?

That scooter rocked! It saved my life. Do I miss it? Not so much, I much more comfortable having someone drive me around, never been a fan of driving.

Erin Who has he lost in zombie mess? There hasn't been a lot of history with him

There’s not much history because I’ve chosen not to share it. I’ve lost some good friends and I’ve lost the one person in my life that mattered above all else. Someday I’ll be with Kendra, for now I fight the good fight.

Pin It Now!

Editor/Author TW Brown shares his thoughts in an interview with Mark Tufo

Thank you very much for taking the time to join us Todd.

Thank you, Mark. I feel like Barbie being invited into her "Dream House". So this is what the Mark Tufo Blog looks like. Sweet.

1. Why a writer? Why Zombies?

I have loved writing all my life. I was the kid in English class who would whisper "Yes!" when the teacher would assign a lengthy creative writing project.

As far as zombies, I actually did not intend to enter that genre. I had a project titled Dakota that was more the direction I thought that I was going to take as a writer. However, a college teacher read a zombie short that I did for fun in her class. She pulled me up and told me that it was amazing and why wasn't I doing more of it. I kind of had that mindset that Romero had done all that needed doing. This was just prior to the "Indie explosion". Then I readMonster Island by David Wellington. I figured that I would give it a go. I have always loved the zombie since seeing the original Dawn of the Dead at the theaters when I was fourteen. Writing something in this genre is a fantasy-turned-real for me.

2. What similarities are there between you and your main character?

I have a lot in common with "Steve" from the DEAD series. As far as Zomblog, I might have a little more of me in Meredith than Sam. However, I think that I tap into a lot of different facets of myself when I write. At some point, I end up tearing away and going way outside of myself and project either attributes that I hate, or ones I admire and wish I possessed more of to make a character his own individual self.

3. You do editing and writing and publishing. Which is your favorite and why? Do you edit your own work?

Writing is by far the most fun. It allows me to get away from everything for that period in time. Whether the words are flying fast and furious, or if I am puzzling through a certain scene...it is where I love to be.

Editing is the "job" aspect. I only enjoy it because it is exacting. I have OCD and so it gets fed well when I edit. I always feel like I have to learn more. It is like baseball in that perfection is so hard to achieve, so you strive for it if you want to be considered one of the best. I hate being second, so that makes me work all that much harder.

I do edit my work as well as all of the anthologies and titles that May December Publications releases each year. However, I am blessed with some exceptional beta readers that act as an even finer grate on the sieve. I like to return to past titles about every year or so with fresh eyes. Plus, I usually have learned a new mechanics rule or two. Like I said...always chasing perfection.

As far as publishing...I let Denise handle the nuts and bolts of that. She fields all the queries and forwards them to me. Plus, when we put out an anthology, she strips all of the author info from them before forwarding them to me. That keeps the process fair. I am as human as the next guy and would probably tend to give a nod to a friend's story during the acceptance phase. I have a real problem with that aspect of this business and want to give every writer that takes the time to send me a story a fair shot. This way, some newbie trying to break in to the scene has as much shot as a talented name like a Mark Tufo. (Obligatory butt kiss...the next one costs ya $5.)

4. You have been doing an awful lot of book signings. How do you find the time and what’s the best part and what’s the worst part?

The time is hard to find, actually. But it is nice to get out and see a live body pick up your book and act all excited. The best part is meeting a total stranger who thinks your work is special. So far, the biggest thrill was a mother who brought in her sons. Apparently neither were much into reading until they picked up a copy of one of my books (Zomblog). They begged their mom to get them the next book. When they came to my signing forZomblog: Snoe, they acted towards me like I would if I managed to meet Stephen King.

The worst part is when you sit at the table...alone...for what seems like an eternity. People just walk by and glance at you, smile politely and hurry away. It can be a real ego buster.

5. What are you working on right now? What do readers have to look forward to in 2013?

Well, the 5th book in the DEAD series--Dead: Siege & Survial--comes out on December 15th. I am returning to the Dakota story and will have the second book ready by this summer. Plus my "That Ghoul Ava" series will have its first novel-length release this March. I have two books left before officially and finally retiring the Zomblog series. The 6th DEAD book has to be ready by May 30th, and then I start on the Special Edition material for the second group of three books in the DEAD series that seperates them into the three story lines: Steve, The Geeks, and Vignettes. In between, I will chip away at the next group of Grimm's fairy tales for my Gruesomely Grimm mash-up series.

Of course that is all a moot point if the Mayans were right.

6. The more interviews I do I am noticing a trend from some sort of teaching background to author, do you think it is a natural progression?

I think it is fairly common. I was a GED tutor for five years. taught guitar for three. Not quite the same as a serious teacher, but there is some common ground. Perhaps it is chemical...there has to be a spark and the desire to pursue a goal that might have lousy pay, little to know benefits, and if you are lucky, you strike a chord with one person.

7. What type of music do you play and have you thought about publishing any of it via createspace?

I played mostly covers of 80s rock. No surprise, a lot of KISS made its way into the rotation. Of course there were some originals along the way, but playing was always just about being on stage for me. There is a rush about having a couple of hundred people go crazy when you hit that last chord in a song. Even more fun is when somebody comes up to you away from the gig and says "I saw you the other day and you f--ing rock, dude!" I have some stuff on CD, a few concerts, some studio work...but I always saw that as a release more than a serious calling. Now I just play Rocksmith (Guitar Hero with a REAL guitar for the uninformed). It isn't the same when a computer generated crowd cheers...and nobody lifts their top...but it serves its purpose.

8. You have a huge background from submarine sonar man to music teacher, which is your favorite and why?

Being a submarine sonar man during the Reagan era was a rush. Playing hide-and-seek with the Soviets...football at the North Pole...those were great times. Teaching filled an entirely different need. Seeing somebody finally pull off playing their first song was pretty cool. But dragging tape on a Soviet without him knowing you were there had a special thriil.

9. Was it hard to write Zomblog: The Final Entry? Did you feel like you were leaving a friend?

Actually, it was pretty exciting. I had no idea at the time that emails from fans of the series were going to send me back. I thought I was ready to move on and focus solely on the DEAD series. When I finally decided to return, I decided to pick up the story twenty years after the first zombie had popped in to send the world in a tailspin. I am actually more apprehensive about how I will cope when that 12th and final DEAD book lands.

10. What do you have in the works that the readers can look forward to?

Well, I am dipping my toes in the Audio Book realm. Two titles, Dakota and That Ghoul Ava: Her First Adventures are currently in production. I am hoping that we will be finalizing our deal and buying a house by summer where I will build my own recording studio. As far as writing...after Dead: Siege & Survival comes out on December 15th, I will be diving in to book six...exploring Ava and Dakota, and hopefully, this will be the year that I put the finishing touches on Uncivil War, a story about a full-scale, modern day race war that destroys this country.

11. What is the one thing you wish someone would ask you and the answer?

What would it take for you to sign a contract that will start the process of converting your books to film?

To that my answer is simple. A pen.

Thanks so much, Mark. It is an honor to be invited.

Todd (TW) Brown is the author of the DEAD series and the Zomblog series. He is also the editor for May December Publications with numerous anthologies to his credit as well as the full length works of authors such as Mark Tufo, John O' Brien, Chantal Boudreau, Robert Dean, and Bennie Newsome.

You can begin your search of his available titles here:

Todd is graciously offering a free copy of The Dead Compendium via smashwords to anyone that comments on this post today!

Pin It Now!