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278 pages, Paperback
Published March 28, 2017
The man behind the counter looked as though he had just rolled out of bed. He pulled at his crumpled T-shirt and straightened his toupee. He peered at the little old lady, and a cunning smile cracked his pockmarked face, the smile of a Tyrannosaurus rex scenting a wounded herbivore. “Today is my lucky day,” the smile seemed to say. Unbeknownst to him, a grandmother-sized asteroid hurtled toward the planet at dinosaur-extinction speed.
In a parking garage beneath Jaffa Road, the Prophet pulled on a black leather jacket and a pair of matching riding gloves. The winged Harley Davidson emblem gleamed in the cool fluorescent light on the matte black chassis of the Sportster Iron 883. He kicked his leg over the decal of a fiery chariot on the rear fender and settled on the leather seat.
“A prophecy!” He fanned the pages of the Bible again, bouncing on the couch in excitement. “Isaiah, chapter twenty-six: ‘Your dead will live, their corpses rise. Awake and sing praise, you that dwell in the dust, for your dew is the dew of light…’”
A shudder ran down Moshe’s spine. The verse described a zombie apocalypse. Was he in the lead role? He had no desire to eat brains. He couldn’t even stomach a Jerusalem mixed grill.