tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57225710724692904372024-03-05T09:52:21.688-08:00Wartooth Ebooks and ReviewsCome visit Wartooth Ebooks and Reviews at Facebook and Twitter.Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-71586366075688343272013-06-25T20:50:00.000-07:002013-06-25T20:50:25.892-07:00CORA: Episode 4<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">EPISODE 4</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"The Forbidden Zone"</span></b></h2>
<div>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dale’s motorcycle
weaved down what had once been called Scottsville road. <span style="font-size: small;">Time and dilapidation had left some potholes
and cracks that could easily have thrown him to his death, but he had driven
the stretch to the old downtown enough times to know where most of the real
dangers were. The junk of five decades
slowed him to a crawl in several areas.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Most of the town
wouldn’t have wasted precious fuel to drive to the Forbidden Zone, but the risk
had paid off many times. Dale made his
living stealing what others worked hard to collect, and he never had any
problem trading for fuel or killing for it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was pretty rare to
see other vehicles on this stretch of road since the work crews hadn’t got
around to clearing it. That made it much
more dangerous. Corpses were drawn to clutter. It was as if they knew their slow gait and rigor
mortis movements made them vulnerable.
Individually, they were easy to avoid, but if Dale was caught off guard
by a group in this graveyard of the old order, he wouldn’t stand a chance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They were totally
silent other than what they bumped into or knocked over. The sound of the motorcycle could conceal
them until it was too late. Since he
couldn’t fight and drive, caution was his only defense. Periodically, he stopped and listened, even
turning off the engine at times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Once Dale reached what
used to be called 31 W, the road was clear.
Clean-up crews had been working steadily for the last decade to get rid
of the debris. Nashville and Bowling
Green had created a large trade network and used the combined efforts of their
inhabitants to maintain a clear route between all the markets and businesses
that slowly rebuilt. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The motorcycle engine
revved up on the clean straightaway. The
rumbling engine, smoking from the tailpipe took him to the Forbidden Zone in
minutes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On a side street next
to an abandoned Taco Bell three corpses mindlessly beat at a glass door. Dale slowed to get a better look as he
passed. The dead were drawn to the sound
of his engine and re-routed their drunken stagger toward him. He noticed they were fresh, not the skeletal
amblers with dried leathery skin anchoring their bones together. They leaked dark ooze from their eyes and
mouths. The shirtless one’s stomach had
either been cut open or ruptured from the decaying process, and a mess of
intestines slowly dripped out, one ringlet at a time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He pulled his sawed off
shotgun from his saddlebag. The weapon
did more against his human foes, but it would slow the dead down enough that
they were no longer a threat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Keeping the gun
leveled, Dale waited until they were about fifteen feet away. Their twisted faces twitched in anticipation
of the human flesh. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The first explosion of
the shotgun knocked the one with the open stomach down to the ground. It was on its back missing a leg at the
waist, a pool of blood rapidly gathering around it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The next explosion
opened a crater in the center of the other one’s chest, somersaulting it
backwards into a mangled heap.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Somebody must not have
put momma and daddy to rest properly.”
He mocked as he watched the corpses struggle to regain their feet. The legless one was down for the duration,
and the other was going to be a while until it could find something to pull on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">All the bodies in the
cemeteries had been exhumed and killed properly decades ago. These pieces of shit either found their way
out of the Forbidden Zone or somebody was in too big of a hurry to burn
them. He shoved his shotgun back in his
saddlebag and drove off down a dark street.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A few minutes later,
Dale killed the engine in the middle of street with ruined houses on both
sides. He was going to need to be quiet
to sneak up to the barrier unless he wanted his head blown off. The guards always shot to kill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">About fifty feet in
front of him, the road ended in a chain link fence re-enforced with logs and
old lumber. The barrier enclosed a three
mile area of the old downtown shopping area, and its sole purpose was to lock
in the dead. They had been drawn to the
clutter of the ruined Greenwood Mall and the shopping centers. The maze of debris had given them places to
hide and wait for looters in the beginning of the chaos. Their numbers grew as the newly deceased
stood up and joined them. It simply
became easier to lock them in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Putting the kickstand
down, he drew his shotgun from the saddlebag as he whipped off the bike. In his empty hand he drew a large wooden
stake from the other saddlebag.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The moon gave some gray
to the street before him, but it didn’t do much for the dark buildings. Fall was weakening to the force of winter,
and Dale saw his breath as he stayed in the middle of the asphalt. Since the corpses moved slowly, he’d have
plenty of time to assess his options.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His survival instinct
suddenly flashed to life and the cold air against his bare arms was gone. Adrenaline warmed him instantly. The yellow dot of a flashlight came into view
on his right. The barrier patrol was
headed straight for him. There was no
time to lose. The patrol didn’t take
prisoners. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He ran for one of the
houses missing a front door. Dale’s map
said the bootlegger tunnel started from the basement and ended in the Forbidden
Zone. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Suddenly A voice boomed
out in the night with incredible volume.
“Halt! No one is permitted in the
Forbidden Zone!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dale ran faster. There was no longer a choice. He was running for his life. He went to the floor and began crawling as
fast as he could the moment he entered the house. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Automatic gun fire
blasted through the night. He could see
the glow of a flashlight coming from outside.
Dale backed up against the wall and peeked around the corner. He saw someone wearing a large backpack lit
up from the intersection of several bright lights. The person was thin with long hair. Their hands went up to shield their eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Gunfire erupted in the
night. Sprays of meat and blood jumped
outward from the twirling, spasming body.
When death settled, the corpse dropped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dale readied his
shotgun. He would go down with barrel
blazing if they came for him. Voices
came from outside. They had gotten the
one they were chasing. His heart beat
with adrenaline fueled ecstasy when he realized they hadn’t seen him. The patrol was chasing someone else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The hallway he was in
shown with the faint orange of what he knew was a large fire. Across from him on the wall was a picture of
a family. Their smiles looked sinister
in the glow of a death pyre.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0.3in;"> </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"># # #<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jimmy stopped running
between the ruins of two buildings. His
cold exhausted breath billowed from his lips in visible puffs. The embrace of night was fully upon the
land. He knew he was pushing his luck being
out and unarmed in this part of the old downtown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His head cocked to the
right as he heard a barrage of automatic gunfire. It wasn’t down the street, but it wasn’t far
enough away for comfort either. For a
second his heart lifted. Maybe they had killed
Dale, finally put a bullet in the vicious son-of-a-bitch. Jimmy’s elation quickly passed. It was far more likely that they had just
sprayed a cluster of walking corpses looking for a way out of the contained
area. Either way, that sound let him know
the guards were on alert this evening, and he realized his shortcut through the
Forbidden Zone was even less of a good idea than usual.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">On nights like tonight
his cabin on the outskirts of the settlement seemed so far away. Dropping to one knee, he pulled a long wooden
spear out from behind a pile of rubbish.
The deadly point was the result of someone shaving a tip onto the wood
with a very sharp blade. Rags were
wrapped tightly around the shaft just below the point. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Leaning the spear
against the wall next to him, Jimmy grabbed something on the ground. There was a brief strain in his muscles as he
pulled a short length of rope to open a crudely fashioned trapdoor that covered
an opening into the old sewage system.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Fetching a lighter from
his pocket, he flicked it giving rise to a small flame. Jimmy had hunted the lighters for years. An old man had told him what they were called
in the old world. They came apart
easily, so Jimmy refilled them with the alcohol fuel people made in their
stills.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The cloth easily lit,
and with his torch in hand, the teenager climbed below the earth. The cool metal tingled in his palm as he
lowered himself into the darkness. It
felt much cooler down below. He pulled
on the rope, slamming the trapdoor behind him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The fire revealed he
was in a wide stone area with a low ceiling.
Jimmy only had to tilt his head a fraction to be comfortable. Garbage was everywhere. The human leg bones in his path were easily
kicked out of the way, but when his eyes caught site of the teeth marks on them
he felt a slight wave of anxiety. Being
this close to the Forbidden Zone was never without risk.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Hunching slightly, he
pointed his weapon into the darkness and moved ahead. If he moved quickly, he would be through the
Forbidden Zone in no time. He had the
shortest route memorized.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The silence in the
winding stone tunnels was only broken by the scurrying of rats and the splash
of disturbed puddles. Even though Jimmy
had taken the route hundreds of times, he never let complacency set in. The corpses were usually silent until it was
too late. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Meaningless graffiti
scrawled its way along the walls playing tricks in the periphery of the boy’s
vision. He jerked around several times
expecting to see an ambling dead man standing with a gaping maw. Silent zephyrs of foul smelling cavern breath
flickered the flaming rags on his spear to the point Jimmy feared he might lose
his light. He would be ready to strip off
his shirt and rekindle his torch. There
was no survival in the dark.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In the middle of one of
the flickers that nearly returned the sewer to darkness a sound echoed in the
distance. It was a reverberating of
sorts. Jimmy stood perfectly still and
listened with his entire body. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: 0.3in;"> </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"># # #<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dale’s directions led
him down a tight flight of stairs. The
faint glow of the fire dimmed with each step as he moved into the thickening
wall of gloom. Reaching out into the
darkness in front of him with his shotgun and his wooden lance made him
uncomfortable. There was no pretending
this little adventure wasn’t stupid.
Corpses lurked in the dark, and if he touched one unsuspectingly, it
would be on him and it would all be over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">As the map indicated,
he made his way across the room. The
door was in the corner where he expected it.
His fingers found the metal hinges.
The moment he touched the knob, his attention was drawn upstairs. Voices and boots made their way ungracefully
into the house.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Look around! Carl said he saw another one run in here!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The reply was a little
irritated. “Carl drinks more of our fuel
than he uses in the jeep.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dale got the joke. The few operating motors in the world had
been converted to run on plant and sugar based fuel that doubled as whiskey for
someone who didn’t mind walking. During
their conversation he eased open the door and slid into the unseen
chamber. He was crowded against boxes
and clothing, but the door shut him inside with little effort.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Suddenly, the stairs
came alive with heavy footfalls. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“It doesn’t look like
anyone has been down here in years.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dale felt his breathing
growing rapid and shallow. He feared he would give himself away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“The Captain wants
everything checked out. You heard him as
well as I did.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The other voice challenged. “This mysterious woman sneaking in the
Forbidden Zone doesn’t make any sense.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Don’t be stupid,
Adom. Why does anyone sneak in this hell
hole? To take shit, weapons, supplies,
all kinds of stuff from the old world.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The one called Adom
wasn’t backing down. “Even the Captain
says she just looks around. Never comes
out with anything. If you ask me, it’s
just too many long hours.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Shut up and look over
there.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dale felt his blood run
cold. As quietly as he could he moved
back in the depths of the closet. He
pushed himself into the clothes in time to hear the door open. Perfectly still, he was between packed
jackets. There was fire light on the other side of the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The voices were so
close. His mouth was dry, and he could
feel moisture in his palms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> “It doesn’t matter if people bring anything
out of the Forbidden Zone. The law says
no one goes inside accept on Black Friday.
And that’s how it ought to be. That
place has more zombies crawling around than the whole city of Bowling
Green. We don’t need them getting out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dale’s door
closed. The relief set his knees
shaking. He could hardly hold himself
up. The near miss increased his anxiety. He gripped his gun thinking his only option
was to kill his way out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Their conversation
ended with mutual agreement that no one was in the house. It was many moments after Dale was sure they
were gone that he felt his body relaxing.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Feeling through the
closet he found the loose board in the back.
Just like he expected, three boards lifted out of place. The passage was barely big enough for him to
crawl through if he left his weapons behind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"># # #<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The weathered boards surrendered
to the mass of the living dead. Skin
shredded from decayed hands and arms as they ripped their way past splintered
wood. The dead wave smashed forward into
the dark tunnel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">There was no more sound
as they ambled, no reveling in their success, no complaints about their ruined
flesh and broken bones. There was no
goal, no direction. The horde walked
where there was no barriers preventing their passage. The once goal-directed impulses that had
allowed them to navigate the world as living humans now operated in perversion,
propelling them without reason, without volition. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Darkness meant nothing
to them. Their shuffling gait was
unhindered by anxiety. Dead arms flailed
as they squeezed past each other to push through the narrow sewage
corridor. Their efforts to fight past
each other left smears of blood on gritty concrete walls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jimmy held his flaming
spear in front him to illuminate the distant darkness. It did not reveal the source of the
sound. Something had banged and
cracked. He faced the pile of junk
blocking the cylindrical stone passage that headed back toward the surface.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The stack of heavy
debris had obviously been placed intentionally.
It had been some time since Jimmy had taken this route home. Another traveler must have feared pursuit by
the living dead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Keeping his eyes
trained on the gloomy passage before him, his free hand groped at an old metal
mattress frame. Thoughtlessly, he flung
it away. He dragged several large flimsy
springs out from in front of the metal ladder mounted in the concrete.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jimmy recognized the
approaching footfalls. His choices
battled in his swirling mind. Run back the
way he’d come. He could move forward and
try his luck in battle, but advancing on the dead was as foolish of a move as
he could make. His hand pulled blindly
at the waste of the old world to get a path to the exit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His light cast a sickly
glow on a moving blur of pale. Three
bloody-faced, sallow corpses staggered forward with hands outstretched. Jimmy had to force himself to pull away a
wooden box, so he could get closer to the exit.
His legs wanted to run. His hands
wanted to thrust his flaming spear. He
knew it was exit or death. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Their advance came
faster than he suspected. His spear
struck outward, exploding through the rotten skull of the lead corpse. It fell to its knees when the teenager
withdrew his weapon, and then it toppled over perfectly still.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His spear pierced the
other in the throat. Blood spilled down
its front, and Jimmy had to shake the weapon violently to get it free.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The bottleneck the three
lead zombies had created in the tunnel mouth was now broken, allowing the mass
to spill forward. Jimmy fought their
advance with his spear. His anxiety at
being eaten alive rendered his blows ineffective. His only chance was the exit tunnel. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The undead bobbed and
wobbled around him. Their hands and
snapping teeth reached out for him.
Jimmy moved backwards preventing them from closing the circle around
him. His only chance against these
numbers was an exit path. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His hands released his
weapon, and the fire went out when it hit the floor. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Jimmy threw himself in
the last place he recalled seeing the ladder.
His leg hit something sharp, and a fiery pain burned inside him. The touch of lifeless, fingers thrust against
him. Instinct forced a swing of his arm
before he launched himself up the ladder.
It was pure luck he hadn’t been bitten.
Jimmy wasn’t stopping to test his luck.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">His arms and legs
propelled him up into the darkness. The
zombies were below him moving wildly.
The pain in his leg exploded through his adrenaline, and he lost his
grip. More shooting pain raced through
him as his wounded leg smashed against the metal rung. The surge of agony made him cry out
loud. At the top of the tunnel the cover
refused to move against his thrusting arms.
He slammed upward against the cover with his shoulder. He slammed again keenly aware of the creatures
below him slapping at the ladder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
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Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-53741849164766135502013-05-10T18:00:00.000-07:002013-05-11T11:29:18.837-07:00CORA: Episode 3<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ug-vqDTz-HmioN_55f_DQfLgpJxxgD6TgULPbYl8y2vwSn1-xa9sqiWWAia6wJX0fOhHj_6HdxkHm1IzJTv-d2Pbowgw0xhwLzpQG0HMzqvt30zAEuqWIFh9MrmCg3g8yQw3bI6ckL8/s1600/cora+cover+2+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ug-vqDTz-HmioN_55f_DQfLgpJxxgD6TgULPbYl8y2vwSn1-xa9sqiWWAia6wJX0fOhHj_6HdxkHm1IzJTv-d2Pbowgw0xhwLzpQG0HMzqvt30zAEuqWIFh9MrmCg3g8yQw3bI6ckL8/s640/cora+cover+2+(2).jpg" width="430" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">EPISODE 3</span></h2>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Nightfall"</span></h2>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Two heads ducked behind
the remains of the wooden fence as Alex rode down the street on his bike. In a bygone age, it had been a privacy fence
to protect the suburban oasis of swimming pool, swing set, and deck from nosy
neighbors. Now, the crumbling monument
to the old order offered a place for the two men to hide. .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Night was fully upon
them, but the sight of the silhouette holding the tall scythe made them take
pause. Neither of them spoke until the
man turned and walked into the darkness. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“What do you think he
told him?” The bigger of the two men
gritted. Appearing to be in his late
twenties, he was bald with a scruffy face and bad teeth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The other one was
closer to Alex’s age. Everything about
him was sleek and smooth. His voice was
still as much of a boy’s as it was a man’s.
“Will you relax, Dale. I’m sure
he told him the same thing he told us.
Be there at sun up in three days.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">His comrade growled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Jimmy looked over at
the older man. “What do you expect? His daughter’s a redhead. He has to make sure her husband is strong. Everyone will want her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">When the bald man
didn’t answer, Jimmy wasn’t sure what to make of it. He didn’t think his cousin understood the
seriousness of the situation. “If Mr.
Teeblum doesn’t follow the courtship rules, he’ll have a riot on his
hands.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dale’s cold smile and dark
words sent a feeling of unease down the younger man’s spine. “I don’t want to marry her. I just want some of that…” He licked his lips and let his words trail
into another dark thought. “When I’m
done, he can have her body back.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The grim thought made
Jimmy more aware of the chill in the night. He was glad the chosen suitor would have to
earn the token to gain entrance to the Forbidden Zone. Hopefully, Dale could be stopped. His cruelty frightened the younger man. Jimmy knew his threats of savagery could not
be dismissed. Cora deserved a better
man. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m not playing this
little game,” Dale hissed. “She will be
mine!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Jimmy tried to conceal
his fear, but there was no hiding the innocence in his wide, childlike eyes. “You
try and go over there now, and he’ll think you’re stupid for being out this
late. He won’t give his daughter’s hand
to an idiot.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dale pulled a folded
brown piece of paper out of the back pocket of his jeans. In the old order it was grocery bag. Slowly, he unfolded it, running his eyes
across the hand-drawn image. “I’ve got a
map to sneak into the arena. And I know
where some good shit is.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Jimmy brushed his dirt-crusted
bangs out of his eyes. “Man, nobody gets
into the Forbidden Zone until Black Friday.
You’re crazy!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m not walking in the
front door, dumb ass,” Dale spat condescendingly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Jimmy wasn’t like his cousin
in many ways and his words showed it.
“Man, you can’t go in there alone.
It only works if large numbers go in to fight the crowds of the dead. They will be eating your ass in no time. Think about it, man.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dale’s evil grin spread
like the dark embrace of a hungry corpse.
He aimed it at Jimmy with vicious intent. “You think you’re gonna get some of that
sweet Cora, don’t you?” He flicked his
tongue, crudely taunting the teenager, truly frightening him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Jimmy stuttered
briefly. “No man, you’ll never make it. Think about it.” He was torn.
Dale had kept him alive in many situations; killed for supplies and
shelter. He had no conscious and would
do anything. Jimmy wasn’t like
that. He had his limits and might not
even make it alone. But he had seen Cora
at the trading market and the Church.
From the very first time she had melted his heart. She made him feel something he had never felt
before, something incredible, something peaceful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dale gloated as he
folded the map. “I’ll be in and out with
some good gifts that will make her stupid father think I’ve got resources to
keep his little girl safe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">He pushed the map deep
in his pocket. “Really, it’ll just be
enough to get her to spread her legs.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Jimmy didn’t move. He was cold with fright. His heart raced with revulsion as he watched
Dale walk away from him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Hopelessly, he
slumped. He knew he didn’t have a
chance. There were too many suitors for
his princess’ hand. Even worse, he knew
none of them could win out over the wicked intent of Dale. For a second he entertained killing his
cousin. He even reached for the knife
strapped to his leg, but he quickly thought better of it. He’d seen Dale kill three boys with nothing
but his fists.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Dale’s motorcycle roared
to life and drove off into the distance until the engine could no longer be
heard. The thought of his sweet Cora
filled him with that peace, that warmth, that nothing had ever brought him in
his hard existence. In silence he prayed
for God to let the dead eat Dale. He
didn’t care what the cause, just kill him.
Cora deserved better. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;"># # #<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The dark-skinned, young
woman kept low to the ground as she darted from one patch of shadow to another. Her squirrel skin moccasins concealed the
sounds of her steps in the cool night.
The dangling, black ribbon tying her dreadlocks back hung down the side
of her neck and rested across her leather secured bosom. She knelt on her fit legs bending from her
short tunic of animal skins. The quarter
staff in her hand hung at her side as she surveyed the night. Her slingshot and pouch were secured to her
tunic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Had Stephanie been to
read, the meaning of the sign would have been lost to her. In the old world, The Graves Gilbert Clinic
had been a state of the art medical facility.
Under the darkness of a midnight sky, covered by unruly vines, it was
debris. The surrounding parking lot of
the three story building was empty of cars.
A few sections of asphalt were broken.
It was the poles that made the Sick Beds different from every other
place in Bowling Green. They were spaced
generously enough that a traveler could pass through them without
difficulty. They were about twelve feet
tall. Two to three foot lengths of chain
dangled from the top of each pole as they stood like quiet sentries around the
structure. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Old woman Carter had been
the one to tend to the sick as long as Stephanie could remember. The people in town called her a witch. Many were scared of her and didn’t even like
to say her name. But when a loved one
was sick beyond all hope, trembling hands rang the bell of her domain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">She could hear the
chains tapping the poles in the night wind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">One of the poles on the
far side of the house of the Sick Beds had the unmistakable dragging form of a
zombie standing next to it. The
uncoordinated arms slapped at something hanging from the chain. The undead was fixated. It’s slow movements were several feet below
reaching the hanging item, but it never stopped. The creature waited, head turned upward in
total attention.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Clinging to the night
swaths around the parking lot, Stephanie made her way to the target. Stragglers should always be killed. It was as true as the sun rose in the East
and set in the West. If stragglers died,
hordes never formed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">For a clear shot, she
had to break from the cover of trees and walk out onto the open field of tall
metal poles. Stephanie closed the
distance quickly from about fifty feet away.
She was able to make out a human arm hanging from the chain. It swung haphazardly as the dead creature
bumped into the pole with its clumsy attempts at getting the appendage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">She kicked something,
and it scraped and bounced across the ground.
The night silence was broken as the huntress dropped her staff,
clattering at her feet. The die had been
cast. Surprise had been lost, and
Stephanie pulled the slingshot from her tunic.
Her other hand fished a hefty iron nut from her bullet pouch. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The zombie made a
staggering turn in her direction. Its
dead lips parted, and a moan spilled into the midnight air. Stephanie had heard that sound countless times
before, but it never failed to send her heart pounding. She wasn’t foolish enough not to fear the dead. Her practiced hand put bullet to slingshot,
and she drew back an arm’s length.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Her eyes sized up the
weak spots of the rotten body. This one
was in bad shape, and by the look, it had been dead a long time. The muscles of the naked corpse were dry,
restricting its movements. Its spine was
crooked causing it to lean to the left.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The hand holding the
slingshot adjusted in response to the spot she found, a piece of gleaming white
femur was visible.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Stephanie released the
iron nut, and the sling shot fired with incredible power. A crack of bone filled the night as the
creature topped over on its broken leg.
Unaffected by pain, the corpse waved and flailed mechanically. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The sling shot dropped
to the ground as Stephanie snatched up her heavy quarter staff. She brought down a thunderstorm of blows to
the grounded corpse. Her two-handed strikes dislocated both of the zombie’s
arms at the shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Fully aware of the
presence of food, its jaws snapped loudly as it bit at nothing. Bone gnashed and gnashed again and
again. It had been years since the teeth
had broken away. The zombie’s drive to
kill held no understanding that it was powerless to feed ever again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The sharpened point of
her staff slammed into the eye of the zombie, bursting out the back of its
head. Dark liquid splashed across the
earth beneath it, and the corpse stopped moving.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Several savage blows
from her staff scattered the bones and dried muscle. Her excitement subsided, and Stephanie stood
alone once again surveying the nightscape around her. She picked up the iron bolt from the ground
and placed it back in her pouch. Bullets
were too hard to come by to be wasted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">As she moved swiftly
toward the house of the Sick Beds with quarter staff in hand, the young woman
made sure her slingshot and bullets were secure. Where one corpse walked, there could be
others. Something drew them together,
sound, smell, a faint memory of companionship from when they lived, no one
knew, but the dead gathered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A large door took shape
in the darkness before her. Mounted on
the brick wall beside it was a bell with a piece of rope hanging from it. As she clanged the bell, her heart beat fast
again. She felt like she were announcing
to all the flesh eaters and all the criminals she was vulnerable if they wanted
to attack.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">From somewhere slightly
above her Stephanie heard a muffled voice.
“Who comes to the Sick Beds?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“It’s me, Stephanie,” she
said politely in hurried fashion. She
wasn’t scared of the witch, but the woman never forgot who she was dealing
with. Old woman Carter was not an enemy
she wanted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">There was movement
behind the door. Something solid moved
away from it. Then a click and a squeak accompanied the opening door. Night withdrew as the flames of a torch
danced in the cool breeze. An attractive
woman in her thirties greeted Stephanie stoically. “She awaits you in her study.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Stephanie stepped into
a dark hallway and waited for the woman to secure the door. The floors were tiled in white and the walls
covered in the remains of beige wall paper.
When she turned around, the torch illuminated black fatigues, including
lace up boots and equipment Stephanie had never seen before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“I’m Aphra, Commander and
lone survivor of the Harpies.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Stephanie stared in
amazement at the woman who paid little attention to her as they hurried down
the hall. Aphra’s bare, sleek arms
concealed rippling muscles with a feminine softness. Matching black wrist bands supported the
tendons of her strong forearms, and her raven hair flowed with a beauty so
contrary to the hard world of dirt and survival beyond these walls that
Stephanie didn’t think it was real.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The mysterious woman’s
tan skin was flawless, and Stephanie noticed the redness of her lips seemed
wet. Her lashes were dark and thick with
an arching eyebrow framing her dark eyes like onyx fresh from the earth. Stephanie had never witnessed anything like
her before. Aphra was beautiful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The duo wound through
the ancient corridor and through heavy wooden doors. By the time Stephanie pulled her attention
from the beguiling stranger, she had no idea how to make her way back to the
entrance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“What’s that on your
back?” Stephanie asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Aphra’s face was
expressionless and her tone was dismissive.
“A weapon.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“I figured that. It looks like every other machine gun that’s
only good for a club now that all the rounds have been shot up.” Stephanie had no intention of bowing to this
woman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Aphra turned with
unexpected explosive intensity, pinning Stephanie to the wall with her forearm. Her torch illuminated the shock on the
visitor’s face. “Are we going to have a
problem little girl?” She said coldly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Stephanie’s struggle
went unanswered by the obviously stronger and more skilled woman. Out of frustration she erupted with anger. “Who the fuck do you think you are! Get your
hands off me!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Aphra leaned in close
as Stephanie fought to no avail. Her luscious red lips parted into a mocking
smile. “You’re lucky, the old woman has
plans for you. I’d rather use you as bait
if were up to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Immediately she stopped
struggling. Her eyes fixed harshly on
the more powerful woman in front of her.
“Why don’t you go fuck some of the rotten dicks in the Sick Beds,
whore. Me and the witch have business.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Stephanie concluded
with a final jab. “Servants aren’t
needed here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Aphra released her hold
and stepped quickly to the solitary door next to them. She gave two quick knocks. A weathered voice came muffled from the other
side of the wooden planks. “Come
in.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Aphra opened the door. She turned to Stephanie, nodding for her to
enter. Without a word, the woman in
black continued down the hall until her torch disappeared around a corner. Gentle firelight from the open door spilled
out into the hallway replacing the missing torch. The long shadow of a bent hag moved in the
room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Stephanie walked into a
square chamber. The back wall was
dominated by a large table with metal legs and a scattering of folding chairs. Books and papers were strewn over it. The hunched form of the old witch leaned on a
tall knobby staff before a small ring of stones. A crackling fire licked upward toward a
hanging pot. Her gray shawl moved as she
stirred.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“Would you like stew, child? Bowls are on the table.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“No thank you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Cara laughed. “The young turning down food when these hard
times make no promises.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The old woman turned to
face the girl. She wore a light blue
dress covered by a shawl. Her white hair
had a yellow tint to it from years of dirt and grime build up. Flakey, sandal-covered feet supported her
waif body. “Bring me a chair from the
table. My bones are tired.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Stephanie didn’t have
to guess. The woman’s crooked spine was
undoubtedly painful. She fetched two
from around the table. Respectfully she
pushed a chair up near the pot, so the woman could sit near her stew. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Before sitting the old
hag took a wooden bowl from one her deep dress pockets. She dipped it into her pot, carefully
balancing it in her free hand she used her staff to lower her misshapen body
into the chair.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Steam rose up into her
face. “Did Kyle finish the medicine?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Stephanie was slow to
answer. She knew the witch wouldn’t be
happy. The dead sickness had begun to
deteriorate Kyle’s mind when the boy with the bow showed up on the first floor
to practice his archery. Once he started
screaming, she had to hide.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“He was found before he
took it all, and they burned him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The old woman sipped from
her hot bowl and croaked her rebuke.
“You were supposed to protect him, Stephanie.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">Cara greedily drank her
stew giving the girl time to speak.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">“It wasn’t safe. I had to leave him.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">The witch took the bowl
to her lap. “This magic has to be tested.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt;">A storm of footsteps
burst down in the direction of the meeting.
Stephanie looked up to see a boy about ten standing in the door. His skin was brown from grime and his hair
matted and wild. “Cara! Come quick!
The patient is ready for the last dose!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.3in;">
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Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-70246756493656903632013-04-14T14:13:00.003-07:002013-04-14T14:15:04.915-07:00CORA Episodes 1 and 2<br />
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 27px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">EPISODE 1</span></span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 27px;">"The Archer" </span></span></h2>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">The arrow struck the black spray-painted dot in the hay bale—dead center. Impact from the sleek shaft was accented by a solid thud. A slight vibration moved the fletching at the end of the arrow. Had it been a chest or an eyeball, death would have been swift.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Less than an inch away, the next arrow struck solidly in the hay. It was followed by a third, also dead center in a black dot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;"> Four bales stood lengthwise on a fallen refrigerator. The targets had only been missed eight times, and even they were close. But there were still nineteen more arrows for redemption.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Abandoned apartment doors were open allowing drab light to flow into the interior hallway of the empty complex. A few other doors were closed with broken off doorknobs. Dull, gray walls were striped with shadows, obscuring detail and distorting depth. Grampa loved this area for practice. He believed archery should always be done in bad lighting, so when conditions were good skill would elevate. For the last two years, Alex had shot fifty arrows a day. His father and Grampa made it part of his daily chore routine. Sometimes they showed up to watch, but since Grampa had become bedbound with his cough, Alex had practiced alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">The silhouette of the teenager took his stance and pulled his tenth and final arrow from his quiver. He made a slow draw of the short bow, and brought the fletching close to his cheek. He found the sweet spot with his strong eyesight. His fingers moved an almost undetectable amount. The feathers gave a soft tickle across his cheek as the arrow raced to its mark. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">From the corner of his vision, he saw a figure climbing through a window in the open apartment next to him. There was no doubt, no question, no hesitation. Alex turned and released a whizzing shaft of death. Since a very early age, he had been taught to assume that anyone who did not identify themselves before approaching was a cutthroat or a zombie. The town laws demanded the killing of them both. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Instead of finding an intruder’s throat, the razor-tipped arrow vanished through a waving tatter of former curtains. Mentally, he scolded himself for wasting an arrow, but he was really bothered for being distracted. The practice area was more quiet than usual. No collectors had come by to rummage for supplies. It always surprised him when they did though because the oldsters said the place had been picked clean of useful items decades ago. No one showed up today, not even the local kids that came to drink homebrew and make out. There was nothing to blame but his unfocused mind <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Alex had developed his skill with the bow as a result of patience. He had loved every part of the process from making the string, finding the wood for the bow and arrows, as well as the hours of stance training and arm strengthening his Grampa insisted that he do before releasing his first shaft. This patience had filtered back into his life and given him great confidence, but today his nerves challenged his strongest attribute. The boy had to dig deep to concentrate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">On his way to the targets to retrieve his arrows, Alex passed several open windows. He could tell afternoon was hurrying to dusk. He had to get the last shots off. Grampa would ask, and he wouldn’t lie to him. His heart fluttered a little as he felt the pressure of time, but he did not rush. Alex was well aware that the choosing of champions was approaching, and if he wasn’t at his best, receiving a token was unlikely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">The young man had decided when he woke up this morning that today was the day to talk to Mr. Teeblum, but his practice was running longer than he expected, primarily because he kept running over the conversation in his mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Sir…I’ve known you for a long time, and you…No, that’s not it. Sir, we’ve known each other since I was a small boy. </span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">None of his thoughts found the right words.<i> </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">He released the next ten arrows in sloppy succession, but half of them struck true. Torn between his duty and his heart, the final six arrows might as well not have been released. They were embarrassing considering the skill Alex had amassed. He was glad his Grampa wasn’t there watching. His teacher would have chastised him for the obvious distraction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Mr. Teeblum, Sir, I have proven myself in the skills of men. I have learned the trade of my family. </span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">He felt he was getting closer. Alex just let the words keep flowing in his mind. <i>I can provide for…</i> <i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Alex was about to become a man. The first sixteen years of his life, all the time his father and his Grampa put into teaching him, his dreams for his true love, his confidence all burned inside of him. He was so proud. He was going to be a champion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Finally, he released the last arrow. It missed the bale entirely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Deflated and dejected, that single arrow, that solitary awful shot, suddenly became the omen for his dreams. His head sank, and he was glad he was alone. Tears pushed at his closed eyes. Alex knew how serious the competition was. Less than perfection meant failure and waiting another year, but in another year it wouldn’t be worth competing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">His meditation on self doubt was broken by a sudden scream that reeled him instantly back to the harsh reality of survival, of killing for supplies, and of the ever present danger of the cannibalistic undead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Alex’s cool was a little shaken by the certainty of terror he heard in the voice. A final trip to the targets allowed him to gather his arrows. A tinge of confidence settled within him as he slid the shafts into position. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">The scream came again. It was above him, but close enough that he was sure it was on the second floor. Alex cocked his head and managed to extract a word out of the muffling walls and the anxiety pounding inside him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">“Help!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">His doubts about himself gave way to his adolescent drive for adventure. Deftly he flipped one of his trio of shafts into position and applied a little tension to the string. Alex moved at a cautious pace to one of the open doors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">“Stephanie, Come Back! I’ve got to finish it!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Alex turned into an empty stairwell. The concrete steps had been picked of anything useful, burnable, or salvageable long ago leaving them probably as clean as they had ever been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Moving his gaze from behind him to in front him constantly, he made sure his path was safe or that a killing shot would be his for the taking. Once on the landing between the floors, Alex looked up to the next floor. There was no door at all, just an empty frame.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">“Stephanie!” It was a man, and he was filled with desperation. Something was off about his voice, maybe he was hoarse. Alex could tell for sure that he was on the second floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">At the upper landing, Alex paused. A wordless scream made him realize he was only a few doors away at most and brought to his attention that he was afraid. The excitement had buried the primal feeling, but now it coursed through his body like a drumbeat. He fought pulling back the string of his bow even further. His Grampa had drilled into a long time ago that a forearm kept tense for too long was apt to misfire, but the novice archer wanted to be ready to release at a breath’s notice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">The screams continued, but whoever it was wasn’t moving. The voice begged and pleaded that Stephanie come feed him. Alex listened motionless as the caller cried out to be fed. The boy had never heard anything like it. It was cruel. The unknown suffered whimpered and called out to God to be saved from the torment of hunger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Alex wanted his legs to move, to carry him to do what he knew needed to be done, but the desperation in the man’s voice scared the teenager. He wished his father were with him. He always knew what to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">He gave in and pulled his bow to a full draw. “Hello?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">The voice replied with a fresh charge of hope. “Hey! Hey! Help! I need help!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Alex moved out into the hallway. It was dark. Most of the doors were closed. The failing light of dusk reached halfway down the corridor from an open door at the end of the stretch of apartments. The door to the outside was open enough that he could see out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">The screams started again with an unpleasant urgency. Alex felt even more frightened. He was afraid to see what sad human could make such heart wrenching pleas. “You can’t leave me! When the dead come they’ll eat me alive!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Such things happened and Alex didn’t like to think about them. The stories of undead swarming a helpless man were gruesome. Even though Alex had never heard of a sighting in this building, he lifted his bow. Just talk of the cannibal, killing machines made him feel like he needed to defend himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">“Please!” the unseen man begged. “Don’t let me die.” At the end lonely sobs of doom spilled into the hall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Alex stood in front of a closed door. The number 217 was on it. He was torn between keeping his bow ready and turning the knob.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">“I hear you out there,” the man spoke in a weakening voice. “I won’t hurt you. I can’t move.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Slowly, he pushed the door open. The smell of death was thick in the air. Alex gagged and fought down a wave of stomach acid with a hard swallow. The sound of raspy breathing mingled with the buzzing of flies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">A dirty mattress dominated the center of the room. It stunk of feces and urine and was smeared with blood. The gaunt man on it was equally stained by filth, and a trail of dried vomit extended from his face down to his sleeveless shirt. His eyes were sunk deep in a face that was as much skull as Alex had ever seen on a living person. The skin was pulled tight revealing a labyrinth of dark veins. Clumps of hair, like the fallen fruit of a dying tree, stuck in the smears of blood. All that remained were nightmarish, gossamer wisps of hair plastered to his face and waving like flags surrendering to the most powerful enemy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">The man barely managed to wave before his slightly lifted elbow dropped back to the bed. “I’m too weak to move.” His voice labored through dry mucus and gore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Alex stared in horror at the debris of life before him. Dark flies landed on the man and ate from graying patches of rotted flesh with no more bother than a breeze to a man working the fields. He didn’t even attempt to swat them away. The boy’s revulsion was the result of a hundred years of societal teaching. It triggered his muscle to draw his bow to capacity and aim for the man’s left eye. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Something leaned against the wall behind the mattress, and a bowl of black paste sat on the floor close enough to the man’s right hand that had he had normal strength he could have eaten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Alex’s eyes were drawn to the two side by side, connected metal tubes about two feet long. They climbed up the wall from a curved piece of wood that the teenager knew was supposed to fit against a shoulder. The little lever caught his attention, the trigger. His Grampa had told him about guns, but this was the first time he had ever seen one. Apparently when the dead first rose mankind had had many guns, but the fight had consumed most of them. They were much rarer now. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Hurriedly, the man’s eyes went to the bowl. He had the energy to lift his head for speech only, then it dropped back to the pile of death-stained bedding “You have to feed me that medicine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Alex stared in sickening disbelief.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">“Old woman Carter gave it to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">He had heard the name of the witch before. She lived near the forbidden zone. The adults talked about her medicines when people were gravely ill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">In anticipation the near corpse started flapping his mouth and probing outward with his tongue. “Hurry, kid,” he rasped. “I’ve been bit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">The words shut Alex down completely with a nauseating fright. When someone said they had been bit it only meant one thing. Not a dog scavenging or a rabbit being hunted. When someone said they’d “been bit”, it meant they were dead. It meant they had to be killed so no one else got infected. It meant they had been bitten by an undead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Alex’s fingers tightened on his arrow. The conscious part of his brain screamed for him to release this poor soul from his misery and protect everyone he loved. But the boy who had never even defended himself against an attacker could not dispatch a helpless innocent. The man mustered energy and shook his head in protest. “You gotta believe me. My wife got the medicine. The old woman said it would cure the bite.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">For a long moment Alex said nothing. His unresponsiveness angered the man. He tried to lunge forward off the mattress, but little movement occurred. “Come on kid!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Conflict, panic shut down his ability to act. Alex started backing out of the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">“You can’t leave me like this,” the man whimpered, “You know what’ll happen!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">And Alex knew exactly what would happen. The years of hard work by the town’s folk would be ruined. They had cleared out most of the dead, driving them to the woods and caves in the outlands. But if Alex did not perform his duty of disposing of the living dead, the scent of the rotten flesh would call to its brethren in the dark, in shadows, in the ruins of the old world, and bring them in numbers. The war could easily begin again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">The boy shook his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">The grounded man flashed with animal rage, snapping his teeth viscously, shaking head. Gurgling moans pushed squirts of dark blood out of his nose and mouth. His head lulled, and the man regained a fraction of consciousness accented by the rolling whites of the man’s eyes. His muscles convulsed, and the final flood of waste emptied his body leaving the room in the fresh stench of rot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Alex had heard about the fading of life in a diseased person, but he never expected to witness it himself. The man ceased movement. The terrified boy waited, bow still trained on the left eye. The building was silent. The man didn’t move again, but Alex knew soon that would change.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">There was no longer a choice. The boy put down his weapon and grabbed a corner of the bloody sheet. Scared to be so close to the dead man, he forced himself to drag the remains of the man out to the concrete, stair landing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">He reached into his pocket. Alex wanted to believe it was right. He had been taught it his entire life, but now, that it was his turn. It felt completely wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 27px;">EPISODE 2</span></span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 27px;"><b>"A maiden in distress"</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Dusk rapidly moved toward evening as Alex pedaled his bicycle down Oliver Street at full speed. In the old times the crisscross of streets lined with houses was called a neighborhood, but no one used that word anymore. It would have been viewed as a safe place where children could sit in the grass of their yards waiting for their parents to call them in for supper. But in the Age of the Dead nowhere was safe after dark. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">In the back of his mind, common sense nagged Alex for not waiting until tomorrow, but he could not quell the feelings within him. Cora had been the love of his life since he was eight. His words had never been sufficient to describe the incredible elation he felt for her or the lighter than air feeling that overwhelmed him when they held hands. It was time to come forth with his intentions. He knew she had the fire of God in her, the whole town did, and he was aware there would be many other boys besides himself seeking her hand in marriage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Alex had been delaying this important matter for too long. Black Friday was in a month, so he had to speak with Mr. Teeblum. God willing, the recent massacre at the hospital had made his competition pause just long enough to be too late.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">The teenager didn’t expect to see him outside. He felt his courage dry up like the river in last summer’s drought. Alex slowed his pedal as he neared the man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Black lace up boots ended just before the man’s thick calves began to rise toward his heavy tunic fastened by a leather belt. His head was shaved, and his face dark with stubble. Sweat of labor streaked his fit body like war paint. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Mr. Teeblum moved through the sea of weeds in his front yard. Adeptly he cut the waist high grass with his scythe. The majority of the work had been done, and in a few minutes, his two-story, house would return to the glory of a suburban lawn from any era.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">The bouncing metal of the bicycle caught his attention. Every man who was still alive had heightened senses to his surroundings, especially as dark neared. He turned to see the bike skid in his driveway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“Good evening, Mr. Teeblum, sir.” The boy’s voice shook despite his efforts to appear calm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“Son, ain’t it late for you to be this far from home?” The man shook his head in disappointment. Young folk didn’t take the dead serious anymore. “I don’t think your father would approve, Alex.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Alex got off his bike and laid it on the ground. He felt so stupid, but it was too late. There was no backing down, only silent enduring of the chastisement. “Yes sir, but I got to talk to you about something.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Mr. Teeblum wiped his forehead and approached with his scythe in hand. “I’m sure this can wait til daylight when it’s safer out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">The boy’s confidence was shaken. Maybe he should have waited until tomorrow. He was worried his disregard for the fears of the older generation put him at risk for being declined. Alex tried to correct the situation with a quick response.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“I won’t keep you long, sir. I have a very quick clear route home.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“Alex, part of growing up is knowing these things. One day you’re going to be the man of a household, and you can’t be doing stupid stuff like this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">If the mess he had created for himself could be salvaged, he had to take responsibility for his dumb idea. “I know sir, but I’m afraid I’ve waited too long.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“What is it Alex?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“I want to marry Cora, and I’m here to ask your permission to go on the suitor’s quest.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">The gathering gloom concealed the man’s features, but Alex felt Mr. Teeblum’s hard gaze sizing him up. “I love your daughter, sir. I want to marry her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">His answer had an edge almost as sharp as a hunting knife, and cut Alex’s heart. “I ain’t worried about love, Alex. I want a man who can take care of my girl. I don’t think I need to remind you how special she is?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“No sir, you don’t. I’ve known it since I was a kid.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“That’s not what I mean,” he tossed the scythe to the ground and brushed the grime off his hands, “you know what I’m talking about.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Alex nodded. He knew his love held the power of God within her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“Does she know you’re asking?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“Yes sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Anger flashed in the man. “Dam, son, she’s not supposed to know! It’ll break her heart if I reject your offer!” The man released a loud exasperated breath. “You’re not impressing me with your disregard for the rules.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Alex shook his head. He was very aware of the rules. “Mr. Teeblum, we’ve been talking about this for seven years before I knew the chivalry rules.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">The man kept his eyes on the boy like he was waiting for a gunfighter to draw. “What makes you think you can survive on the other side of the wall?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“I got four brothers who’ve successfully gotten wives. I know everything I can know without actually having been there. I’ll be in and out with the best stuff. I swear to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">His response seemed satisfactory, but the man continued his interrogation. “How are you going to support my daughter?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“I’m good at raising crops, and some of my brothers moved to Nashville. We are going to start bringing fuel and supplies up here, to Bowling Green.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Mr. Teeblum approved. “There’s good money in that since the government is loosening the rules.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“Can I have your permission, sir?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“Alex, you know the rules. Only one suitor at a time.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">The boy’s heart sank. “Yes, sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“Then be here at sun up in three days. You’re going to have to prove yourself. Now you better be getting home before night comes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">The window was open a crack, and a breeze whispered to the opaque curtain on its way to flicker the candle sitting on the table next to the neatly made bed. Cora turned away from the discussion going on outside and eyed the arsenal she had spread across her blanket. Her long red hair was gathered in a single braid hanging down the middle of her back. Her pink dress with a lace border at the neck and hem was in stark contrast to the 50 caliber Beowulf assault rifle that her fingertips glided across. Five, ten round magazines rested beside it with a black boot knife crowning the pile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Hearing her father talk about her to Alex like she were helpless pissed her off. Cora didn’t need a husband to provide for her, and her father knew that. He trained her in secret weapons that the rest of the world had never seen. She could walk quieter than the dead at night to slice a man’s throat, and he wouldn’t be the wiser until his own blood rain down his chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">In defiance, she lifted the gun, snapped the folding stock open, nestled it to her shoulder, and followed the red dot across the wall. Her frustration grew into a disgruntled, adolescent moan, and she dropped the weapon to the bed. She loved Alex and wanted to be his wife, but not like this. Cora never saw herself as a prissy princess in a tower. She was a warrior. Her dad knew that, and that was why her heart ached. She couldn’t contain her hurt feeling any longer, and tears streamed down her cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">The girl flopped on the end of her bed letting her head sink. Her shoulders shook as Cora quietly sobbed. She didn’t look up when her bedroom door opened. Cora was in no mood to argue with her mother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">The bed moved beside her, and she was aware of her mother’s presence even though she didn’t speak. Cora wiped her face and quieted her sobs not knowing if this was going to be a conversation of support or another scolding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“You think you’re a woman,” Shar’s voice spoke low but stern. “You think you know what’s best?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Cora turned to her mother and stabbed a look of defiance with cold eyes. “I know what’s best for me!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“I should slap that foolishness right off your face, little missy. God knows, we’ve ruined you by being too permissive.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Cora’s expression stayed defiant and her eyes didn’t move.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“Do you know why your father trained you so well? Have you ever stopped to think about anyone but yourself? Do you know why he gave up his life to make you as fierce a warrior as you are?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Cora looked away in shame. She knew her father loved her. Suddenly, she felt ungrateful. “No.” The intensity of her mother’s stare did not relent, and she was embarrassed to look up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“Men will kill to own you, Cora. They believe you will give them children immune to the Dead Sickness. No man will be able to keep you safe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">She looked up with disbelief in her eyes. “That’s not true. No one is immune to the Dead Sickness!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Shar’s face softened, but her voice held its grave tone. “It doesn’t matter. The hordes of the stupid are as dangerous as the hordes of the dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Some of it must have sunk in, for Cora struck a cautious tone. “I can cut my hair or color it with berries and bark.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Her mother changed. All of the hardness drained away and worry covered her features. “You can for a while, Cora, if you take to the roads. All the men here already know.” She brushed a stray hair from her face. “But you’re beautiful beyond any girl I have ever seen. The men will flock to you. They will come for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Cora’s eyes stared off into the room in front of her. The lessons of killing and wilderness survival meant something that she had missed. Her father had been preparing her to be a free woman. “Then I will fight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Her mother grabbed her hand. “Your father has a plan to get you away from here, so you can start over.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“I love Alex, Mom,” Cora said trembling. “He wants us to have a family and be like you and Daddy, but it wouldn’t be that way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Shar squeezed her daughter’s hand lovingly. For the first time, she felt like she was glimpsing the woman she and Daniel raised. Her heart ached for Cora’s stolen innocence. Her daughter might never know the joy of being a mother or of running a good home for a family. She would have given anything to go back to sewing lessons and playing dolls. Maybe if Shar would have started earlier, she could have come up with real plan to allow Cora to have a normal life. There was no fighting the tears, but she let them flow in silence. “Put your gun away. You know you’re father doesn’t like them out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“So why are we pretending? If it’s dangerous for me to marry because the other men will want me, I can’t marry Alex.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“It is the custom. When you are of age, you marry. Women are fewer than men. If our fragile world is to continue, we must pair.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“I won’t put him in danger,” Cora said firmly, grabbing her Beowulf off the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">As if to remind her daughter of her place in the family, Shar snapped one last thing. “It is your father who will choose your champion, and if he survives, you will marry him.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Daniel watched the boy pedal down the street and turn the corner. Alex was weak and didn’t have what a man needed to survive in the Dead Age. Hopefully he wouldn’t be back. Cora’s life was going to be hard enough. He didn’t want her starting it weeping over a dead pup.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Alex’s ride home was not how he thought it was going to be. He wished he never would have gone to Mr. Teeblum so late. It just made him look like an immature kid. Even though he had gone on corpse hunts with the men in the neighborhood, he had to show Mr. Teeblum that he was a man who could keep his daughter safe. He had to present a strong image to the other suitors or they would try and kill him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">He pedaled furiously down Cave Mill Road toward the abandoned Kroger. The last light of day would be coming soon. He could see headlights coming up behind him, so he pulled over. The lights followed him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">It was a dark pickup, but he couldn’t make out the color. He also couldn’t get a good look at whoever was driving. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“Get in, kid,” a woman’s voice said. “You act like you don’t know corpses come out at night.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">Alex picked up his bike and lifted it into the bad of the truck. He wasn’t stupid. Of course he knew the dead came out at dark, but people acted liked they were all over the place. There hadn’t been a corpse on this side of town in years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“Where to?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 18px;">“Shive Lane. The old elder house.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-90199589138721901652013-03-24T20:25:00.000-07:002013-04-14T13:44:19.032-07:00CORA: Episode 1<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></h2>
<h2>
<span style="font-size: large; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">EPISODE 1</span></span></h2>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">"The Archer" </span></span></h2>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">The
arrow struck the black spray-painted dot in the hay bale—dead center. Impact from the sleek shaft was accented by a
solid thud. A slight vibration moved the
fletching at the end of the arrow. Had
it been a chest or an eyeball, death would have been swift. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Less
than an inch away, the next arrow struck solidly in the hay. It was followed by a third, also dead center
in a black dot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"> Four bales stood lengthwise on a fallen
refrigerator. The targets had only been
missed eight times, and even they were close.
But there were still nineteen more arrows for redemption.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Abandoned
apartment doors were open allowing drab light to flow into the interior hallway
of the empty complex. A few other doors
were closed with broken off doorknobs.
Dull, gray walls were striped with shadows, obscuring detail and
distorting depth. Grampa loved this area
for practice. He believed archery should
always be done in bad lighting, so when conditions were good skill would
elevate. For the last two years, Alex
had shot fifty arrows a day. His father
and Grampa made it part of his daily chore routine. Sometimes they showed up to watch, but since
Grampa had become bedbound with his cough, Alex had practiced alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">The
silhouette of the teenager took his stance and pulled his tenth and final arrow
from his quiver. He made a slow draw of
the short bow, and brought the fletching close to his cheek. He found the sweet spot with his strong
eyesight. His fingers moved an almost
undetectable amount. The feathers gave a
soft tickle across his cheek as the arrow raced to its mark. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">From
the corner of his vision, he saw a figure climbing through a window in the open
apartment next to him. There was no
doubt, no question, no hesitation. Alex turned
and released a whizzing shaft of death.
Since a very early age, he had been taught to assume that anyone who did
not identify themselves before approaching was a cutthroat or a zombie. The town laws demanded the killing of them
both. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Instead
of finding an intruder’s throat, the razor-tipped arrow vanished through a
waving tatter of former curtains.
Mentally, he scolded himself for wasting an arrow, but he was really
bothered for being distracted. The
practice area was more quiet than usual.
No collectors had come by to rummage for supplies. It always surprised him when they did though
because the oldsters said the place had been picked clean of useful items
decades ago. No one showed up today, not
even the local kids that came to drink homebrew and make out. There was nothing to blame but his unfocused
mind <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Alex
had developed his skill with the bow as a result of patience. He had loved every part of the process from
making the string, finding the wood for the bow and arrows, as well as the
hours of stance training and arm strengthening his Grampa insisted that he do
before releasing his first shaft. This
patience had filtered back into his life and given him great confidence, but
today his nerves challenged his strongest attribute. The boy had to dig deep to concentrate. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">On
his way to the targets to retrieve his arrows, Alex passed several open
windows. He could tell afternoon was
hurrying to dusk. He had to get the last
shots off. Grampa would ask, and he
wouldn’t lie to him. His heart fluttered
a little as he felt the pressure of time, but he did not rush. Alex was well aware that the choosing of
champions was approaching, and if he wasn’t at his best, receiving a token was
unlikely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">The
young man had decided when he woke up this morning that today was the day to
talk to Mr. Teeblum, but his practice was running longer than he expected,
primarily because he kept running over the conversation in his mind.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Sir…I’ve known you for
a long time, and you…No, that’s not it.
Sir, we’ve known each other since I was a small boy. </span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">None of his thoughts
found the right words.<i> </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">He
released the next ten arrows in sloppy succession, but half of them struck
true. Torn between his duty and his
heart, the final six arrows might as well not have been released. They were embarrassing considering the skill
Alex had amassed. He was glad his Grampa
wasn’t there watching. His teacher would
have chastised him for the obvious distraction. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Mr. Teeblum, Sir, I
have proven myself in the skills of men.
I have learned the trade of my family.
</span></i><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">He felt he was getting closer. Alex just let the words keep flowing in his
mind. <i>I can provide for…</i> <i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Alex
was about to become a man. The first
sixteen years of his life, all the time his father and his Grampa put into
teaching him, his dreams for his true love, his confidence all burned inside of
him. He was so proud. He was going to be a champion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Finally,
he released the last arrow. It missed
the bale entirely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Deflated
and dejected, that single arrow, that solitary awful shot, suddenly became the
omen for his dreams. His head sank, and
he was glad he was alone. Tears pushed
at his closed eyes. Alex knew how
serious the competition was. Less than
perfection meant failure and waiting another year, but in another year it
wouldn’t be worth competing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">His
meditation on self doubt was broken by a sudden scream that reeled him
instantly back to the harsh reality of survival, of killing for supplies, and
of the ever present danger of the cannibalistic undead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Alex’s
cool was a little shaken by the certainty of terror he heard in the voice. A final trip to the targets allowed him to
gather his arrows. A tinge of confidence
settled within him as he slid the shafts into position. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">The
scream came again. It was above him, but
close enough that he was sure it was on the second floor. Alex cocked his head and managed to extract a
word out of the muffling walls and the anxiety pounding inside him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">“Help!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">His
doubts about himself gave way to his adolescent drive for adventure. Deftly he
flipped one of his trio of shafts into position and applied a little tension to
the string. Alex moved at a cautious
pace to one of the open doors.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">“Stephanie,
Come Back! I’ve got to finish it!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Alex
turned into an empty stairwell. The
concrete steps had been picked of anything useful, burnable, or salvageable
long ago leaving them probably as clean as they had ever been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Moving
his gaze from behind him to in front him constantly, he made sure his path was
safe or that a killing shot would be his for the taking. Once on the landing
between the floors, Alex looked up to the next floor. There was no door at all, just an empty
frame.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">“Stephanie!”
It was a man, and he was filled with desperation. Something was off about his voice, maybe he
was hoarse. Alex could tell for sure
that he was on the second floor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">At
the upper landing, Alex paused. A
wordless scream made him realize he was only a few doors away at most and
brought to his attention that he was afraid.
The excitement had buried the primal feeling, but now it coursed through
his body like a drumbeat. He fought
pulling back the string of his bow even further. His Grampa had drilled into a long time ago
that a forearm kept tense for too long was apt to misfire, but the novice
archer wanted to be ready to release at a breath’s notice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">The
screams continued, but whoever it was wasn’t moving. The voice begged and pleaded that Stephanie
come feed him. Alex listened motionless
as the caller cried out to be fed. The
boy had never heard anything like it. It
was cruel. The unknown suffered
whimpered and called out to God to be saved from the torment of hunger.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Alex
wanted his legs to move, to carry him to do what he knew needed to be done, but
the desperation in the man’s voice scared the teenager. He wished his father were with him. He always knew what to do. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">He
gave in and pulled his bow to a full draw.
“Hello?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">The
voice replied with a fresh charge of hope.
“Hey! Hey! Help!
I need help!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Alex
moved out into the hallway. It was
dark. Most of the doors were
closed. The failing light of dusk
reached halfway down the corridor from an open door at the end of the stretch
of apartments. The door to the outside
was open enough that he could see out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">The
screams started again with an unpleasant urgency. Alex felt even more frightened. He was afraid to see what sad human could
make such heart wrenching pleas. “You
can’t leave me! When the dead come
they’ll eat me alive!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Such
things happened and Alex didn’t like to think about them. The stories of undead swarming a helpless man
were gruesome. Even though Alex had
never heard of a sighting in this building, he lifted his bow. Just talk of the cannibal, killing machines
made him feel like he needed to defend himself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">“Please!”
the unseen man begged. “Don’t let me
die.” At the end lonely sobs of doom
spilled into the hall.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Alex
stood in front of a closed door. The
number 217 was on it. He was torn
between keeping his bow ready and turning the knob.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">“I
hear you out there,” the man spoke in a weakening voice. “I won’t hurt you. I can’t move.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Slowly,
he pushed the door open. The smell of
death was thick in the air. Alex gagged
and fought down a wave of stomach acid with a hard swallow. The sound of raspy breathing mingled with the
buzzing of flies.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">A
dirty mattress dominated the center of the room. It stunk of feces and urine and was smeared
with blood. The gaunt man on it was
equally stained by filth, and a trail of dried vomit extended from his face
down to his sleeveless shirt. His eyes
were sunk deep in a face that was as much skull as Alex had ever seen on a
living person. The skin was pulled tight
revealing a labyrinth of dark veins.
Clumps of hair, like the fallen fruit of a dying tree, stuck in the
smears of blood. All that remained were
nightmarish, gossamer wisps of hair plastered to his face and waving like flags
surrendering to the most powerful enemy.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">The
man barely managed to wave before his slightly lifted elbow dropped back to the
bed. “I’m too weak to move.” His voice labored through dry mucus and gore.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Alex
stared in horror at the debris of life before him. Dark flies landed on the man and ate from
graying patches of rotted flesh with no more bother than a breeze to a man
working the fields. He didn’t even
attempt to swat them away. The boy’s
revulsion was the result of a hundred years of societal teaching. It triggered his muscle to draw his bow to
capacity and aim for the man’s left eye.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Something
leaned against the wall behind the mattress, and a bowl of black paste sat on
the floor close enough to the man’s right hand that had he had normal strength
he could have eaten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Alex’s
eyes were drawn to the two side by side, connected metal tubes about two feet
long. They climbed up the wall from a
curved piece of wood that the teenager knew was supposed to fit against a
shoulder. The little lever caught his
attention, the trigger. His Grampa had
told him about guns, but this was the first time he had ever seen one. Apparently when the dead first rose mankind
had had many guns, but the fight had consumed most of them. They were much rarer now. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Hurriedly,
the man’s eyes went to the bowl. He had
the energy to lift his head for speech only, then it dropped back to the pile
of death-stained bedding “You have to
feed me that medicine.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Alex
stared in sickening disbelief.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">“Old
woman Carter gave it to me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">He
had heard the name of the witch before.
She lived near the forbidden zone.
The adults talked about her medicines when people were gravely ill.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">In
anticipation the near corpse started flapping his mouth and probing outward
with his tongue. “Hurry, kid,” he
rasped. “I’ve been bit.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">The
words shut Alex down completely with a nauseating fright. When someone said they had been bit it only
meant one thing. Not a dog scavenging or
a rabbit being hunted. When someone said
they’d “been bit”, it meant they were dead.
It meant they had to be killed so no one else got infected. It meant they had been bitten by an undead.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Alex’s
fingers tightened on his arrow. The
conscious part of his brain screamed for him to release this poor soul from his
misery and protect everyone he loved.
But the boy who had never even defended himself against an attacker
could not dispatch a helpless innocent.
The man mustered energy and shook his head in protest. “You gotta believe me. My wife got the medicine. The old woman said it would cure the bite.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">For
a long moment Alex said nothing. His
unresponsiveness angered the man. He
tried to lunge forward off the mattress, but little movement occurred. “Come on kid!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Conflict,
panic shut down his ability to act. Alex started backing out of the room.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">“You
can’t leave me like this,” the man whimpered, “You know what’ll happen!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">And
Alex knew exactly what would happen. The
years of hard work by the town’s folk would be ruined. They had cleared out most of the dead,
driving them to the woods and caves in the outlands. But if Alex did not perform his duty of
disposing of the living dead, the scent of the rotten flesh would call to its
brethren in the dark, in shadows, in the ruins of the old world, and bring them
in numbers. The war could easily begin
again.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">The
boy shook his head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">The
grounded man flashed with animal rage, snapping his teeth viscously, shaking
head. Gurgling moans pushed squirts of
dark blood out of his nose and mouth.
His head lulled, and the man regained a fraction of consciousness
accented by the rolling whites of the man’s eyes. His muscles convulsed, and the final flood of
waste emptied his body leaving the room in the fresh stench of rot. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">Alex
had heard about the fading of life in a diseased person, but he never expected
to witness it himself. The man ceased
movement. The terrified boy waited, bow
still trained on the left eye. The
building was silent. The man didn’t move
again, but Alex knew soon that would change.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">There
was no longer a choice. The boy put down
his weapon and grabbed a corner of the bloody sheet. Scared to be so close to the dead man, he
forced himself to drag the remains of the man out to the concrete, stair
landing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;">He
reached into his pocket. Alex wanted to
believe it was right. He had been taught
it his entire life, but now, that it was his turn. It felt completely wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<h2>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">EPISODE 2</span></span></h2>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><b>"A maiden in distress"</b></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Dusk
rapidly moved toward evening as Alex pedaled his bicycle down Oliver Street at
full speed. In the old times the
crisscross of streets lined with houses was called a neighborhood, but no one
used that word anymore. It would have been viewed as a safe place where
children could sit in the grass of their yards waiting for their parents to
call them in for supper. But in the Age
of the Dead nowhere was safe after dark.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In
the back of his mind, common sense nagged Alex for not waiting until tomorrow,
but he could not quell the feelings within him.
Cora had been the love of his life since he was eight. His words had never been sufficient to
describe the incredible elation he felt for her or the lighter than air feeling
that overwhelmed him when they held hands.
It was time to come forth with his intentions. He knew she had the fire of God in her, the
whole town did, and he was aware there would be many other boys besides himself
seeking her hand in marriage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Alex
had been delaying this important matter for too long. Black Friday was in a month, so he had to
speak with Mr. Teeblum. God willing, the
recent massacre at the hospital had made his competition pause just long enough
to be too late.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
teenager didn’t expect to see him outside.
He felt his courage dry up like the river in last summer’s drought. Alex
slowed his pedal as he neared the man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Black
lace up boots ended just before the man’s thick calves began to rise toward his
heavy tunic fastened by a leather belt.
His head was shaved, and his face dark with stubble. Sweat of labor streaked his fit body like war
paint. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr.
Teeblum moved through the sea of weeds in his front yard. Adeptly he cut the waist high grass with his
scythe. The majority of the work had
been done, and in a few minutes, his two-story, house would return to the glory
of a suburban lawn from any era.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
bouncing metal of the bicycle caught his attention. Every man who was still alive had heightened
senses to his surroundings, especially as dark neared. He turned to see the bike skid in his
driveway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Good
evening, Mr. Teeblum, sir.” The boy’s voice shook despite his efforts to
appear calm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Son,
ain’t it late for you to be this far from home?” The man shook his head in
disappointment. Young folk didn’t take
the dead serious anymore. “I don’t think
your father would approve, Alex.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Alex
got off his bike and laid it on the ground.
He felt so stupid, but it was too late.
There was no backing down, only silent enduring of the
chastisement. “Yes sir, but I got to
talk to you about something.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr.
Teeblum wiped his forehead and approached with his scythe in hand. “I’m sure this can wait til daylight when
it’s safer out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
boy’s confidence was shaken. Maybe he
should have waited until tomorrow. He
was worried his disregard for the fears of the older generation put him at risk
for being declined. Alex tried to
correct the situation with a quick response.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I
won’t keep you long, sir. I have a very
quick clear route home.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Alex,
part of growing up is knowing these things.
One day you’re going to be the man of a household, and you can’t be
doing stupid stuff like this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If
the mess he had created for himself could be salvaged, he had to take
responsibility for his dumb idea. “I
know sir, but I’m afraid I’ve waited too long.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“What
is it Alex?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I
want to marry Cora, and I’m here to ask your permission to go on the suitor’s
quest.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
gathering gloom concealed the man’s features, but Alex felt Mr. Teeblum’s hard
gaze sizing him up. “I love your
daughter, sir. I want to marry her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
answer had an edge almost as sharp as a hunting knife, and cut Alex’s
heart. “I ain’t worried about love,
Alex. I want a man who can take care of
my girl. I don’t think I need to remind
you how special she is?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No
sir, you don’t. I’ve known it since I
was a kid.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“That’s
not what I mean,” he tossed the scythe to the ground and brushed the grime off
his hands, “you know what I’m talking about.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Alex
nodded. He knew his love held the power
of God within her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Does
she know you’re asking?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yes
sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Anger
flashed in the man. “Dam, son, she’s not
supposed to know! It’ll break her heart
if I reject your offer!” The man
released a loud exasperated breath.
“You’re not impressing me with your disregard for the rules.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Alex
shook his head. He was very aware of the
rules. “Mr. Teeblum, we’ve been talking about this for
seven years before I knew the chivalry rules.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
man kept his eyes on the boy like he was waiting for a gunfighter to draw. “What makes you think you can survive on the
other side of the wall?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I
got four brothers who’ve successfully gotten wives. I know everything I can know without actually
having been there. I’ll be in and out
with the best stuff. I swear to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">His
response seemed satisfactory, but the man continued his interrogation. “How are
you going to support my daughter?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I’m
good at raising crops, and some of my brothers moved to Nashville. We are going to start bringing fuel and
supplies up here, to Bowling Green.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr.
Teeblum approved. “There’s good money in
that since the government is loosening the rules.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Can
I have your permission, sir?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Alex,
you know the rules. Only one suitor at a
time.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
boy’s heart sank. “Yes, sir.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Then
be here at sun up in three days. You’re
going to have to prove yourself. Now you
better be getting home before night comes.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">#
# #<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
window was open a crack, and a breeze whispered to the opaque curtain on its
way to flicker the candle sitting on the table next to the neatly made
bed. Cora turned away from the
discussion going on outside and eyed the arsenal she had spread across her
blanket. Her long red hair was gathered
in a single braid hanging down the middle of her back. Her pink dress with a lace border at the neck
and hem was in stark contrast to the 50 caliber Beowulf assault rifle that her
fingertips glided across. Five, ten
round magazines rested beside it with a black boot knife crowning the pile.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Hearing
her father talk about her to Alex like she were helpless pissed her off. Cora didn’t need a husband to provide for
her, and her father knew that. He
trained her in secret weapons that the rest of the world had never seen. She could walk quieter than the dead at night
to slice a man’s throat, and he wouldn’t be the wiser until his own blood rain
down his chest.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In
defiance, she lifted the gun, snapped the folding stock open, nestled it to her
shoulder, and followed the red dot across the wall. Her frustration grew into a disgruntled,
adolescent moan, and she dropped the weapon to the bed. She loved Alex and wanted to be his wife, but
not like this. Cora never saw herself as
a prissy princess in a tower. She was a
warrior. Her dad knew that, and that was
why her heart ached. She couldn’t
contain her hurt feeling any longer, and tears streamed down her cheeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
girl flopped on the end of her bed letting her head sink. Her shoulders shook as Cora quietly
sobbed. She didn’t look up when her
bedroom door opened. Cora was in no mood
to argue with her mother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
bed moved beside her, and she was aware of her mother’s presence even though
she didn’t speak. Cora wiped her face
and quieted her sobs not knowing if this was going to be a conversation of
support or another scolding.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You
think you’re a woman,” Shar’s voice spoke low but stern. “You think you know what’s best?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Cora
turned to her mother and stabbed a look of defiance with cold eyes. “I know what’s best for me!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I
should slap that foolishness right off your face, little missy. God knows, we’ve ruined you by being too
permissive.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Cora’s
expression stayed defiant and her eyes didn’t move.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Do
you know why your father trained you so well?
Have you ever stopped to think about anyone but yourself? Do you know why he gave up his life to make
you as fierce a warrior as you are?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Cora
looked away in shame. She knew her
father loved her. Suddenly, she felt
ungrateful. “No.” The intensity of her mother’s stare did not
relent, and she was embarrassed to look up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Men
will kill to own you, Cora. They believe
you will give them children immune to the Dead Sickness. No man will be able to keep you safe.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She
looked up with disbelief in her eyes.
“That’s not true. No one is
immune to the Dead Sickness!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Shar’s
face softened, but her voice held its grave tone. “It doesn’t matter. The hordes of the stupid are as dangerous as
the hordes of the dead.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Some
of it must have sunk in, for Cora struck a cautious tone. “I can cut my hair or color it with berries
and bark.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her
mother changed. All of the hardness
drained away and worry covered her features.
“You can for a while, Cora, if you take to the roads. All the men here already know.” She brushed a stray hair from her face. “But you’re beautiful beyond any girl I have
ever seen. The men will flock to
you. They will come for you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Cora’s
eyes stared off into the room in front of her.
The lessons of killing and wilderness survival meant something that she
had missed. Her father had been
preparing her to be a free woman. “Then
I will fight.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.3in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Her
mother grabbed her hand. “Your father
has a plan to get you away from here, so you can start over.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I
love Alex, Mom,” Cora said trembling.
“He wants us to have a family and be like you and Daddy, but it wouldn’t
be that way.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Shar
squeezed her daughter’s hand lovingly.
For the first time, she felt like she was glimpsing the woman she and
Daniel raised. Her heart ached for
Cora’s stolen innocence. Her daughter
might never know the joy of being a mother or of running a good home for a
family. She would have given anything to
go back to sewing lessons and playing dolls.
Maybe if Shar would have started earlier, she could have come up with
real plan to allow Cora to have a normal life.
There was no fighting the tears, but she let them flow in silence. “Put your gun away. You know you’re father doesn’t like them
out.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“So
why are we pretending? If it’s dangerous
for me to marry because the other men will want me, I can’t marry Alex.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“It
is the custom. When you are of age, you
marry. Women are fewer than men. If our fragile world is to continue, we must
pair.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I
won’t put him in danger,” Cora said firmly, grabbing her Beowulf off the bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As
if to remind her daughter of her place in the family, Shar snapped one last
thing. “It is your father who will
choose your champion, and if he survives, you will marry him.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">#
# #<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Daniel
watched the boy pedal down the street and turn the corner. Alex was weak and didn’t have what a man
needed to survive in the Dead Age.
Hopefully he wouldn’t be back.
Cora’s life was going to be hard enough.
He didn’t want her starting it weeping over a dead pup.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Alex’s
ride home was not how he thought it was going to be. He wished he never would have gone to Mr.
Teeblum so late. It just made him look
like an immature kid. Even though he had
gone on corpse hunts with the men in the neighborhood, he had to show Mr.
Teeblum that he was a man who could keep his daughter safe. He had to present a strong image to the other
suitors or they would try and kill him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He
pedaled furiously down Cave Mill Road toward the abandoned Kroger. The last light of day would be coming
soon. He could see headlights coming up
behind him, so he pulled over. The
lights followed him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It
was a dark pickup, but he couldn’t make out the color. He also couldn’t get a good look at whoever
was driving. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Get
in, kid,” a woman’s voice said. “You act
like you don’t know corpses come out at night.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Alex
picked up his bike and lifted it into the bad of the truck. He wasn’t stupid. Of course he knew the dead came out at dark,
but people acted liked they were all over the place. There hadn’t been a corpse on this side of
town in years. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Where
to?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Shive
Lane. The old elder house.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Beowulf-Carnage-Machine-Slaughter-ebook/dp/B00C4N0W5Y/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1365970814&sr=8-2&keywords=everette+bell"><b><span style="color: black;">Don't miss Beowulf at Amazon for just $.99</span></b></a></span></span></div>
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Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-77130226908093114332013-03-16T11:28:00.001-07:002013-03-16T18:41:33.288-07:00Introducing Cora <br />
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Welcome to Wartooth's first</span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">Serial Adventure</span></h2>
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<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b>Our world fell to the zombie hordes, and society was lost. Civilization was replaced by chaos and violence, but the human spirit would not bow to the cannibalistic, killing machines. In time, a new order emerged from the wreckage of death and ruin. Mankind rose again as a primitive shadow of his former self, and very slowly, humans learned to live in a world with new rules, in a world with the walking dead.</b></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<h2>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<br />Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-81320613802674130072013-02-22T19:02:00.001-08:002013-02-22T19:05:17.614-08:00Transformation by Rab Swannock Fulton<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Transformation-ebook/dp/B009E0M7MQ/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1361584460&sr=1-1&keywords=Transformation+Rab+Swannock">Transformation by Rab Swannock Fulton</a></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">I
absolutely loved <i>Transformation </i>by
Rab Swannock Fulton. I guess it falls
into paranormal romance or horror. The
books summary mentions evil Irish folklore.
However you decide to label it, this novella has a backbone of sincere
emotion and sinister darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">The
love story between the Irish youths, Donnacha (the boy) and Eimir</span> (the girl),
both in their early twenties, was completely enthralling. Their relationship was natural and vibrant
with the energy and passion of youth. The
simple writing style was hypnotically vague, carrying me back to gems of my youth.
My memories mingled with the story, and
I was fully invested in their future together.
The few hurried sex scenes seemed
a little out of place in the tale of true love, but hey, no big deal. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Donnacha
noticed a strange darkness on the periphery of his wonderful life. Something was there watching, and at times it
stalked him and his love. This hunting
evil finally went in for the kill. I was
shocked and saddened by the catastrophic aftermath. It took me several pages to collect myself. I had to go back and read passages
twice. I couldn’t focus, and I assure you
that is exactly what Rab intended. Once
I got my feet under me, I went on as best I could.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">The
evil returned for the killing blow upon the innocent. In the streets of modern Ireland an ancient
drama unfolded, and I loved every word of it.
I give <i>Transformation</i> by Rab
Swannock Fulton five severed heads.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Heads
Will Roll,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Everette
Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-16828642507029532062012-09-16T11:49:00.002-07:002012-09-16T16:15:39.936-07:00The Gorge by Jason L. McPherson<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Gorge-ebook/dp/B008RQI1DM/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1347820983&sr=1-1&keywords=the+gorge">The Gorge by Jason McPherson</a></div>
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This week’s selection reminded me of an old saying every
state likes to claim. <i>If you don’t like the weather, wait five
minutes and it will change. </i>I don’t
know how true that is for weather, but it is dead on for <i>The Gorge </i>by Jason L. McPherson. The book is a plot heavy page turner that
effortlessly pulled me into a world of supernatural warfare, religious fanaticism,
and all kind s of brutality. Without a
doubt, the stand out strength of <i>The Gorge</i>
is its continuously evolving plot.
Readers can expect to be carried from one harrowing event to the next,
and just when you say this story is like a supernatural <i>Southern Comfort</i> with Keith Carradine, it changes to another
well-loved B movie. But the story keeps
its continuity throughout.</div>
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We begin with Nathan Mires, a seemingly ordinary family man
in Raven Falls, North Carolina, being compelled by a strange voice to commit
heinous acts of murder. This road of carnage
leads him into hiding in the Blue Ridge Mountains where the outdoor skills
passed onto Nathan by his grandfather come into use. As he becomes the pawn in ancient Native
American curse, he must face various foes for his survival. His bloody path brings him to join forces
with a Cherokee Medicine Man and a former enemy. Together they set out on a mission of dread
with all the odds against them.</div>
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Sometimes the story sacrifices characterization for plot, but
the action makes up for it. I think
Spore Press should have edited the first chapter slightly differently, and the
book would have been even better. There are a few typos that I noticed, so if
you really don’t like those, I encourage you to overlook them in order to have
a great time. Don’t waver in chapter
one, put on your seatbelt because two onward makes you want lots of popcorn and
Cherry Coke. At about 95%, I wasn’t sure
I was going to be happy with the ending, but then in McPherson fashion it changed right before my eyes. The last sentence gave me chills..</div>
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I give it a solid three severed heads. Of course these severed heads have bad ass Indian
war paint and timber rattlers crawling into their gaping mouths. Look for a future interview with Jason L.
McPherson on writing Appalachian Horror.</div>
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Heads Will Roll,</div>
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Everette Bell</div>
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<i> </i> </div>
Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-51899840657226631022012-09-08T22:08:00.000-07:002012-09-08T22:08:02.509-07:00Sudden Death Overtime by Steve Vernon<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Sudden-Death-Overtime-ebook/dp/B0077ZR2TS/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1347167188&sr=8-1&keywords=Sudden+Death+Overtime">Sudden Death Overtime by Steve Vernon</a></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Good evening Horde,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I finished up Steve
Vernon’s <i>Sudden Death Overtime</i> today<i>. </i>At
first I was kind of iffy about the whole thing.
But it turned out to be a very inventive novella. I don’t know anything about hockey, but Steve’s
first chapter set a great stage for what he describes as Paul Newman's Slapshot
thrown in a blender with Steven Niles 30 Days of Night. I think that mixed treat has a hefty serving
of 1987’s Lost Boys in a geriatric sort of way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I was immediately drawn
in by the mentality and setting of Labrador.
The hard living style of the washed up old hockey players made them dam
ready for the mysterious black bus of hell spawn, vampires that drove into
town.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The down side of this
story for me was a far too simple plot for what I wanted. You could say the visiting team was a bunch
of blood sucking assholes that disrespected a home team player, so the locals got
very fucking rough on the ice to teach the bastards a lesson. The novella felt like a straight line to the
ending. We got a lot of back story on
the guys, but they didn’t do anything.
Everything just fell into place a little too easily.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For me this book was
all about the beginning and the end. We
got a great atmosphere and a cool image of the bad guys rolling into town. Then we get the showdown. The ending could have been more satisfying,
but even so, I never felt like putting it down.
However, I never had any doubt either.
It almost felt too easy when our washed up old hockey players took on
the role of the Frog Bothers from Lost Boys and whipped ass.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Steve’s got a lot of
books, and I have no doubt this is not his best one. I cared enough that I will read more. As a matter of fact, I’ve already pestered
him for more.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I give <i>Sudden Death Overtime</i> by Steve Vernon
three severed heads stomped off by hockey skates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will Roll,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-87450466050200182852012-09-02T08:03:00.002-07:002012-09-02T08:03:57.605-07:00Love's Bright Star by Virginnia de Parte<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Loves-Bright-Star-ebook/dp/B008QXS6I6/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1346597887&sr=1-1&keywords=love%27s+bright+star">Love's Bright Star by Virginnia de Parte</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I really struggled with <i>Love’s Bright Star</i> by Virginnia de Parte. It is the first true romance novella I have
ever read. I thought years of watching
romantic comedies with the women in my life would prepare me, but I was
wrong. The genre aficionados among the
horde may find it amusing that I loved it.
Then I hated it. Then I loved it. Then I hated…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The basics are a future setting in which there are
two classes of humans, normals and g-altereds.
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Siobhan is a photographer
with cat genes who is being attacked by a man in a night club when James, a
University Lecturer, who can stop time comes to her rescue. From here the first half of the book is their
growing passion for each other. I found
it a little tiring and superficial.
Siobhan is supposed to be 28, but she came across as very juvenile to
me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Siobhan becomes
pregnant against James’ wishes seemingly destroying their relationship. I couldn’t help but side with James. I was clearly too focused on the sci-fi back
story of the second class citizenship that the child would be burdened with. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
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<span style="background: white;">For me, the climax of the book took place well
before the end when Siobhan was having her initial ultrasound. Virginnia gave us a very exciting moment that
had me white knuckling my kindle, but unfortunately, it didn’t last. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">A cat and mouse game
follows in which an organization known as the Defense Department takes extreme
interest in the former couple and their unborn child. James and Siobhan come back together, and the
book gradually ends. I think there is a
sequel in the works.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The book was short and
well written, so you won’t feel it is a total waste of time. But it is not complete blissful escapism
either. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Severed heads is not
the best scale for this one, and my feelings are mixed.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So I give </span><i style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Love’s
Bright Star</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> by Virginnia de Parte somewhere between 2 and 3 cupid arrows.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will Roll,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-39961931571448744832012-08-25T12:06:00.002-07:002012-08-25T12:08:26.695-07:00The Pied Piper of the Undeadd by Michael Whetzel <br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Pied-Piper-Undead-ebook/dp/B007L9US32/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1345921332&sr=8-1&keywords=The+Pied+Piper+of+the+Undead">The Pied Piper of the Undeadd by Michael Whetzel</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This week I had
the feeling. I know you’ve had it, all
readers have. When you read a book that
is so cool and so everything you love, you are practically vibrating with
excitement. Several times I had to
consciously stop myself from writing a one line review. “Go get this book now.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Pied Piper of the Undead</span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> by Michael Whetzel is a book
seemingly based on the principal of going back in time and undoing some of the features
that have becomes staples in the zombie apocalypse genre in order to give us a
fresh start. He leaves out the armies of
survivalist psychos. He takes out zombies that are more powerful than humans. He leaves out the drawn out predictable
description of the end of the world. He
leaves out the religious dogma.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So you are
wondering, what’s left? Glad you asked. There is a sense of mystery that drew me in
as I was confronted with a world inhabited by only one human survivor, a
thirteen year old boy named Peter. He
lives on top of a water tower at the edge of his small town, and the horde of
the living dead ambles below. As he looked
down at them, waiting for him, in some cases signaling for him to climb down
the ladder they do not have the motor control to climb, I was reminded of <i>I AM Legend.</i> The undead calling to Robert Neville is my
most enduring memory from reading the 1954 classic, and I felt that again. Just like in the classic, we don’t know why
Peter is there. We don’t know any of the
circumstances, and Micjael shows us instead of telling us boring back story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The novella
also delivers a young protagonist that offers a totally different emotional
backdrop than the twenty to forty something plot of fighting for survival in
order to reach the haven. Peter is in
that puberty time of immortal thinking.
He doesn’t fear his circumstances because in his simple, non developed
mind he has figured out the system of how to get supplies and how the zombies “work”. His view of the zombie apocalypse allows for different
interactions with the undead. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">It is pretty
standard for characters in these stories to struggle with one of their loved
ones becoming a corpse and having to go through the mental anguish of killing
them. However, Michael Whetzel goes beyond
that struggle with Peter’s interaction and feelings about the dead. And the reason he was able to make this
emotional landscape so rich is that he zooms in a small fragment of Romero’s description
of mall zombies in <i>Dawn of the Dead</i>. It all wraps up into a nice coming of age
zombie story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I will say that
if you like the caravan quests of zombie killers driving around in endless
search of bullets, gas, and other supplies you might not be into this
story. It’s a small scale character
experience that I thoroughly enjoyed. If
I had a genie wish, I would have wanted the big ending to slow down just a
touch, but that is mainly because I didn’t want the great read to come to an
end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">happily give<i> The
Pied Piper of the Undead</i> by Michael Whetzel five rotten severed heads. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Because I loved Michaels work so much, here is
a link for you to check out all his fiction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Michael-Whetzel/e/B006ZCVULU/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1">Other fiction by Michael Whetzel </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will
Roll,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette
Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-23844855128296821912012-08-18T16:41:00.000-07:002012-08-18T16:41:04.729-07:00Dark Confluence by Rosemary Fryth<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dark-Confluence-Book-Darkening-ebook/dp/B007O3DIIW/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1345333107&sr=8-1&keywords=Dark+Confluence">Dark Confluence by Rosemary Fryth</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">This
week I began my adventures in the genre of Paranormal Romance. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">O</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">ther than listening
to my wife talk </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Twilight</i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> and </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Hunger Games</i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> with her friends, this world is foreign to me, so I was
very excited when a member of the horde asked me to review her latest book.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Conflict came at me from all sides as I read Rosemary Fryth’s <i>Dark Confluence. </i>The story begins
with a jolt of adrenaline as Jen McDonald narrowly avoids driving into a
strange woman dressed in black. This
event leads her into a web of paranormal activity and warring factions of
faeries just below the surface of the pristine tourist town of Emerald Hills.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The majority
of the story is split between the actions of Jen and a woman named Carma who
serves in a local political action group as well as runs a new age shop. Carma dabbles in low level magic, and an
encounter with a customer brings her into the supernatural drama unfolding in
the town.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Without a
doubt, the near car crash is exciting and kicks off an involved plot that many
readers will enjoy, but I felt like the action began before I could develop a
reason to care about the main character.
As a result I read along as a distant observer. I was never able to become immersed in the
story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">As Jen
learns more about the Faerie folk and their involvement in her small town, we
are introduced to lots of characters, way too many for me. They would be here, then gone. I got tired of looking for a way to connect
to all of them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Rosemary writes
believable characters that are interesting to follow. Jen has a wonderful relationship with an
elderly widower named Tom that reminded me of millions of Baby Boomer daughters
caring for aging parents and learning about their pasts. But she also
has a fiery desire for a mysterious young man named Fionn that provides the
story with a backdrop of sexual tension. The same is true for Carma. She is
fun to watch as she carries out her self-interested plans. As much as the characters were interesting to
me, I never lost myself in the story. I
was always very aware I was reading fiction.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Readers will
appreciate Rosemary’s writing. The story
is pleasantly linear. She is quite
sensual in her descriptions. She has a
magician’s ability to manipulate time with her words. She lingers us through scenes of desire
between Jen and Fionn, and she harrows us through deadly encounters with the
paranormal. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The final
conflict for me was faeries. I don’t
like them accept in children stories.
I never could get over it. I do
not see them as grown up. I do realize
that is a character flaw on my part. When
I discovered <i>Dark Confluence</i> was the
first in a trilogy, my jaw dropped. I can
tell you now the other books don’t interest me, but it’s because of the
faeries. I would love to know how things
end up for Jen and Carma. I really would. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Rosemary is a writer I could
enjoy, but this is not a book for me. If
you don’t have a faerie hang up, this is probably a fun read. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Even though
this is the end of the road for me, I think </span><i style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Dark
Confluence </i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">by Rosemary Fryth is a solid three …hmm…severed fairy
heads.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">That might be too much.</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Let’s just say three.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will
Roll,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette
Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-38880967821785163702012-08-05T18:59:00.001-07:002012-08-05T18:59:39.773-07:00The Misunderstood And Other Misfit Horrors by Jason Brannon<br />
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Misunderstood-Other-Misfit-Horrors-ebook/dp/B005G0BL2A/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1344218062&sr=1-3&keywords=jason+brannon">The Misunderstood And Other Misfit Horrors by Jason Brannon</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My biggest
problem with Jason Brannon’s, <i>The
Misunderstood And Other Misfit Horrors,</i> is the title. It would be all too easily, unfortunately, to
scroll right past this super collection of fiction because of the generic
title. I am very grateful Jason sent it
to me for a review because I might have been one of the people that missed
out. I also feel “horror” is a little
bit of a misnomer. I do realize I’m
splitting hairs, but it stuck with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Rest assured
Jason’s brief collection of nine stories is dark, but its foundation is imagination
and mystery rather than terror. Each of his
fiction gems focuses on an atmosphere that is genuinely creepy. I really liked the quiet settings of most of
the stories. I could almost feel the foreboding
silence. I was happily reminded of
several Bradbury and Matheson stories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My favorites
of the collection included “Beware The Death Angel” and “The Misunderstood” for
their great additions to Halloween mythology.
“Follow The Leader” was downright sinister in its delivery giving it an
awesome Richard Laymon feel. I didn’t
like the ending of “The Fourth Key”, but the delivery was perfect for a late
night read on a quiet couch. “The Oracle”
was a great traditional tale of terror, and “The Juggler” could have been an episode
of <i>Tales from the Darkside.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I
immediately started hounding Jason for copies of his other books, and thank
goodness he offered a few. This
collection really wet my appetite for some of his longer works. I give <i>The
Misunderstood And Other Misfit Horrors</i> by Jason Brannon a solid four
severed heads delivered on a silver platter by Rod Serling. Don’t miss it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will
Roll,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette
Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-31610922282661549482012-07-29T19:09:00.001-07:002012-07-29T19:09:46.853-07:00Call For Submissions<span style="background-color: #fefdfa; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I am primarily interested in reviewing novellas of any genre but will consider novels and collections. Please query with title, genre, type, (novella, novel, collection) and blurb/synopsis. Word count should be included. If your book is selected, I only review Kindle versions of books. All reviews are based on a severed head system. M</span><span style="background-color: #fefdfa; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">y best rating is five decapitated heads.</span><span style="background-color: #fefdfa; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span><span style="background-color: #fefdfa; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> The severed head system can be amended for different genres such as five teddy bears, five French kisses, or five bullets to the back of the head-whatever the situation calls for. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #fefdfa; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">I can't wait to see what you've got.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Let's Get Some Heads Rolling,</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Everette Bell</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><a href="mailto:cebyrd515@gmail.com">Submit to Wartooth Ebooks and Reviews</a></span></span>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-69558558628060303652012-07-29T17:42:00.000-07:002012-07-29T17:42:38.902-07:00The St. Petersburg Confessions by Ty Hutchinson<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-St-Petersburg-Confessions-ebook/dp/B007PWG1WC/ref=sr_1_7?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1343608724&sr=1-7&keywords=ty+hutchinson">The St. Petersburg Confessions by Ty Hutchinson</a></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Ty
Hutchinson delivers a psychological thriller set in the final days of the cold
war that offers just as much excitement today as it would have in the early 1990’s. <i>The St.
Petersburg Confessions </i>opens with “St. Petersburg, Russia, 1991”. For those of us with memories of that time we
recall the protests and the radicals slowly chipping away at government legitimacy. It was a time filled with intrigue, espionage,
and political assignation. CIA and KGB
were everyday words. The details of the
time are completely understated in this novella to the point that my first
thought was wondering why Ty used the setting in the first place, but as the
darkness of human nature unfolded, I was treated to the bleak existence of the
times.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Description
is sparse, and the novella avoids extravagant language as if the reader were in
a government food line waiting for a hunk of hard bread. If the prose didn’t so perfectly fit the cold
stone of the cathedral and the totalitarian oppression of the people, we might simply
scoff at the story. Ty Hutchinson created
a world that transmits the authenticity of the time without the details. I applaud his efforts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Father Fedor
sits at his church late one evening when he is approached by a shadowy figure referring
to himself as a ghost. He tells the
father he wants to confess his sins. The
humble servant of God accepts his duty and begins listening to the stranger confess
ninety-nine murders. By the day, Father
Fedor tries to go on as usual while carrying his burden of darkness. The tension builds as the father becomes
obsessed with fulfilling his religious duty until the darkest grows out of
control.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There is a
point where the story became a little predictable, but I was still hooked. Unfortunately the climax was delivered too
quickly and neatly. I expected something
much messier in order to really leave the reader breathless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The St. Petersburg Confessions</span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> by Ty Hutchinson is a sleek fast
read with a nice nugget of darkness that you can ponder in your spare time. I give it three and a half severed heads out
of ninety-nine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will
Roll,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette
Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-69740283238585517542012-07-21T19:23:00.000-07:002012-07-21T19:23:45.006-07:00Beatrice Beecham's Houseful of Horrors by Dave Jeffery<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Beatrice-Beechams-Houseful-Horrors-ebook/dp/B006SB54TW/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1342920361&sr=1-1&keywords=beatrice+beecham">Beatrice Beecham's Houseful of Horrors by Dave Jeffery</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Beatrice Beecham’s Houseful of
Horrors </span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">by Dave
Jeffery is a little bit of a conundrum for me, sort of a no man’s land of
fiction. My assumption is that this is
some level of children’s book, but I can’t discern what kid would like this book. It doesn’t have a multi sensory
experience or a wildly engaging story.
It is a very low energy read that I don’t feel would appeal to many kids in this age that offers a plethora of wonderful choices..</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Beatrice
Beecham is a sleuthy high school girl with a group of friends referred to as
the Newshounds. The team investigates paranormal phenomenon in the small town of
Dorsal Fin. This book features four
short stories of their adventures.
The only one that I enjoyed was the first one, Halloween Haunting, and I
really loved it. The rest of the stories
were unremarkable. T</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">he pages are peppered with references to pop culture and history that seem more aimed at adults.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;">Beatrice is known for her culinary interest and skill, but her love of cooking is lost one me when she has conversations with a group of celebrity chefs in her head. The result of these mental meetings is that she gains some insight, but again, kids won't know the chefs and probably won't read much longer. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px; line-height: 18px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Halloween
Haunting has several vivid elderly characters that enthralled me in a story
that kids would have little interest in. However, the</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> folksy description of everything got in
the way of the plot at times.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The
emotional energy of the elderly protagonists was beautiful and created great tension. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Then I was utterly disappointed by the
abrupt, unsatisfying ending.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I would
love to see this story retooled for adults.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Perhaps
Beatrice’s other books are a different story entirely, but Houseful of Horrors
gets two severed heads. Since it is
aimed at younger people, they are stuffed and cute.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will
Roll,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette
Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-67321861571246924352012-07-21T18:18:00.001-07:002012-07-21T18:18:16.180-07:00Zombies of Iwo Jima by Dane Hatchell<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Zombies-of-Iwo-Jima-ebook/dp/B008MG46CW/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1342917891&sr=1-1&keywords=Zombies+of+Iwo">Zombies of Iwo Jima by Dane Hatchell </a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Zombies of Iwo Jima </span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">by Dane Hatchell is a fun corpse tale
with a historical gimmick. For the most
part this is a free sample of his current zombie novel, but he does toss us
this undead bone with a hunk of ghoulish raw meat on it. I didn’t read the novel excerpts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Instead of
alternate history, Dane gives us “substitution” history. He adds a deadly mix of zombies to the
monumental battle in a traditional style that zombie fans are sure to enjoy. I really liked his characters for such a short
work, and his reason for bombing Nagasaki and Hiroshima blends very well into
the zombie mythology.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I give this
story three severed heads. It’s per5fect
for a quick horror break..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">p.s. I have
a feeling zombie fans will like his zombie novel. I may read one myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will Roll,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette Bell</span></div>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-38239992069246343242012-07-15T12:12:00.002-07:002012-07-15T12:12:36.151-07:00Surviving the Fittest by Jason White<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Surviving-the-Fittest-ebook/dp/B0089G684O/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1342379283&sr=1-1&keywords=Surviving+the+Fittest">Surviving the Fittest by Jason White</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Surviving the Fittest </span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">by Jason White is an emotionally
charged, action packed zombie short story that kept me on the edge of my seat. His zombies are the classic lumbering fiends
from the Romero blood line. Not that
humanity has a chance anyway, but against corpses with super speed, super
strength, and reason, we’d last a few hours.
With Jason's walkers I feel like our delusion of survival is dragged on long
enough to get stories other than zombies eats human.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So the
situation is a zombie plague has overtaken the world. Fifteen year old Charlie is alone caring for
his thirteen year old severely mentally disabled sister, Cindy. They must survive the living dead as well as
those humans that have survived.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
affection Charlie has for his sister and his innocence in general made this
story work. Zombie tales are metaphors for the inevitable death of all people. You can run all you want, but they will catch you—and
in the end death will be triumphant.
Charlie’s story gives us another metaphor, a reason to live despite
approaching doom. He learns what his
life is worth.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I give <i>Surviving the Fittest </i>four severed
heads. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will
Roll,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette
Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-41418656534690211342012-07-15T12:07:00.002-07:002012-07-15T12:07:43.388-07:00Electric Blue by Deanna Riddell<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Electric-Blue-Suspense-Thriller-ebook/dp/B008ITQJLO/ref=sr_1_2?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1342378911&sr=1-2&keywords=Electric+Blue">Electric Blue by Deanna by Deanna Riddell</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Electric Blue</span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> is a short story by Deanna Riddell
that totally hooked me with its synopsis.
Tragically, fifteen year old Jake disappeared one evening on a trip to
the grocery on his electric blue bicycle and never returned. Six years pass and we join the story on his younger
sister Sara’s fifteenth Birthday. Their
parents have never stopped waiting for Jake to come home. The strangeness of the situation isolates
Sara from her friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sara
receives an unexpected Birthday card in the mail. There you have the synopsis that made me
think I was about to get some traditional Bradbury or Matheson horror. That is not what happened.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Turns out,
the synopsis is the whole story except for the unrewarding, lack luster, imagination free ending. I’m not one to focus on writing
mechanics because an engaged reader will overlook and forgive many
mistakes. However, for a story this
short editing was very poor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Electric
Blue gets a body with a butter knife cut on throat. Pretty soon the guy will get up and walk away. You should too. .<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will
Roll,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette
Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-13802579320680164692012-07-15T12:01:00.002-07:002012-07-15T12:01:29.009-07:00Shreds of Humanity by M.J. Hangge<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Shreds-of-Humanity-ebook/dp/B007U7JSLI/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1342378523&sr=1-1&keywords=shreds+of+humanity">Shreds of Humanity by M.J. Hangge</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Shreds of Humanity </span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">by M’J. Hangge seemed like an awesome
concept, zombie destruction of humankind from the perspective of the walking
dead. In ironic fashion, it did not live
up to my expectations. In fact, for me
it was dead on arrival. I managed five or six
chapters before I quit. It was just
continuous thought perspective from the zombie, like a stream of dead
consciousness. There were no characters
or plot for me to grab onto. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Normally, if
I quit a book I wouldn’t even review it because I don’t think it’s fair to a
writer to pass judgment without having experienced the whole thing. But I am mentioning it because I might not be
a hard-core enough zombie fan to get it.
I will say I wanted to love this book, so I can’t help but wonder if
this was a personal failure rather than a bad book. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I feel
like there are several hard-core zombie fans in the Wartooth Horde.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Someone post a review if you care to that can
encourage me to try again.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Not to
mention, I don’t want to dissuade other hard-core fans from a potentially great read.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">How many heads would you give it? Should I try again?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will
Roll,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette
Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-14442319389738668372012-07-09T20:22:00.002-07:002012-07-09T20:22:58.539-07:00The Beautiful Nothings<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I have always
loved to walk, particularly aimlessly in search of all the cool nothings life
has to offer. At an early age my love of
walking and stories collided. My
grandmother had a dark stuffy room in the back of her house, and I loved to
sneak off and rummage when the grownups weren’t looking…One day I found a
stack of my cousins’ comic books. That
encouraged more wandering and looking for nothing in particular.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A few years
later my uncle took a job in another state.
Before he left he gave me his BetaMax.
As you can imagine, that lead to searching aisles of video cassettes for
the perfect movie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In high school
I started patrolling two local record stores for the perfect album. In college the shrines to the gods of
wandering became a comic shop and a used book store. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I rarely
knew “what” I was looking for, but when I saw the perfect title, with the
perfect cover, with the perfect synopsis, and the perfect first line, I felt it
in my bones. I savored these jewels. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I now wander
the stacks at amazon, hoping to find that perfect nothing. My reviews are aimed at sharing the beautiful
nothing. We’ve begun with horror, but
stick with me. I promise we’ll explore
many worlds of emotion.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Asian
cultures have wonderful words like <i>do</i>
and <i>tao</i> to describe the spiritual way
and <i>itsu</i> to describe peace or my
favorite translation “mistake” </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For me
Wartooth is the grand, wandering mistake.</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">If you move and you search you will find the peace of nothing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nothing to
it,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette
Bell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-38116556811526907362012-07-07T11:27:00.003-07:002012-07-07T11:27:59.438-07:00AfterDark Chronicles: Survival by R.L. and M.R. Reeves<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/images/0984015124/ref=dp_image_0?ie=UTF8&n=283155&s=books">AfterDark Chronicles: Survival by R.L. and M.R. Reeves</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If you are a fan of zombie splatter
and the polished supernatural fiction of a solid hit maker like Stephen King, <i>AfterDark Chronicles: Survival </i>by R.L.
and M.R. Reeves will be familiar territory.
Our tale begins with the end of the world from a zombie plague. Everything is exactly as the mythology
demands with a few extras thrown in by the Reeves. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr. and Mrs. Reeves write with an
engaging vocabulary of exploding skulls and gushes of arterial blood that keeps
the action rolling very cinematically.
They don’t forget to develop their characters either. A father and his adult daughter embark on a
quest to reach the rest of their family on the other side of the country. A tough as nails marine with a heart that
gets her in trouble at times joins them.
They do stupid things and really smart things just like all of us would. At times the characters fall into their
stereotypical uniforms, but I managed to stay invested throughout. As they cross a crumbling America, the band
of survivors encounter the well-armed rednecks and fanatics we love to see
heroes destroy, and they do it convincingly with a fun flair. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My biggest complaint is the
supernatural element that gets introduced does not get near as much screen time
as the zombies. An otherworldly force
takes interest in certain survivors of the plague and mysteriously intervenes in
their lives. This tried and true plot
line of the masters is kept fresh by the Reeves’ naive villain that allows for
a brief flicker of uneasy sympathy and convincing innocents that anyone would
want to protect. I hope this story line
will be amplified in the other books of the trilogy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">AfterDark Chronicles: Survival </span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">by R.L. and M.R. Reeves gets a solid three severed heads, and
you better not get too close to these heads because they will eat your brains
after finishing your intestines.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will Roll,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-7113966434317074532012-06-29T22:30:00.000-07:002012-06-29T22:30:32.875-07:00Critique by Daniel I. Russell<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Critique-ebook/dp/B006SBRAYO/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1341030786&sr=1-1&keywords=Critique">Critique by Daniel I. Russell</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Set the table for one lonely soul and
prepare for an introspective horror story that attempts to tap into primal
repulsion. <i>Critique </i>by Daniel I. Russell is a journey into obsession that
leads to unsettling self discovery.
Russell explores the shadows of a broken soul in a well written, gently
paced novella that lets you savor his effort rather than have it shoved down
your throat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sandy Devanche is the city’s harshest
food critic. He believes his tough words are
aimed at improving the restaurants he visits, but the top chefs dread and fear
his arrival. One particular evening he
visits an experimental eatery known as the House of Jacob. The strange meal leaves him both disgusted and
fascinated. Slowly Sandy descends into
isolation and obsession as he becomes consumed with savoring more of the chef’s
unorthodox food. His fractured life
becomes more troubled as he thinks only of the exquisite flavors offered by the
House of Jacob. Finally, he crosses a
line into a grim place of introspection that promises freedom from his pain in
exchange for…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Russell attempts a moral tale, perhaps
a fable. Sandy is the misguided soul
given a second chance at life if he can overcome his own demons. The idea is powerful, but I didn’t feel that
Sandy was developed as a character worth such profound intervention. He was a self-centered asshole, without a
doubt, but I didn’t buy him as deserving of his fate. During the revelation of the final meal,
Sandy was confronted with religious imagery that may put off conservative
readers, but Russell treats it with the respect it deserves in order to lend authenticity to his message. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Russell worked very hard to varying
degrees of success using food as a dark source of spiritual sustenance. On one occasion my stomach turned with
revulsion, but in others I was unmoved.
The uneven horrors of the meals detracted from the growing tension of
the situation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <i> </i> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m sure this is an early effort in a
long writing career that will blossom with the release of each new work. I give <i>Critique
</i>by Daniel I. Russell 3 severed heads clad in their bloody chef hats.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will Roll,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_0_13?url=search-alias%3Ddigital-text&field-keywords=everette+bell&sprefix=Everette+Bell%2Cdigital-text%2C247">Everette Bell</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-53547350668056165192012-06-24T17:02:00.000-07:002012-06-24T17:02:12.670-07:00The Midnight Hour by Neil Davies<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Midnight-Hour-ebook/dp/B007VDQ0QW/ref=sr_1_3?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1340581270&sr=1-3&keywords=the+midnight+hour">The Midnight Hour by Neil Davies</a></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The Midnight Hour </span></i><span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">by Neil Davies is a plainly dressed horror anthology that could easily be
passed by in the crowd of horror ebooks that walk the streets of
amazon.com. However, you would seriously
miss out on a great read if you did that.
The 14 tales that comprise this book take the reader into delightfully,
disturbing worlds of darkness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Neil Davies was born in 1959 before
the horror genre became the place we know today.
He was ten when <i>Night of the
Living Dead </i>was released and probably nowhere near seeing it for years. He didn’t have the epic novels of Stephen
King and the other bestseller propagators to inspire his writing. He had Hitchcok, Matheson, Bradbury, the
pulp writers, and maybe the great Hammer films of his homeland. Whatever his muse, these tales stand out as
something excitingly refreshing in our zombie, vampire overkill world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Short story is not really the best
term for what Neil does. I prefer “micro
novel”. Wrapped in these small bites are
fully developed characters and plots that unfold in layers. The pacing is a steady pagan drumbeat that
keeps us turning page after page in a realm where terror stalks the innocent
with cold indifference.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Twelve of the stories are straight on
horror. They’re bloody, they’re dark,
and Davies writes with confidence in his storytelling chops. He doesn’t seem to try and hook his reader’s
attention, but he invites them to look into a peep hole for a glimpse of
evil. Turn away or look. His stories are not meant for mass
appeal. He uses disorientation, over
amplification of the mundane, and ambiguity with the subtlety of a magician. Other times he charges straight on with a
chainsaw to give us lovely gore. I hope
you like the scene with the coat hanger as much as I did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> I give <i>The
Midnight Hour </i>by Neil Davies five maggot-infested severed heads. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Thanks Neil.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In support of a five severed head writer
below you will find a link to his other works.
I know what I want to review next.
I love winter horror.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Neil-Davies/e/B0034ORVZ6/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_2">Other Books by Neil Davies </a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will Roll,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette Bell<o:p></o:p></span></div>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-83436030612812739662012-06-16T15:25:00.001-07:002012-06-24T16:44:11.563-07:00Slander Hall by Matthew Tait<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/B006SRR6NS/ref=sib_dp_kd#reader-link">Slander Hall by Matthew Tait</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Slander Hall</span></i><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> by Matthew Tait is a slick horror
novella that delivers on the genre’s basics while adding some metaphysical flair.
Cedar, the lone survivor of America’s largest mass suicide decides to
return to where it all happened. Only
now, where it all happened is an abandoned suburb, a modern ghost town void of
inhabitants (wink, wink). Our pilgrim
returns with a team of paranormal investigators, writers, and a psychic.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Tait created
a wonderful atmosphere that extends throughout the entire novella. The ominous environment is a constant presence
that gets under your skin. I never
forgot I was in a horror novella.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Characters
are well fleshed out for such a short work.
They all have their reasons for being there, and some have their
suspicions about why Cedar is there. You’d be right in guessing they face their
demise one at a time, but the how is the fun part.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The story
gradually unwrapped and flowed forward just like I was going room to room and
building to building with the explorers.
The tension was awesome. I was
turning pages like a Tait junkie. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The ending
was more than I wanted. I know a lot of
people won’t mind but, I wanted more ambiguity. Tait gives you way more than that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I give <i>Slander Hall</i> by Mathew Tait four severed
heads. I look forward to more of this
guy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">p.s. Just picked up a short story collection of his for free. :)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will Role,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette Bell</span></div>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5722571072469290437.post-51959888266755575432012-06-02T16:16:00.000-07:002012-06-24T16:47:10.251-07:00Ghosts Can Bleed by Tracie McBride<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/reader/B006R6VB54/ref=sib_dp_kd#reader-link">Ghosts Can Bleed by Tracie McBride</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Speculative fiction lovers should be
delighted with Tracie McBride’s short story collection, <i>Ghosts Can Bleed. </i>The bio at
the end of the book reports she won the Sir Julius Vogel Award for Best New
Talent in 2007, and I certainly believe it.
Her words come across gracefully and confident. Her writing is mature, and she knows exactly
where to start and stop a plot to keep readers engaged. Tracie has a sparse writing style that uses
an elegant simplicity to convey darkness as well as humor.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The anthology is a mixture of poetry
and prose that initially concerned me when I agreed to review it. I have no skill or knowledge, for that
matter, in the area of poetry, but her poems feel like stories set to a primal
rhythm. I was able to enjoy them for the
dark images they evoked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Tracie McBride’s stories can be
divided into three categories, religious and social dystopia, the collision of
the every day and the never day, and dark humor. My least favorite was the dark humor. I was blown away by her dystopic fiction and
loved her straight dark fantasy pieces.
The humor stories were good, but she had already won me over with her
more thought provoking works by the time I encountered the humor stories.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The dystopic works in the collection
were like malevolent, black gems. Tracie
has an incredible knack for zeroing in on the perfect characteristic to build
upon. I found the first story in the
collection to be very unsettling. I
truly believe that our world is moving in that dark direction. And what she does with mermaids and religion
is wonderful. Two others in the dystopia
category are light science fiction tales that take readers back to the counter
culture sci-fi of the 1960’s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The more traditional dark fantasy
stories in the collection read easily and are thick with believable characters
as well as grim circumstances. The story
about the mother trying to help her son with his bad dreams has a lovely
ambiguous ending. Her stranger in a bar
story really shows Tracie McBride can be dark with the best of ‘em. The title story of the anthology would have
made an excellent episode for your favorite dark fiction serial TV show. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Tracie McBride approaches dark
speculative fiction from an experimental angel that is both thought provoking
and entertaining. I highly recommend it
for the short story lover.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I give <i>Ghosts Can Bleed</i> by Tracie McBride 4 severed heads. Thanks Tracie. I look forward to more of your writing.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Heads Will Roll,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Everette Bell</span></div>
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<br /></div>Wartooth Reviewshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05833593659160562747noreply@blogger.com1