Richard Murray's Blog, page 2

New Release

One thing I have found over the last year and a half is that every time I release a new book, I have those same feelings. A little bit anxious, a great deal excited and a bubbling eagerness to get on with the next.

Last night I released the latest book in my zombie apocalypse series : Killing the Dead

It can be found here: http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01C7UC6CK

The previous six books are season one, a self contained story with a beginning, middle and end. This book is the beginning of a new season and personally, I’m quite pleased with how it turned out. I hope you all like it too.

Dark Times and Hope for the Future.

This is going to be quite difficult for me to write about. In the main, because there are many things I am not, but one thing I am; is proud. This isn’t the pride you take in your achievements or your family, this is the type of pride you have when you don’t show the world how much you are hurting. I’ll try and explain.

I grew up in the north of England, the middle child of three brothers and from a distinctly working class background. My father was a roofer by trade, a trade that suffered greatly during my youth with the recession and lack of work in his chosen profession. My mother was for much of my life a stay at home mum, then when necessity dictated it, she was a cleaner.

My life wasn’t one of wealth or any real privilege and though my parents did what they could to provide for all of our childish wants and needs, the reality was that we got by. I’m not going to speak of the mocking over cheap trainers or hand me down clothes, that’s not what I want to focus on and truly I care little about that but I want to set in your mind that my origins and subsequent expectations of life were fairly humble.

Due in part to the horrendous school life I had and the differences between my peers and me, I left school at sixteen without a clue of what to do. The one thing I did know was that I was done with learning institutions and people my own age. My mother pushed me to enroll in art college since that was one of the subjects I showed some early skill in but due to my experiences over my school years, I didn’t go.

In desperation my mother took charge and signed me up for an apprenticeship. I had little choice in what it was in and truth be told, little real idea of what I wanted to do anyway. I ended up doing a part time graphic design and printing course while working at a ceramics factory. This was as exciting as you could imagine it to be.

That was the start of my mundane work life. I lasted five years, no doubt because I had zero ambitions or focus and was happy to just exist. I still had no idea what I wanted to be when I grew up. I finished there and signed up with a temp agency working as a labourer in a warehouse. Five years later I was in the midst of a darker than usual depression with a partner, toddler and new baby. I quit my job.

Two more years of various agency work with the police in the evidence stores, contactor where I worked chasing payments, gas supplier where I worked for one day in sales before quitting – nowhere near enough of a people person for that job and finally at the place where I currently work, in an office. I still didn’t know what I wanted to be when I grew up.

Throughout all of these jobs that were distinctly low paid, the birth of my children, the relationships that ended poorly, I was poor. I could get by, in the borrow some money towards the end of each month and pay it back when I got paid sort of getting by. Life wasn’t great but like my parents before me, I tried to ensure my daughters had everything they could desire.

In 2008 the recession hit the world. In my local government job we were told we would have no pay raises in the near future (5 years in total then 1% totalling in maybe 20% cut in pay relatively.) A year later in 2009, my relationship ended and I had shared custody of my children. In 2011 my eldest moved to Ireland with her mother and my youngest lived with me full time.

Money was tight but we got by. As my income stayed the same and everything rose in price I cut back. First went the social nights out. Not a major loss as I had a child to care for and zero child minders. After that I cut out the TV package, went to Freeview for awhile and then cut out the TV altogether. Neither me nor my daughter missed it and the £144 a year for a licence was better in my pocket that the BBC’s.

I cut back all I could, where I could. I didn’t smoke and alcohol was a luxury so that went. Internet remained because it was my one way of keeping up with the world and keeping in touch with friends. My daughter got the clothes she needed but not as much as she likely wanted, I bought little clothing for myself. I made do.

Often I would patch and sew our clothes to get as much life from them as I could. I was amazed when I saw people donating clothing to charity, ours were essentially rags when finally discarded.

Occasionally I would receive some t-shirts as gifts but many of the ones I have now, I had when I was still with my partner back in 2009 and they were old then. I had one pair of trainers and one set of trousers for work. For six months last year when all else failed, I used a twisted piece of metal that had started life as a paperclip to keep my trousers up.

We didn’t buy electrical devices of any kind. The TV I had was donated and when I finally got rid of it a month ago it was perhaps a couple of years younger than my thirteen year old daughter. I did have a mobile phone, one of my brothers old ones. The contract was paid for by my mother. This was because I couldn’t afford it and would do without; so for her to be able to contact me, to allow me to be reached in emergencies, she paid for it.

Money was growing tighter. I cut back where I could but it wasn’t enough. I borrowed more frequently and after paying back, I would end up needing to borrow again. Something I hated to do because it hurt my pride, to have to need to rely on others, to not be able to provide fully for my family, small though it was.

That pride was whittled away every time I had to phone my mother or brother and ask to borrow money, every time I asked for help, every time I couldn’t give my child what she needed, let alone what she wanted.

My health was not great and that dark depression grew worse and lasted a number of years. I went to the doctor for help only when my manager at work insisted on it. I was prescribed anti-depressents and that helped numb me.

At this point in my life, I looked forward to the future and saw nothing. I was surviving and certainly not living. Suicide much to my shame was often in my thoughts but that would never happen because the one thing I did have was my children. I planned to wait until the youngest was at least sixteen, when she would have her own life and be better able to move on, before giving in to that.

Then came along the time when my youngest was of an age where she didn’t need me so much. Her friends and own pursuits came before dear old dad – as they should do at that age – and I found myself with a great deal of free time that I hadn’t had before. I was also in the midst of a zombie apocalypse reading frenzy where I read every free one going. When I couldn’t find any more to read, a thought occurred to me. Why not write one of my own.

Killing the Dead was released a couple of months later. I’d spent a great many hours writing it, then proofreading and editing. When it was released I’d missed a great deal and updated editions were released frequently. It may not be the best writing out there and still needs editing but it was mine and I was so proud of it.

From there I continued the series, finally ending a year later with book six. I tried a couple of other books that haven’t done especially great but the zombie one… well it sold a few. Not many, not as much as others, but more than I expected. Enough to actually slowly earn a little extra money for my family.

Now for many people out there, the amount earned is small. For my family and me… it’s the difference between having to borrow money or not. The difference between buying the cheapest food I could or buying something a little better quality for my daughter to eat. The difference between squeezing another six months out of my oft repaired trousers that were held together with an old paperclip or replacing them.

More than that, it gave me something else. It gave me some pride back. Pride in myself. That means a great deal and is a great part of why I am no longer taking antidepressants and can see beyond my daughter’s sixteenth year.

I have a lot to learn with writing, I would be a fool to think I didn’t. I do know one thing though, I love it. It brings me pleasure and somewhere deep inside myself I find the stirrings of ambition. I no longer want to just get by, I want to improve my skill, I want to be better, to write stories that people will love. Somewhere, deep inside is a little boy who has finally realised what he wants to be when he grows up.

For anyone who reads this, for anyone who has bought one of my books and enjoyed it, or taken the time to leave a review and say why. I want to offer my thanks. Without you I would be a dark place right now and while I may occasionally find myself back there as times get tough, I can find my way back because of you.

Pride is not something I ever really thought about but over the years I have learnt just how important it is. Not just to be proud of your children and your family, but to be proud of yourself. To accomplish something no matter how small and say “I did that.” It really can make a difference.

 

Coming to a store near you… well, to Amazon anyway.

Greetings all,

I am more than a little excited to present this:

Yep, that is the latest book in my Killing the Dead series. Burden of Survival which is Book 7 for those counting.

While it should be accessible for anyone who hasn’t yet read the other six books, I would recommend reading them. More Ryan and Lily time that way.

This book is well on its way to completion, just hit 40k words (which is the number of words in book 1 and just another 10 to 20k to go. It will be off for proofreading by the end of next week, which means that in February… it will be released.

I’m excited about this one. Not just because I freaking love Ryan and Lily, but because in this book we get to see the story unfold from two points of view… which has been somewhat different for me but quite rewarding none the less. I’m happy with the results so far and I can’t wait for you all to try it.

As soon as I have an official release date I will be putting it up here. I was considering trying a pre-order but since I have a number of things happening in real life, I thought it would be foolish to give myself a deadline that I might not meet. But, as these things do, I am way ahead of my self imposed deadline anyway. Ah well, pre-order for my next one maybe.

 

 

 

 

Lily

For a while now I’ve been meaning to take a look inside the minds of some of the other characters in my Killing the Dead series.

For anyone who is interested, this is a short story from Lily’s POV and takes place after the end of book 6.

 

 

The small group of ragged survivors pushed through the snow filled valley. Their every step was a struggle and they looked back often at the pack of zombies that were following along tirelessly. The fifteen undead were gaining on them and it wouldn’t be long before they would be forced to fight or die.

“What do you want to do?” Ryan asked quietly, his breath misting the air before him.

For once he seemed torn. His eyes watched the group below us and I could tell that as much as he would enjoy killing the zombies, they’d be little challenge for him and likely less amusing than watching a life and death struggle between them and their quarry.

“We need to help them,” I said. There was never really any doubt of that.

He shrugged and pulled his knife free from the sheath on his belt. A shiver ran through me as he raised the wickedly sharp blade before him, a slight smile tugging at his lips. It was wrong and I knew that, but watching him move amongst the undead effortlessly ending their pained existence in defence of others filled me with more excitement than I had ever expected.

“What’s happening?” Gregg asked. His voice came from the bushes behind us where he was crouched beside Toby, our tracker.

“Time for some fun,” Ryan told him and he groaned.

“Fun like last time or fun that we might survive intact?”

“It will be fine,” Ryan said with that slight smile in place.

He seemed more at ease with his small group of friends these days. No longer living his life in silence with his only real pleasure death and violence. He actually took part in conversations and joined us at meal times without argument.

Gregg pushed forward through the snow and I looked away to hide my smile. He was swaddled head to toe in every piece of clothing he could fit into. Thick blue mittens covered his hands and a matching scarf was wrapped around his face beneath the hood of his parka.

It was a comical sight to see him there, the only patches of skin visible were around his eyes. He gripped his club tightly and nodded his readiness to Ryan.

Toby moved away silently, he knew his role. He talked less and less these days and watched the rest of us warily. The scars on his neck where Ryan had torn out a chunk of his flesh had healed but he would often rub at them as he watched him.

The final member of our group brought a frown to my face that I quickly erased as she looked over to me. She stayed closed beside Ryan, her hand holding a knife protectively near him. The hair that she’d cut almost to the scalp after he’d freed her from her captors was growing back and floated freely around her face.

She was thoroughly devoted to Ryan and sought to emulate him as much as possible. He’d even been teaching her how to use that knife she carried and much to my dismay, had been spending way too much time with her.

“We ready?” he asked.

The zombies had gained some ground on the four survivors and neither group had yet noticed us. I took one final glance around the hillside to make sure we wouldn’t be surprised by anything that might be heading in our direction.

“Go,” I commanded.

Ryan, of course, led the way. His eagerness to reach the zombies was almost palpable. He moved awkwardly down the snow covered hill, slipping often but always managing to keep his balance. Jenny and Gregg followed behind us, voices silenced by the need to keep the element of surprise as long as possible.

One of the survivors looked back and saw us heading down the hill. He pointed our way and called out to his companions who slowed their flight thinking they were saved. Idiots.

I increased my pace and saw Ryan do the same as he realised the same time I did that the zombies would be upon them before we were. As little as he cared whether they lived or died, he knew I did and would do all he could to make sure they survived. For me.

The zombies finally noticed our approach when we were a dozen feet away and several broke away from their pursuit to turn to us. Ryan met them first and three were down as he slid effortlessly through them, blade striking out like a viper leaving death in its wake.

Sallow skin broke beneath my hammer and dark blood oozed from the wound. A second strike broke bone and the creature died without a sound. My next opponent came towards me, tattered remnants of clothing doing little to hide decayed flesh.

A swift kick to its midriff sent it sprawling and I leapt forward, my hammer breaking through its head as easily as the previous one. Dark spray covered the snow and then Gregg and Jenny were with us.

We fought in silence, no need for anything more than the grunts of exertion as heavy weapons were swung against fragile skulls. Gregg was by now a veteran of these fights and ensured every blow struck true with no energy wasted while Jenny fought with a wild rage that suggested she saw the same faces on each of those she brought down.

Ryan though wore a smile as he killed. He found joy in the deaths he brought and a shiver ran up my spine. It was easy to see why the others at our island refuge feared him so, but all I could see was the man who had saved my life and others, the man I loved.

The majority of the zombies were dead and a final blow from Ryan’s knife killed the last one just two feet from the cowering group of survivors. They watched him with that same awe and fear on their faces that I had seen on others so often before.

“Thank you,” the closest of them said to Ryan.

He of course ignored them and cleaned his knife as best he could by plunging it into the snow. Experience told me he would need a moment to quiet the raging darkness inside before he trusted himself to respond.

I passed him by, laying my hand gently on his arm. He didn’t flinch like he would have done when we first met, like he still would with anyone else.

“Hi,” I said to the group. “I’m Lily.”

The talkative one had a thick blonde beard and face that was gaunt and pale. He shook slightly as he pushed himself to his feet and I figured it was as much due to weakness and hunger as from cold or fear.

His clothes, like the others, were a mismatched lot. Likely scavenged piece by piece and by the looks, the only possessions they had. I eyed them warily as I realised they had no weapons. No one still living in the chaos of the apocalypse would have no weapons.

“Thank you,” he said. “I’m James and this is my wife Helen.”

He indicated the woman beside him and she tried to show a smile though her eyes were filled with fear. I could understand that, a group of people slaughtered a number of undead with ease right before your eyes and then approached you with weapons still covered in blood… well, who wouldn’t be scared.

“This is Michael and his Daughter Evie,” James said with a gesture back to the other two. An equally ragged pair.

Michael had his arm wrapped around his daughter protectively and he at least showed less fear than the others. The girl was no more than fifteen and kept her gaze on ground.

“Where’re you from?” Gregg asked.

“Shrewsbury originally,” James said. “We’ve moved around a bit as we tried to find somewhere safe.”

“What brings you to the Lakes?”

“We hoped we’d find less of them here,” James said.

“Why have you no weapons?” I asked.

Ryan still had his knife out and was watching the group, a fact that seemed to be causing them no little discomfort. I decided to let it continue for now.

“Answer her,” he said as the silence stretched on.

“We lost them,” Helen finally said.

“Lost them?” Who on earth would lose their only defence against the undead.

“And all our supplies when we ran,” James added.

“Why not fight them?” Gregg asked. “There weren’t that many and they don’t exactly move fast in this weather.”

“There were too many,” Helen said.

I watched their faces as they spoke and saw how they refused to meet our eyes. An idea began to form and as I glanced to Ryan, he nodded to me and I knew he’d had the same.

“How many did you leave behind?” I asked and was rewarded with a flinch from James.

None of them spoke and Gregg glanced questioningly at me. I shook my head and he shrugged. We’d been together so long it was rare we needed words to know what each of us meant.

“We have a safe place,” I said. “Food and shelter, safety. We can’t take you to it though until we know more about you. We certainly won’t take you there if you aren’t honest with us.”

James looked to his wife and something passed between them. I hoped they wouldn’t try to lie, I didn’t want to leave them to the cold.

“Look, let’s head back up to our camp,” I suggested. “You can have some food and get warm, then we can talk properly.”

“Sure, thanks,” James said.

Ryan looked annoyed but his eyes softened as he looked at me and I smiled at him. A smile that widened as he moved to stand beside me protectively. I linked my arm through his and grinned impishly as he frowned but didn’t pull away. From the corner of my eye I caught Jenny pouting and knew that I’d need to deal with that at some point.

We led the way back up the hill, each of us keeping half an eye on the group we had rescued and the other on our surroundings, alert for any potential danger. We were old hands at this now, but it would only take one mistake.

For a moment I could almost forget the world had ended and imagine myself walking through the snow blanketed woods with the man I loved beside me. For a moment. Then I caught sight of a corpse slumped against a tree and the illusion was shattered.

For an hour we walked, moving slowly on account of the weakened state of those we’d rescued. They stumbled often and had little strength or stamina. I wanted so very much to help them, to give them a place to stay with us where they were safe but I had responsibilities. I had people I cared for already back at our island home, people who needed to be protected. I had to be careful who could be let in.

Both of my fellow leaders of our home had agreed from the very beginning that we needed to help others. We actively sent groups out looking for survivors and brought them in to the fold. It wasn’t long before the wrong person had been brought in.

Ryan cared little for other people but he did have a soft spot for children. When we caught that man trying to force himself on one of the children… well, his death had not been pleasant.

While most of the group had understood the need to protect the child, it had further added to the rumours and half truths about him. The people he worked so hard to protect were scared of him and more than one had come to the council to raise their concerns.

I’d managed to persuade the others that we needed him. He’d been cast from the group before and still risked his own life to save them. First from a horde of zombies that had attacked their home in an apartment building and then from Rachel’s insanity.

A compromise had to be made though and so Ryan went on every one of the trips off of the island. He was kept away as much as possible and told it was because he was needed to protect the people who went looking for others and scavenging.

He never said anything but I knew he understood the real reason. He didn’t care that they feared him, just that they were safe and then only because I wanted them to be.

“We’re here,” Gregg announced to the group we’d rescued.

Our camp was set against the rock face. On the hill above were a number of boulders and fallen tree limbs that would prevent anything approaching and dropping onto us from above. The steep sides of the hill to one side and the rock face itself on the other provided shelter and a screen of bushes in front blocked us from view of anyone approaching up the hill.

We had a number of such places spread out around our island home. Safe places to stay that could be reached in about six hours of walking. They allowed us to move ever further from our base as we scavenged supplies and sought out survivors.

“Is this safe?” Helen asked her husband in a loud whisper.

“Safer then where we found you,” Jenny said with a sneer. She seemed to be adopting more than just Ryan’s skill with the blade, but his attitude towards others too.

“Gregg would you start a fire please,” I said.

He nodded and crouched over the fire pit we’d laboriously dug in the frozen earth. It was deep enough that we could have some warmth – if crowded close – and heat some food without being seen.

Ryan lingered by the screen of bushes, eyes flicking between the rescued group who were settling around the fire pit and the world beyond the bushes, alert for any danger while Jenny crouched down beside the rock face and watched the new people carefully.

I knew Gregg would begin making some food from our small stash and Jenny was keeping careful watch so I left them to it and walked over to Ryan. He watched my approach without expression though a smile tugged at his lips as I came close.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“They ran,” he said. “Probably left their group to die along with their food and weapons.”

“You don’t approve of them joining us then?”

“No.”

A simple declaration and a dismissive look at them. He’d already made up his mind and I wished that it were so easy for me.

For him the world was simple. There was him – and I hoped now, me – and everyone else. Those he could use to stay alive to keep killing, he would happily rescue. Those he saw as useless he would leave to their fate or given the choice, kill them himself.

That was how he’d seen me when we first met that fateful day I’d hammered on his door with zombies fast on my heels. He’d realised immediately that the world had changed and to survive, he’d need others.

Not that he’d liked that. In fact it was entirely likely that he’d hated every second of having to work with others, keeping his true self hidden from everyone but me. I’d known who and what he was from that first day but the others hadn’t.

It was only much later after Emma, the little girl he’d saved and brought with him to me, had died that he’d shown himself to others and then not intentionally. Gregg hadn’t taken it well, likely because he’d had a crush on Ryan for some time. His sister Cass had only cared that he’d saved her life when he needn’t have and Pat had figured it out long before and not given a damn.

The rest of the people in our group knew some of the truth if not all, but they did know he was a killer and very good at it. What they didn’t know though, was that as time had gone on, he’d changed.

For one thing he’d stuck to his agreement with me and not killed anyone who didn’t do something to deserve it, though I suspected that he’d occasionally been liberal with that meaning. He actively protected children and had risked himself for others when he didn’t need to. He was changing no matter how much he denied it or tried to fight it.

He’d saved my life on more than one occasion and in turn I’d saved his. Somewhere along the way I’d fallen for him and fallen hard. I’ve no doubt that in another life it would never have happened. He was a murderer, a serial killer before the apocalypse even but now, with the world gone to hell that didn’t matter. What mattered now was what he did.

The world had been a bad place before it ended and since then, well, the apocalypse was bringing out the worst in people. I had a chance to ensure those that survived actually deserved to. The monsters could all die along with the zombies.

“Toby’s coming back,” Ryan said.

I realised I’d been lost in thought for some time and behind me Gregg was handing out plastic bowls of beans to the people we rescued. I focused on the approaching figure moving through the bushes with barely a sound.

With a grim expression he approached and spoke quietly about what he’d found. Once finished he turned away and took up his usual solitary position on watch. Ryan and I shared a look before moving to join the others beside the fire.

Jenny tensed as Ryan took up position behind the group and Gregg sighed as I spoke.

“The remainder of your group are all dead.”

They shared looks of confusion and guilt before James finally spoke for them all. Taking on the role of leader of their little party.

“What?”

“The three men, four women and two small children that you abandoned when you ran,” I said. My voice had grown cold and I struggled to regain control of myself.

“We didn’t…”

“Don’t you dare lie!” My voice was too loud but I didn’t care, all I could think about was the children being killed by the zombies. “Why didn’t you help them?”

“There were too many…” Helen began.

“Most of the zombies were killed by people you abandoned. If you’d stayed they might have had a real chance,” I said. Tears were forming in my eyes and I wiped them away angrily. It was no time for showing weakness, I needed to be strong.

“We had to run,” James said. “You don’t understand.”

“Cold and scared, half-starved and weak?” I said. “We understand that, we’ve all experienced that but we didn’t give up. We didn’t abandon the people who needed us. How can we let you join us? We need people we can rely on.”

“Please,” James said. Panic filled his voice as he saw his hope of a safe refuge rapidly vanishing. “If you leave us here we’ll die.”

“Like your group died?”

Anger filled me and I desperately wanted to lash out and these idiots who had run when they should have fought. Ryan raised one eyebrow as he watched me and I shook my head. Not yet, they might still be something worth saving.

“Tell me what happened, everything.”

James looked to the others who were cowering beneath our looks of disgust. He cleared his throat and began to speak.

“We’ve been on the move since this started, barely managing to stay in one place for long. Our group grew and shrank as new people joined and others died or left to try to survive on their own.”

“As the weather grew colder and food became scarce we met groups on the road who took what they wanted from us.”

His eyes flicked towards his wife who was staring at her hands where they rested in her lap and I had an idea of just what they’d taken.

“We met one group who attacked us as soon as they saw us, killed three of our group and stole away two others. One of them a child. We found them a couple of days later.”

A sob escaped the younger girl and her father tightened his arm around her protectively as he glared at Jenny who was watching him strangely.

“It was bad,” James continued. “We found some villages and houses with people who were safe but they forced us away. No room for people they didn’t know. Trust is in low supply these days.”

“Understandable,” I said.

“What little food we could find went to the youngest first, the children. Their parents gave up their portion more than once but it wasn’t enough. They were getting weaker and we couldn’t travel as far or as fast as we needed to.”

“Two nights ago those zombies started after us. We kept ahead, just barely and thought we’d lost them. We made camp last night and thought we were safe.”

“They came during the night,” Helen said. Her voice filled with fear and perhaps a little self-loathing. “So many of them we knew we didn’t have the strength to fight them. I ran and James followed.”

“What about you?” Gregg asked Michael.

“Saw them two running and went with them. Had to protect my Evie.”

I sighed and gestured with a tilt of my head for Ryan to follow me. He frowned but joined me a little way from the others.

“What do you think?” I asked him.

“Choice is yours,” he said. “Not sure how much use they’d be.”

“With some food and real rest… I don’t know. Half-starved and in constant fear, they didn’t have someone like you there to protect them.”

“Or like you,” he said with a smile that lit up his face and sent a tingle through my body.

I leaned forward to rest my head on his shoulder, the weight of the decisions I had to make was almost too much sometimes. He surprised me by putting one arm around me, a gesture of comfort that he was becoming more adept at recognising the need for. In me at least.

“We should take them,” I said. “Give them a chance to see how they do. If it doesn’t work out, well we can deal with that then. I don’t think they’re bad people.”

“If that’s your choice,” he said. I looked up to see a carefully neutral expression. He wouldn’t let anyone know whether he was happy or disappointed with my choice. He’d support me no matter what his personal feelings though and that was what mattered.

I held his hand in mine as I led him back to the fire and hid my own amusement at his discomfort at the public display of affection.

“You can come back with us,” I said. “We’ll give you a probationary period to see if it works out. If you’re not useful, you won’t stay.”

“Thank you,” James said with a wide smile for his wife. “We’ll not let you down.”

I was watching each of them in turn, seeing their reaction which is why I noticed it. Michael tightening his arm around the girl and whispering something to her that caused her to flinch. Just a little but enough. Jenny caught it too and half stood with her knife raised.

“Wait,” I called to Jenny as the sudden joy on the survivors’ faces was replaced once again by fear.

“You saw that too?” she said.

“Saw what?” Gregg asked.

“I think we need to talk to Evie a moment,” I said. “Alone.”

“She stays with me,” Michael said. His eyes gleamed with malice in the reflected firelight and he had one hand in a pocket on his coat.

“Evie,” I said. “Come over here please.”

The girl looked at her father and I was convinced by the fear I saw in that look, I needed to speak to her alone. I glanced at Ryan and saw him watching me, I nodded.

As soon as he moved towards Michael and his daughter, the man pulled a short bladed knife from his pocket and held it out before him. He pulled the girl up with him and snarled.

“Keep away.”

“Put it away man,” Gregg said.

“Piss off darkie.”

Gregg reached for his club, his face clouding with anger at the insult and I had a moment to think racial slurs, still? Before Ryan moved forward, springing to action.

Michael swiped at him with the knife but Ryan avoided it easily. In seconds he had his own knife pressed against Michael’s throat with one hand while his other held away the arm holding the knife.

“Let her go,” he said.

Whatever Michael saw as he looked into Ryan’s eyes, it was enough for him to lose all colour in his face and release his daughter who stumbled away.

“Keep an eye on these,” I said with a gesture to the new people as I reached out to the girl.

She didn’t resist as I pulled her away from the others, her eyes large and fearful. She winced when I touched her arm and I wondered at why. Once sufficiently away from the group, I took hold of her hands and began to talk.

Slowly at first and of little things. I spoke of the changing weather and how it seemed colder now that it had before everything went to hell. I spoke of Ryan and how little of himself he showed to others but how much of the real person I saw. I talked and she listened and slowly relaxed.

“Where are you from?” I asked. The fear returned to her eyes but I repeated the question gently as though it were inconsequential.

“Preston,” she said shyly and I nodded before asking her another question. I continued like that for a while, asking about her house and friends, her school and what she liked to do. Slowly, the questions turned to what had happened when the undead began to rise.

“We hid in my aunt’s farm for a month,” she said. “I helped with the chickens and horses but then the zombies came.”

“Was it just you and your dad?”

“No, my mum and brother too and my aunt.”

“What happened to them?”

“Zombies ate them.”

“I’m sorry,” I said as she sniffed and wiped at her nose. “What happened after that?”

“Dad and me moved around,” she said. “Kept away from the zombies and other people.”

“When did you meet the group you were with?”

“Couple of weeks ago.”

“Did they treat you okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did they look after you?” I pressed gently, “Did any of them hurt you or make you do things you didn’t want to?”

The startled look was back in her eyes and she tried to pull away as she looked back to the group where Ryan still had his knife against her fathers’ throat.

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

“That’s what dad said,” she whispered.

“Did he? Did he protect you?”

“He let them do things to me for extra food,” she said. Tears were in her eyes but my own were dry and kept that way by the boiling rage inside of me.

“Was James one of those?”

“No.”

“Did he know about it?”

“They all did,” she said. “Told me if I didn’t do it the other kids would have to.”

Damn. The urge to go back to the fire pit and use my hammer on them was strong and I focused on the girl to keep from shaking.

“Did your dad ever…”

I struggled to finish that sentence. How could you ask someone if their dad was one of the men raping them?

“Sometimes,” she said. “Said it was my job cause mum was gone.”

Unable to hold back the tears I pulled her into an embrace and rocked her gently as she wept. I kept my face to the group though and met each of their eyes before they turned away. My own group knew without my needing to tell them and their expressions were grim.

“We need to go back to the others,” I said gently after a while.

She looked up at me through red rimmed eyes and panic filled crossed her face.

“Don’t make me go back with him, please.”

“Not a chance,” I promised.

I led her back to the camp and Michael struggled in Ryan’s grasp as he saw his daughter, his face red with anger and frustration. James at least had the decency to keep his face averted.

“You knew what he was doing to her,” I said. My voice was colder than the snow around us and Helen flinched away from me. “You knew!”

“None of our business,” Helen said.

“I didn’t touch her,” James added.

Our community needed people to survive and I had said more than once, what is the point of surviving if we had nothing left worth saving. I had a responsibility for my people and I would ensure that the monsters stayed away from them but at the same time, I wouldn’t allow those who let the monsters prey on others into our home.

“Leave,” I said. “Now.”

James and Helen exchanged looks as they rose to their feet, hesitant and scared.

“Please,” Helen said. “If we go out there alone we’ll die.”

“You won’t be joining us and I’ll not waste any food of people who will allow a child to be raped. Leave now or die here, your choice.”

“Please,” James said. His voice full of pleading.

“Leave,” Jenny said as she pressed the point of her own knife against the back of his neck.

We watched as the husband and wife left the camp, pushing through the bushes and out of sight. Toby looked back and caught my eye. I gestured with a tilt of my head and he nodded once. He’d follow and make sure they left.

“What kind of man would sell his daughter for scraps of food?” I said and Gregg’s eyes widened in shock. He was such an innocent, even now. He’d not realised what was happening.

“Fuck you,” Michael said. “She’s my daughter.”

“No,” I said quietly. “You lost any right to call her daughter.”

Ryan looked questioningly at me and I shook my head. His face fell and I knew he was disappointed. It wasn’t my decision to make.

“We’ll take you to a place of safety,” I said to Evie quietly. “You’ll never have to see him again but it’s your life. You have to choose to come with us or stay.”

“I don’t want to stay with him, I can’t.”

She shook gently in my arms as she cried and I knew the next question would be hard on her.

“What do you want us to do with him?”

“What do you mean?”

“We can send him away or we can kill him,” I said. My tone was matter of fact as though we weren’t talking of murder, but the girl had to know what her choices were. “If we send him away he could always come back and find you, he knows we have a place that’s safe near here.”

“I won’t come back,” Michael said. His voice was pleading as he realised how much danger he was in. “I’ll leave, I promise.”

“He’s my dad,” she said. “Please don’t hurt him.”

“I won’t,” I promised as my eyes found those of my beloved protector. “He’s a bad man though, Ryan and Jenny will take him far away from you.”

He nodded slightly, the barest tilt of the head as he acknowledged that he understood what I meant. Together they pushed him from the camp, Ryan’s knife pressed firmly against Michael’s flesh and were soon gone from sight.

The girl sank to the ground beside the fire and wept. I settled in for a long wait and held her close as I stroked her head. Gregg took up Toby’s place on watch and turned a troubled face outwards.

He was still too innocent and while he might suspect what was happening not so far from the camp, he would soon convince himself that Ryan had taken Michael a long way away.

Ryan, would do as I promised to the letter. He’d take him away and ensure my promise wasn’t broken. I’d not be the one who harmed him but he wouldn’t survive the night and no more girls would be raped by the monster he was.

I had a responsibility to my people, my friends. I would do what was needed to protect them and if that made me a monster, when the time came that we were no longer needed, Ryan and me… well, we’d leave. The last of the monsters in the Garden of Eden that we were building for others.

 

Tis the season to be… maudlin.

It’s that time of year again. Christmas. Now, I know how yesterday I posted briefly about my dislike of presents, but I felt that I needed to add to that.

I actually like the season. I’m a fan of winter in general and the bleak, cold and wet weather is immensely appealing. Add to that the atmosphere of general good cheer in the pubs, that while I may not partake in, I enjoy anyway.

My children will receive their presents and though I tell them throughout the year how much I love them, somehow that little extra reminder at this time of year is welcomed.

So generally speaking, as long as no one gives me a present, I am fairly good with this time of year. Of course that may change when you find out your fathers cancer is growing again. More to the point it has spread to his liver.

Now my father has small cell lung cancer, caused no doubt by his almost obsessive need to smoke over the years. Heck, he still smokes and despite his illness, really won’t give it up.

It’s understandable then that he has it. He was treated for it and being as he is from the UK, he didn’t need to start a drug empire to pay for treatment.

His cancer shrunk to about half, so while he and his partner may have deluded themselves into thinking all was well, I knew it would come back. I didn’t expect it to have moved quite so quickly though.

The prognosis for small cell lung cancer is not good. It is terminal, whether it kills you in a day or ten years, it will kill you unless something else gets you first. The odds of surviving a year after diagnosis is not high, so to have had him reach Christmas is a minor miracle.

That it is growing and has moved, that is really not a good sign. He starts Chemo again on the 29th, since even cancer treatment takes a holiday break and I will be honest in saying that I think this may be his last Christmas.

Since I try to be a good father, I have not told my girls or anyone else really. Why spoil their celebrations? In the new year, I will advise my eldest daughter to fly over for a visit in the school holidays so that she can spend some time with him. Then I will quietly plan for the funeral that his partner and her daughter are deluding themselves won’t be needed.

If nothing else it gives me a reason to have a few beers over the holiday period while my daughter is away at her mothers. I will drink and remember how great a father he was as I enjoy the little time he has left.

Bah Humbug.

It is that time of year again. Snow is falling, presents are under the tree and goodwill is filling the people of the world. Sure, tell me another.

I don’t dislike Christmas but I don’t especially love it. Giving the children gifts and seeing them enjoy themselves is worth all the hassle but I personally hate being given gifts.

Not sure why this is, but I do. Maybe its the act of sitting there while people watch you open them, expecting a response of some sort. Perhaps a smile or a giggle of unexpected happiness. Nope, not for me. I hate it.

I once made my mother cry because of my reluctance to open presents in front of people. She had gifted me a few items and seeing as I had a hangover and happened to be sitting in the living room with my entire family around me, I thanked her and placed them to one side to open later. By 4pm, I still hadn’t been left alone and she burst into tears claiming I was purposefully trying to hurt her.

Since my children are now teens and my eldest lives with her mother in Belfast, we tend to alternate Christmas. This year, my youngest will go over to join her sisters and mother in Belfast and I will get to sit at home alone. I’m looking forward to it.

I intend to drink some booze, do some work and enjoy the rare time alone. In a few short days my beloved daughter will be home and she will have a second Christmas with presents from myself and my side of the family. She will love it, she will likely insist on giving me a gift and because I really don’t want to make my daughter cry, I will say thank you. I will open it and I will smile as I do it. I can’t wait for it to be over.

Still, I hope you all enjoy your Christmases and to be honest, I will look forward to new years eve when I will get to go and see the new Star Wars film with my daughter. That for me will be the real time of joy.

Something, something… meh

It’s that time again. I have most of a bottle of JD’s swirling around in my stomach and a warm happy feeling… which is likely just the alcohol.

After a week of office work (occasionally from home while sat in my underwear, homeworking ftw) visits from the landlord, british gas to do their yearly safety check, electrician to sort out the dodgy lights on the landing and all the fun filled tasks that come with being a parent and somewhat responsible adult… It is time for a break. Time, indeed to relax and enjoy myself. So writing it is.

I shall be continuing my science fiction tale, set in a world where the hundreds of settled worlds have lost their connection to each other and to mother Earth. I’m about 30,000 words in and so far it’s flowing rather nicely.

No doubt once I finish the first draft I’ll go back through with a focus on the science and continuity. Overall though, things seem to be working well.

The universe works, the characters are feeling fleshed out and real while events are unfolding in a pleasing manner. I fully expect it to be completed and released in December.

Which brings me to what to do after that. I have the third and final book of my (so far) poor selling Urban Fantasy story. I’m hoping that with the third and final book in that immediate story, I can bundle it together and promo the heck out of it to generate some sales.

After that (which really won’t take long and should be done by the end of Jan with a lot of the work already done,) I shall be returning to my zombie series.

This is exciting for me because Ryan is by far, my favourite character. I love him in a way that he wouldn’t understand because… well, he’s a bit closed off that way.

The question I have for anyone who has read the books and happens to drop by to read this blog is this; What do you want to see from the next series?

A change up in style? First person is amazing to show just how alien the world can be to Ryan but in third person, you can get inside the head of Lily and his friends too.

Would that be something you would want? A story that incorporates the other characters a little more or are you happy with keeping the world contained in Ryan’s twisted mind?

I am tempted, to keep it first person but have alternate POV. Ryan one chapter, Lily the next. I imagine it could be interesting to see how Lily views the world since she is pretty much the opposite of Ryan in her views.

It would be interesting to hear what people think so leave a comment and let me know.

 

 

Characters

Star Wars is coming out soon. Very soon. Not soon enough… and since I am a bit of a fan I have been immersing myself in all things Star Wars (except for the Phantom Menace *shudder*) to keep me occupied until the new film is released.

I’ve been playing the games, kicking all kinds of butt with my character in Jedi Academy and I’ve been reading the comics or graphic novels as they are known as now. I even spent an entire weekend downloading and installing the MMO that they released and I stopped playing a month after it came out. Through all of this and most especially with the comics, I’ve been thinking about the characters they use.

Ask any fan of the movies, who is the worst character and you will likely get Jar Jar Binks as the answer. I have to agree, but he was an extreme version of the character you’ll find in all of the Star Wars media. The faintly idiotic comic relief character that I tend to hate.

I understand their purpose and can still enjoy a story despite their presence but it is overdone in the SW universe. The characters are all the same. You have the hero, the lovable rogue, the idiot comic relief, the little known filler character who will die soon and of course, the bad guy.

It’s obviously a formula that has worked for George Lucas and I am a fan, but sometimes when reading or watching I just want to get to know the bad guy a little more.

This is the same for anything. I enjoyed Dexter and even Hannibal though I disliked the style of the show itself. Wicked City ( A new show) is great because the focus seems to be on the bad guy. I like to know these characters because they are generally the most interesting.

In my first series, the zombie apocalypse one, my main character is a killer. He isn’t especially charismatic or friendly and he struggles to grasp the basic things that most people take for granted, such as empathy and compassion. He kills without remorse and I love him for it.

I love it because I have read so many stories where the everyman lead struggles with the morality of taking a life. Where the heroine is caught between her desire for handsome man number one and handsome man number two. Where the bad guy creates an elaborate trap that will allow the hero to get the one device/artifact that can stop him rather than just gutting the hero when he has the chance. I love it because it’s different.

Now don’t get me wrong here, there’s a reason why the love triangle, bond villain and farm boy hero get re-used. It’s because they work and I’m not saying everyone should focus on the villains point of view.

It would be nice though if your love triangle was a little different, your farm boy didn’t go through exactly the same plot each time and the villain wasn’t quite as incompetent when it comes to dealing with the hero.

Have the elaborate trap but have a solid reason for it beyond ‘it’s more exciting.’ Have a love triangle but change it up a bit. Make your hero jump through just a few different hoops. If nothing else, look at your characters and think to yourself about whether they are the same as all the rest or if they are different.

Just one of those days.

Well after an evening update from Microsoft, my windows 10 pretty much screwed up my machine.

Several hours spent last night resulted in me going to bed in disgust and after a couple hours more this morning… I had to wipe my machine. Full factory reset which is kind of traumatic.

I just about managed to save all of my writing drafts since they are backed up on a flashdrive. Everything else though, the writing programs, cover programs, random websites full of interesting information – including the all of the research materials for the new science fiction story… all gone.

The rest of my day today has been trying to restore as much of that stuff as I can which was at best tedious and at worst, soul destroying.

I’ve given up on today… tomorrow will be fresh and new with lots of writing to do. For now, I am going to re-watch the Flash and try not to think about everything I just lost.

Confession

I have a confession to make. I’m not a nice person.

Don’t get me wrong, I fake it incredibly well. I have had people all of my life telling me what a nice person I am. They say I am a good listener, great to talk to, nice person… sorry. It’s all a fake.

It isn’t something I can help or even change. Heck, I wouldn’t want to change. All that worry and care for others seems positively exhausting.

Throughout my life I have been taught to be polite, well-mannered even. If an elderly person gets on the bus and the seats are full, you give up yours. If someone asks directions you respond politely, you hold doors for people, say “ahhh” when they tell you their pet/partner/loved one just died. It’s all learned behaviour.

In my life, I have so far had three people fall down in front of me. An older gent tripped at a crossing point and I continued talking to my companion until she rushed over to help. A young woman fell over and I glanced at her before continuing and at one point a middle-aged woman tripped over a step and literally fell at my feet. I had stepped over her and was a dozen feet away before it even registered.

Like I said, I’m not a nice person. I felt no guilt for not helping those people, I feel no guilt or upset at the plight of the refugees that seems to be all the media wish to speak about. I don’t care if they live or die unless it affects me and I have been told that I am a bad person for that. Hell, I’ve been called all manner of names and chastised as though I had a choice in the matter.

As a child, I knew I was different. One particular day stands out for me. I was walking along the road with my brother and I was perhaps pre-teen or just about teen at the time. For whatever reason my younger sibling looked back and saw that an elderly woman had fallen over. He pointed it out and I shrugged and continued along my way for a few steps before I realised that I was walking alone.

My younger brother had set off running. In a few short moment’s he was at the side of the elderly lady. He picked her up, gathered together her shopping and led her away. I can recall standing there wondering where he was going for a few minutes before forgetting about him and going on my way.

Later, he admitted to me that he had taken her home, put away her shopping and made her a cup of tea. He stayed with her until he was sure she was okay before leaving her. I actually admired him for that because it was something that would never occur to me to do.

When I encounter someone who has fallen over, I will perhaps crane my neck to see and wonder what happened out of mild curiosity but it won’t even occur to me to offer them assistance.

I am aware of this. I know that it makes me different from other people. I delight in death and despair. Where some people see a tragedy, I see something mildly amusing. The very idea of being upset for others is alien to me. I cannot comprehend why the death of another person will cause a stranger to cry. A character in my books recounts a story of his childhood to emphasize  how different he is and that story is mine.

These issues I have are not hidden from me. I am very much aware of them and how the separate me from others. I am aware of those differences and on occasion I may even wonder what it would be like to be the same as everyone else. I know I can’t though.

No matter what I may on occasion wonder, I am alone. I’m okay with that, I have no real need to socialize with others all the time, to empathise with them, to care about them…

My children are not like me. They care about others, they feel for them in a way that I never could and I can only find some genuine pleasure at that. They won’t be isolated like I am. They won’t miss out on those things in life that I have because they can make those connections.

I am different to the norm, I am by many of societies measures, a failure. A throwback to an earlier time when my traits were useful but no longer needed. I can grasp why that is so, but I don’t feel it and apparently that is wrong.