Tell Me When I’m Dead—Chapter 1

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Wow, it’s been a long summer, people. What with editing, final proofing and eBook formatting … but I’m nearly there. My new zombie novel, Tell Me When I’m Dead, is just about ready for publication as an eBook. Whew!

This thing is going up on Amazon exclusively. Over time, I will expand. If all goes well—and that’s really up to you guys—there will be a paperback edition toward the end of the year.

Over the last several months, I’ve gotten so much encouragement from my family, fellow writers and beta readers. Publishing a book is really putting yourself out there. You always hope for the best, but expect the worst. And, good or bad, every honest review is a gift.

So, not too much longer, I promise. In the meantime, here is Chapter 1. Let me know what you think in the comments.

Chapter One

In the Shit

Not all draggers want to eat your flesh. Some want revenge.

This was what went through my head as I lay frozen in the corner of a cold storage area, my body halfway to dead and my breath like a broken concertina. The pounding on the metal door was deafening. The wailing of the undead tore at my brain like a glass dagger. It was a matter of time before they got in. I might be able to take out one or two— even without a weapon—but in the end they’d finish me.

I couldn’t get my mind clear. I thought I heard automatic gunfire and the sound of people screaming. How had the draggers broken in? Wasn’t anyone defending the doors? Maybe my captors were passed-out drunk.

It would’ve been so much better for me had I done the same. I wouldn’t feel anything as I was ripped to pieces by animal-like claws and razor-sharp teeth that reeked of carrion,  the filmy grey eyes unseeing and unfeeling.

In my delirium I prayed Holly and Griffin made it to the Arkon building and under the protection of Warnick and his men. There was no way for me to check. My cell phone was busted. I hadn’t slept for days. I was hurt. Bad. Surrounded by huge aluminum tanks of ice-cold beer waiting to be tapped. Nice touch, Lord. Back atcha.

Through the pounding and the screaming I wondered if my friend Jim was outside with the others, trying to claw his way in and shred me up out of hate for what happened to him. It wasn’t my fault he turned. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.

In the days preceding this—I don’t remember when—I saw a horde tear a guy apart. Big as he was, he was no match for them. In a matter of seconds they had him on the ground as they ripped his belly open, exposing the soft, pulsating organs. They cored him like an apple, from bottom to top. His head was the last to die, I remember, his eyes frozen in the terror of seeing his own hollowed-out body shudder into stillness. I wished I had a gun.

But it was the screaming. I’d never heard a man scream like that before. Was I capable of making that sound?

I stared at the door, wondering if it would hold. There was no way to lock it from the inside. Besides, I was too weak. The nailheads had left me in here and were planning to kill me according to the one they called Ulie. It didn’t matter that I’d agreed to join their insane movement. Or the draggers would find me instead. You ’member that guy Dave Pulaski? Whatever happened to him? Oh yeah, he’s dead. Just like all the others.

So far the horde was unable to pull the door open. I needed a beer bad.

I thought of Black Dragon and the Red Militia. Both proved to be false remedies in these  delirious times. The soldiers—private military contractors really—were overwhelmed. And the militia, which started out as a movement to “save” people, turned into ravening chaos and violence. They fought Black Dragon, they fought civilians and they fought themselves, all at the behest of their insane leader, Ormand Ferry, with his dream of a new order, which was disintegrating into a long, debauched night of madness here in this out-of-the-way brewery.

I didn’t know which was worse—the draggers or Ormand Ferry. Either way you were dead.

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It was so cold in here as I sat there thinking about these last weeks—about Holly, Jim and Missy. Everything went wrong after that night—that lost night. And what about me? I was a good person—I am. Used to be … I don’t know. But it was after that monstrous night when everything went sideways and Hell came looking for the good people of Tres Marias.

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