A young man leaves his guarded house to scour his zombie-ridden town for the medicine that will save his father’s life. He meets two other survivors and becomes trapped in a game of cat-and-mouse that sends him down a path much darker than he imagined.
Targeted Age Group:: 14+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I've been a fan of post-apocalyptic and zombie literature since I was a kid. Specifically, this book grew from the idea of a teenager being trained by a Green Beret, and using this training to survive the infested ruins of his hometown, which is based on the town where I grew up.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
The main character is based on the naive teenager I once was. His Green Beret father is based on the kind of mentor I wish I'd had as a teen.
The pain in my hand is excruciating.
It’s almost as bad as the sound of the Colonel’s laughter. I want to swing my fist into his grinning face, but the rope binding me to the table makes it so I can only twitch in helpless rage.
“You gave your word,” I manage to growl at him.
The Colonel wipes sweat off my forehead with one hand, a motion almost fatherly in nature. “That I did, brave Kipper. That I did.”
He motions for the others to undo my binds. Wheels and Bandanna get to it—grudgingly, I sense from their expressions, but silent as a pair of mimes. I can hear the infected shuffling and moaning outside the warehouse.
The Colonel waits for them to finish. He pulls my gloves out of his back pocket and throws them at me, probably so I can use them to stanch the bleeding.
“You’re going to show me where your stash is,” he tells me as I slip on the gloves, wincing at the pain. “That’s step number one. Then you’re going to enter your humble abode like nothing bad ever happened to you in your whole life. But you’re going to come back out carrying your father’s head ten minutes after you go in. Not a single minute extra, not even if you eat your veggies. Do you comprehend my vibe, Kipper? Are you processing our palaver?”
Despite the nickname and the mannerisms, his voice is now flat and serious, his face even more so. If this is a game, then it’s a totally new level for both of us.
“Or what?” I say. “What happens if I don’t come out in ten minutes?”
He leans toward me, clamps his hand around my neck, and draws me close. Our foreheads touch, and I have to endure his nauseating breath.
“Any funny business while you’re in that house, Kipper, and I’ll inflict so much pain on your little girlfriend that ripping off her fingernails will be just the foreplay.”
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