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Reanimated Americans: A Zombie Novel
"Martin Mundt is a nasty, warped, zero-termperature so-and-so who can't put two words together without first snickering, then slitting their throats. This guy is far too hip for his own good. No wonder reading him is such a pleasure."
-Peter Straub, author of A DARK MATTER and THE TALISMAN (with Stephen King)
"If you are a fan of sardonic wordplay and the macabre; or dare I suggest, macabre sardonic wordplay ... then you, my dear X, must read Martin Mundt."
-John Everson, author of SIREN and THE PUMPKIN MAN
REANIMATED AMERICANS
Jett Ahrens has just joined the Zombie Division of the Census Bureau, hoping for a dull, uncomplicated job counting the country's newest citizens--the Living Dead. Y'know: Zombies, Rotters, Grave Potatoes, but don't call them any of those names. They're Reanimated Americans, and they aren't anything like their cinematic counterparts--they don't eat your flesh or want your brains. They just... stand around. Loitering. Stinking up the place.
Easy enough, yeah, but one of Jett's partners might be a little nuts, and then there's the serial re-killer going around town and setting walking dead folks on fire. Not to mention the Red Death Gang transforming the undead into works of art. Or the pair of psychotic cops tracking the serial re-killer and wreaking havoc of their own.
Or the nasty secret Jett keeps in a rental storage unit...
A biting satire about how civilization might cope with its most popular boogieman, Reanimated Americans by Martin Mundt will send a chill down the spines of zombie-lovers and bureaucracy-fearers everywhere.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Martin Mundt has published two collections of short stories: The Dark Underbelly of Hymns with Delirium Books and The Crawling Abattoir with Twilight Tales Publications, as well as a novella, The Cranston Gibberer, with Bad Moon Books. He founded the webzine www.feralfiction.com in 2004.
His play, The Jackie Sexknife Show, was produced by the Crooked Twilight Theatre Company in Chicago in 2003. Several of his short stories have received Honorable Mention in The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror anthologies. He won the Flash Fiction contests at the World Horror Conventions in 2005 and 2006 with stories that cannot be read in front of children. He can be found in cyberspace at martin-mundt.blogspot.com.
PRINT IS DEAD is a new line of top-quality zombie novels brought to you by the critically acclaimed indie publisher, Creeping Hemlock Press. Each title is available in both paperback and e-book format.
www.printisdead.com
GEORGE A. ROMERO on PRINT IS DEAD:
"These guys know more about the undead than I do… and that's saying something, because I've been hanging out with zombies for as long as I can remember."
-Peter Straub, author of A DARK MATTER and THE TALISMAN (with Stephen King)
"If you are a fan of sardonic wordplay and the macabre; or dare I suggest, macabre sardonic wordplay ... then you, my dear X, must read Martin Mundt."
-John Everson, author of SIREN and THE PUMPKIN MAN
REANIMATED AMERICANS
Jett Ahrens has just joined the Zombie Division of the Census Bureau, hoping for a dull, uncomplicated job counting the country's newest citizens--the Living Dead. Y'know: Zombies, Rotters, Grave Potatoes, but don't call them any of those names. They're Reanimated Americans, and they aren't anything like their cinematic counterparts--they don't eat your flesh or want your brains. They just... stand around. Loitering. Stinking up the place.
Easy enough, yeah, but one of Jett's partners might be a little nuts, and then there's the serial re-killer going around town and setting walking dead folks on fire. Not to mention the Red Death Gang transforming the undead into works of art. Or the pair of psychotic cops tracking the serial re-killer and wreaking havoc of their own.
Or the nasty secret Jett keeps in a rental storage unit...
A biting satire about how civilization might cope with its most popular boogieman, Reanimated Americans by Martin Mundt will send a chill down the spines of zombie-lovers and bureaucracy-fearers everywhere.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Martin Mundt has published two collections of short stories: The Dark Underbelly of Hymns with Delirium Books and The Crawling Abattoir with Twilight Tales Publications, as well as a novella, The Cranston Gibberer, with Bad Moon Books. He founded the webzine www.feralfiction.com in 2004.
His play, The Jackie Sexknife Show, was produced by the Crooked Twilight Theatre Company in Chicago in 2003. Several of his short stories have received Honorable Mention in The Year’s Best Fantasy and Horror anthologies. He won the Flash Fiction contests at the World Horror Conventions in 2005 and 2006 with stories that cannot be read in front of children. He can be found in cyberspace at martin-mundt.blogspot.com.
PRINT IS DEAD is a new line of top-quality zombie novels brought to you by the critically acclaimed indie publisher, Creeping Hemlock Press. Each title is available in both paperback and e-book format.
www.printisdead.com
GEORGE A. ROMERO on PRINT IS DEAD:
"These guys know more about the undead than I do… and that's saying something, because I've been hanging out with zombies for as long as I can remember."
286 pages, Kindle Edition
First published October 25, 2011
18 people want to read
About the author
Martin Mundt
26 books26 followersThe year was 1957. Sputnik was launched & the Space Age was born. Me, too.
The next event of any significance happened in '69. I saw 2001: A Space Odyssey for the 1st time & my 12-year-old self thought that it was the best thing I'd ever seen, despite a total lack of knowledge of LSD. Also, the Moon landing dominated the news. Astronauts were heroes. For a skinny, uncoordinated kid with bad eyes & a fear of heights, it was a time when I realized that no matter how crazy my dream, no matter how high my goal, I was still just a skinny, uncoordinated kid with bad eyes & a fear of heights. I didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of ever being an astronaut.
Cut to '74, when I received the results of my high school aptitude test. I was still skinny, but even more uncoordinated & my eyes had gotten worse, but that aptitude test had determined that I should be an astronaut. I felt vindicated. The threads of my future were at last becoming clear. (Of course, the same test had also recommended that I become a sheriff or an army officer or perhaps a department store manager if the astronaut gig didn't work out, but since those results left the threads of my future rather more tangled, I disregarded them.)
Quite naturally, I suppose, I then flung myself into the study of science fiction--Arthur Clarke, Larry Niven, Isaac Asimov, Harlan Ellison, Kurt Vonnegut. Yeah, OK, maybe flinging myself into the study of 'science', as such, might have been more pertinent to the goal of becoming an astronaut, but those science-fiction guys all wrote better than the textbook guys. How much difference could one little word like 'fiction' make anyway? Well, apparently, there's just so much difference between studying quantum physics & watching Space 1999 on TV that the two just don't compare at all. & I mean, at all.
Well, to make a long story short (check out the sly play on words there; it's a writing thing), I never got into the Astronaut Training Program, or whatever they call it, but just 21 short years after taking a wrong turn on my aptitude test, I published a short story.
OK, so maybe I could've gotten my career off the ground a little quicker if I'd been a department store manager, but I'm not bitter. Not at all. So what if the cherished dreams of my childhood lie in ruins because of a string of D's in chemistry? So what? I discovered that I have a real flair for spelling. Take that, Buzz Aldrin.
Does an astronaut get to hold up a book & say, "This is my book."? Well, OK, maybe a lot of them do. But does an astronaut get to go to writing conventions & volunteer to check bags at the art show door? Well, OK, so maybe that's not such a good example. Oh, wait, wait, wait! Does an astronaut know what a gerund is? Hah! In your face, John Glenn.
& that compulsion to hang myself as an abject failure? Well, that pretty much goes away for days at a time now. So, I'm fine with my career choice. Just fine. I'm all good. Yep. Just great.
I'm a pretty nifty writer, too, if I do say so myself. Really. I'm not just saying that because I'm a bitter, middle-aged man bitter about the bitter way the world has treated me, & with a totally irrational chip on my shoulder about astronauts in general. No. That's absolutely not what's going on here. Not at all. I worked thru all that mindless rage a long time ago. I did. Really. I'm all good with astronauts now. I am. That dead rat I mailed to Neil Armstrong back in '81? A total mistake. I can see that now. Never should have happened. Sorry about that, Neil. Love ya. Really.
But, anyhoo, back to the point of this whole thing. I went to school, got a job, made a lot of friends who change their phone numbers often, blah, blah, blah. I'm currently at work on the 15th book of a series of novels about a skinny, uncoordinated serial killer with bad eyes & a fear of heights who torture-murders a...
The next event of any significance happened in '69. I saw 2001: A Space Odyssey for the 1st time & my 12-year-old self thought that it was the best thing I'd ever seen, despite a total lack of knowledge of LSD. Also, the Moon landing dominated the news. Astronauts were heroes. For a skinny, uncoordinated kid with bad eyes & a fear of heights, it was a time when I realized that no matter how crazy my dream, no matter how high my goal, I was still just a skinny, uncoordinated kid with bad eyes & a fear of heights. I didn't stand a snowball's chance in hell of ever being an astronaut.
Cut to '74, when I received the results of my high school aptitude test. I was still skinny, but even more uncoordinated & my eyes had gotten worse, but that aptitude test had determined that I should be an astronaut. I felt vindicated. The threads of my future were at last becoming clear. (Of course, the same test had also recommended that I become a sheriff or an army officer or perhaps a department store manager if the astronaut gig didn't work out, but since those results left the threads of my future rather more tangled, I disregarded them.)
Quite naturally, I suppose, I then flung myself into the study of science fiction--Arthur Clarke, Larry Niven, Isaac Asimov, Harlan Ellison, Kurt Vonnegut. Yeah, OK, maybe flinging myself into the study of 'science', as such, might have been more pertinent to the goal of becoming an astronaut, but those science-fiction guys all wrote better than the textbook guys. How much difference could one little word like 'fiction' make anyway? Well, apparently, there's just so much difference between studying quantum physics & watching Space 1999 on TV that the two just don't compare at all. & I mean, at all.
Well, to make a long story short (check out the sly play on words there; it's a writing thing), I never got into the Astronaut Training Program, or whatever they call it, but just 21 short years after taking a wrong turn on my aptitude test, I published a short story.
OK, so maybe I could've gotten my career off the ground a little quicker if I'd been a department store manager, but I'm not bitter. Not at all. So what if the cherished dreams of my childhood lie in ruins because of a string of D's in chemistry? So what? I discovered that I have a real flair for spelling. Take that, Buzz Aldrin.
Does an astronaut get to hold up a book & say, "This is my book."? Well, OK, maybe a lot of them do. But does an astronaut get to go to writing conventions & volunteer to check bags at the art show door? Well, OK, so maybe that's not such a good example. Oh, wait, wait, wait! Does an astronaut know what a gerund is? Hah! In your face, John Glenn.
& that compulsion to hang myself as an abject failure? Well, that pretty much goes away for days at a time now. So, I'm fine with my career choice. Just fine. I'm all good. Yep. Just great.
I'm a pretty nifty writer, too, if I do say so myself. Really. I'm not just saying that because I'm a bitter, middle-aged man bitter about the bitter way the world has treated me, & with a totally irrational chip on my shoulder about astronauts in general. No. That's absolutely not what's going on here. Not at all. I worked thru all that mindless rage a long time ago. I did. Really. I'm all good with astronauts now. I am. That dead rat I mailed to Neil Armstrong back in '81? A total mistake. I can see that now. Never should have happened. Sorry about that, Neil. Love ya. Really.
But, anyhoo, back to the point of this whole thing. I went to school, got a job, made a lot of friends who change their phone numbers often, blah, blah, blah. I'm currently at work on the 15th book of a series of novels about a skinny, uncoordinated serial killer with bad eyes & a fear of heights who torture-murders a...
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