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Oct 27 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

Alien Jones’ Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 27

Night came and went and eventually Video Game Rack Fighter passed out from exhaustion, lying in bed next to her beau, Bookshelf Q. Battler, holding him tightly.

BQB, the illustrious host of a blog with a mere 3.5 readers, barely held on.  I scanned him with my, well, I’ll keep calling it a space phone because that’s about all your insignificant human brains could ever possibly understand.

The nerd’s life pulse was growing dim.

Suddenly, a hole was vaporized in the ceiling by a red beam of light.  Another beam of gold light took its place and my Supreme Overlord, the Mighty Potentate, materialized in the room, golden scepter in hand, oversized crown on his head.

Three of his best security aliens materialized as well.  The MP is too important not to have protection.

I dropped to my knees and proceeded to flagellate myself, as is the custom of my home world whenever one is in the presence of The Potent One.

“Oh Great Potentositude!”  I said as I flailed my arms up and down.  “I am not worthy of your presence!  Why do you honor one as lowly as I with your magnanimous appearance?”

The Mighty Potentate only had one volume – LOUD.  He didn’t have a quiet setting.  He shouted everything he had to say in the tone of a being that was planning to murder you.

Probably because most of the time he usually is but let’s not get bogged down by semantics.

“JONES!  SPARE ME YOUR RUMP SWABBERY AND STAND AT ONCE!”

I did.  My ruler pointed at BQB, who was lying there with his mouth agape.

“Why is the Chosen One is such a horrid state?  Explain yourself immediately or be vaporized!”

The security aliens cocked and locked their vaporization blasters, ready to turn me into a fine mist.

Vaporization was the Mighty Potentate’s solution for everything.  I can’t say it didn’t work for him.  My home world ran like a well oiled machine, thanks to constant, non-stop threats of vaporization.  In fact, your human leaders might want to look into this practice.

“Oh He of Vast Potent Powers,”  I said.  “Please forgive me for my failure.  Bookshelf Q. Battler, er, ‘The Chosen One’ was forced into a trial by zombie combat and was injured.”

“And you let it happen!”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Do you know if the Chosen One dies, I’ll be left with no choice but to break Intergalactic Space Law, separate our planet from the Intergalactic Space Organization, and conduct a full scale invasion of Earth just to prevent the spread of reality television to the rest of the universe?”

“Mighty Potentate,”  I said.  “I am so sorry I have failed you.  Truly, an insect such as I does not deserve to bask in the glorious rays of your pleasant visage.  It’s just that you’ve put down so many edicts that sometimes I get confused.  ‘Protect the Chosen One.’  ‘Don’t do anything that will draw too much attention from the humans.’  ‘Do not interfere in human affairs.’  It’s like I can’t follow one of your orders without breaking another one.’”

The Mighty Potentate’s face turned into one of furious anger.  His volume went off the charts.

“DO YOU DARE QUESTION THE COMMANDS OF YOUR SUPREME OVERLORD?!”

I trembled.  The Mighty Potentate was the only being in the universe that ever made me afraid.  I’m not sure if it was because I was scared of vaporization, saddened by the possibility of disappointing a ruler I had tremendous respect for, or a combination of the two.

“No!  Not at all, oh Mightiest of Potentates!  It was my brain, much inferior to yours, that wasn’t able to figure out how to protect the Chosen One and follow your edicts at the same time!”

“Believe it or not, Jones, but the last thing I want to do is conquer Earth,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Are you aware that Zamfram’s Intergalactic Real Estate Guide lists Earth as the cheapest property in the entire universe?  I won’t even be able to pay a junk service to haul this miserable excuse for a planet away.”

I could tell the Mighty Potentate was ready to rant.  I didn’t interrupt.

“Do you know these hairless apes have been around for nearly two hundred thousand years and they only figured out six hundred years ago that if they sail from one side of the planet to the other they won’t fall off?”

“Imbeciles for certain,” I said.  “Humans surely rival the Moloklaxons as the dumbest species.”

“Holy Flarking Shazbo,”  the Mighty Potentate continued.  “They destroy their protective ozone layer with products that make their hair shinier.  They wage war after war in the name of one invisible man in the sky because they don’t like the idea that another group of humans would believe in a different human in the sky.  And they consume cheese stuffed crust pizza by the truck load then wonder why they’re fatter than space cows.”

“It’s a real mess down here, MP,”  I said.  “I’ve done the best I can to inform the humans as to how they can change their ways with my ‘Ask the Alien’ column.

“All of this nonsense I can put up with,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “But having my television invaded by programs about supermodels with large behinds who go shopping, plumbers who fix toilets, grizzly pawn shop owners, and stereotypical Italians from New Jersey who do nothing but party and get spray on tans is where I draw the line.  I will send my entire armada to take over this planet to prevent that from happening.”

“I understand, Mighty One,”  I said.  “You’re very protective of your beloved scripted programming.”

“Damn straight!”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Why would anyone watch reality TV show when they can take in a drama full of twists and plot turns?  It makes no sense!”

“Another human mystery I suppose,”  I said.

“This is a sad state of affairs,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “The Chosen One is the only human holding my back from a global conquest.”

I had a question and as I’m sure you realize, posing a question to an unquestionable ruler is a sticky wicket to be sure.

“Mighty Potentate,”  I said.  “Know that I, your humble servant, would never question your mandates, but I have a question that will help my pitiful brain understand your declarations better.  Are you certain that BQB is, in fact, the Chosen One?”

“DO YOU DARE CAST DOUBT ON YOUR MIGHTY POTENTATE?”

“No!  Not at all!”  I said.  “It’s just…well…all BQB does is go to work then come home, watch TV and eat nachos.  Once in awhile he tries to write, gets a sentence or two down, then announces, ‘F%$k it!  I’m watching Game of Thrones!  If there is greatness in him, it must be buried deep as I have yet to see it.”

“Rest assured it is there, Jones,” the Mighty Potentate said.  “I have foreseen in a vision that this nerd will write a book so witty, so charming, so amazing that the humans will rise up and demand better from the entertainment industry, and reality television will be no more without the need of an alien invasion!”

“Your visions are never wrong,”  I said.

“Of course they aren’t!  Did I not foresee that the Moloklaxons would become the A-Holes of the Universe?”

“You did.”

“Did I not foresee that Morloff Delta would become a safe haven for intergalactic space prostitutes?”

“No one but you saw that one coming, Oh Wise Potentate,”  I replied.

“And who foretold that a race of sentient iguanas would overthrow the Voscari System?”

“You did, MP,”  I said.  “The Prime Iguana is truly a bloodthirsty ruler.”

“Then stop questioning your unquestionable ruler and get with the program, Jones!”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Help this nerd get his writing career off the ground or it’s the vaporizer for you.”

“I understand,”  I said.

“Good,”  the Mighty Potentate said as he put a hand on my shoulder.  “Jones, I would not have tolerated a failure like this from any of the other aliens under my command.  I hope you know that.”

“I had a feeling.”

“Do you know why I give you such leeway?”  the Mighty Potentate asked.

“I hope you will enlighten me, oh Great Enlightened One.”

“I am in the twilight of my life, Jones,”  the Mighty Potentate explained.  “Beings of our species rarely last longer than a million years.  I’m just shy of my 990,000 birthday.  I’ve got about ten grand’s worth of years left before my body’s organs liquefy into a putrid stench.”

“Oh Potentate,”  I said.  “Please don’t say such things.  Why, you barely look a day over 500,000.”

“Well I work out,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Even so, while I have conquered much of the universe, I cannot conquer death.  I must know that my empire will be in good hands when I scream the great scream of death as my body turns itself inside out as happens to all of our elderly.”

“I cannot fathom the idea of a Mighty Potentate-less world,”  I said.

“You won’t have to,” the MP said.  “For all this time, I have been grooming you to become the next Mighty Potentate.”

My life juices boiled with shock.

“Me?”

“You,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “Why do you think I appointed you to the Esteemed Council of Potentate Advisors?  There’s the Esteemed Warmonger One, who leads all of my troops into battle.  The Esteemed Medical One, who advises me on the latest advancements in medicine, and so on.  But there can only be one Esteemed Brainy One, the alien capable of advising me on ALL matters and that is you.  Surely you’re aware of the tradition that the Esteemed Brainy One always advances to the position of Mighty Potentate upon a Mighty Potentate’s demise?”

“I am,”  I said.  “But you’ve been so efficient with your threats of vaporization that I assumed you’d just threatened the Esteemed Medical One to find a way to keep you alive indefinitely.”

“The thought had crossed my mind,”  the Mighty Potentate said.  “But honestly, I look forward to the sweet release of death that will come when my body explodes and its innards congeal into a viscous slop.  I’ve been Potentating for far too long and I need a break.”

“I shall do all I can to live up to this great honor,”  I said.

“See that you do,” the MP said.  “I’m in my golden years, Jones, and the last thing I need to do is be worrying about trying to find a buyer for a planet full of hairless apes who only figured out how to fly a hundred years ago.”

The Mighty Potentate held up his scepter and the golden beam of light returned, whisking him and his security detail away.

I dialed up another zombie author on my space phone.

“Me, the next Mighty Potentate, as long as I help the Chosen One with his writing career,”  I said.  “Let’s up BQB’s blog stats with another interview

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Oct 26 2015
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#31ZombieAuthors

#31ZombieAuthors – Day 26 Interview – Rhiannon Frater

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By: Alien Jones, Special Guest Interviewer

Greetings 3.5 human readers.

The Esteemed Brainy One here, filling in for Bookshelf Q. Battler as he recovers from his trial by zombie combat.

Today’s guest is Rhiannon Frater, author of such zombified books as the As the World Dies Trilogy and The Last Bastion series.

A prolific author, her works also transcend the Young Adult, Vampire, and Supernatural genres.

A Texan through and through, Frater’s many accolades include a starred review from Publisher’s Weekly for As the World Dies. Further, The Last Bastion of the Living was declared the Number One Zombie Release of 2012 by Explorations Fantasy Blog and the Number One Zombie Novel of the Decade by the B&N Book Blog.

When she’s not busy writing, other past times include sci-fi and horror shows, playing video games, cooking, dyeing her hair weird colors, and shopping for Betsey Johnson purses and shoes.

Welcome Rhiannon and thanking you for agreeing to an interview conducted by an alien. P.S., if anyone asks, I’d appreciate it if you could just tell them you were interviewed by a small human disguised in hipster garb.

NOTE: BOLD=Alien Jones; ITALICS=Rhiannon 

Q.   Let’s get right to it.  Obviously, you love sci-fi, horror and the supernatural.  Lots of people do but few take that passion and turn it into a successful writing career.  What motivated you to do it?

A.   Quite honestly, since I was a little girl I knew I was going to be a professional writer. I have never felt so certain of anything in my life. I just believed that I would one day write books that people would love. I guess it was a calling. I will admit that life got in the way of my writing and for a time I gave up on the dream. Then I reached a point where I realized how miserable I was when I wasn’t writing. My husband (then my boyfriend) encouraged me to start writing again. I did, and within five years I had a literary agent, a contract with Tor, and a solid fan base.

Q.   In the Last Bastion series, you paint a picture of a futuristic world overrun by zombies known as the Inferi Scourge.  Humans hole up inside “The Bastion” and its the job of warriors like Vanguards Lindsey Rooney or Maria Martinez to protect them.  It sounds like an awesome mashup, blending the genres of apocalyptic science-fiction and zombie horror for one fun ride.  Can you tell BQB’s 3.5 readers about this world?  And how did it first pop into your mind?

A.  Well, the Bastion is literally the last city of the living. The world is dead. The Inferi Scourge have destroyed everything. They’re not flesh-eating zombies, but they are driven with the need to infect and spread the virus that created them. The book is set far in the future, so there are some high-tech weaponry, etc, but it’s a decaying world with limited resources. In the first book, the powers that be in the Bastion are attempting to reclaim the vast valley that surrounds the Bastion. There is a natural barrier – a mountain range – between the valley and the outside world and a gate once held the Scourge out. But at some point the gate failed and the Scourge swarmed into the valley, pushing the humans into the walled city. The second book is about what remains outside the valley.

As with most ideas, I dreamed this one. It was a very terrifying nightmare, but I loved the story inside the dream so much I had to write it.

Q.  As the World Dies follows survivors struggling to survive in a zombie infested Texas.  Today, we live in a modern world where food, showers, TV, computers and other luxuries are all readily accessible.  Why then, do humans fantasize about living in a world with little to no comfort, being pursued by brain chomping beasts all the while?  I assume humans must fantasize about this quite a bit as novels such as yours do so well.  Should I be concerned about the mental stability of humanity or is it all in good fun?

A.   I don’t think we are actually fantasizing about wanting to live in a post-apocalyptic world.  I think it’s a way to live out our worst fears, but in a safe way. We fear our world collapsing, yet at the same time we crave a reset. Zombies aren’t real, so we can live out our worst fears in a fantasy landscape that we know will never come to pass. We can imagine ourselves surviving and somehow rebuilding society. It’s pure escapism. There is immense relief when you can close a book and trap the monsters inside and continue on with your life.

Q.  You also have a series about a very pretty vampire.  She’s Pretty When She Dies, Pretty When She Kills and so on.  Why are people always aghast at the possibility of being turned into a vampire?  Immortal life, youth and powers that put you above the law seem like a pretty sweet deal.  Is there a down side?

A.  Well, Amaliya is murdered and buried in a forest. Not a really awesome thing to happen. When she rises, she has no idea what is going on or what she is. So she has a very hard learning curve. Once she gets the hang of it, she likes being a vampire. There are drawbacks, of course, but she likes the power she inherits from her maker. Of course, having to deal with a psychotic creator that’s talking her not very fun. Also, the more powerful she becomes (she’s a necromancer/vampire), the more other supernatural creatures are gunning for her.

Q.  You’re a gamer.  What’s the best zombie based video game out there right now and why?

A.  I honestly don’t know. Most of them are first person shooters and I can’t play those. I throw up. I play Guild Wars 2 religiously and they have zombies called the Risen. I have to admit they’re pretty scary when they swarm you.

Q.  Rhiannon, thanks for allowing me to pepper you with questions for BQB’s humble blog.  Before I disperse, do you have any advice that might help the humans and I survive the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse?

Never venture out alone! Always have a zombie killing buddy. You watch their back, and they watch yours!

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Oct 26 2015
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Alien Jones’ Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 26

I am an old alien.

I’m young for my species but ancient compared to you humans.

You hairless apes have no idea what a spec of dust your existence is in relation to the vast reaches of time and space.

And alas, the existence of my colleague, the human whose safety I was sworn by my ruler to make my highest priority, was in doubt.

My species is one that thinks rationally and logically, yet we are not devoid of emotion.

Thus, I understood the weeping of Video Game Rack Fighter as she sat by Bookshelf Q. Battler’s bedside, holding her loved one’s hand as his unconscious body rested in bed.

I have no junk. No genitalia of any kind. My only orifice is my mouth. Other than that, my body is water tight.

Yet I am in a relationship, of sorts. Back on my home planet, I have a government mandated life mate, Alien Rozencrantz.

There’s nothing sexual going on there, since my species is comprised of asexual beings that reproduce through a laboratory based cloning process.

The Mighty Potentate pairs us off at random, mandating that we watch out for one another as replacing a clone is expensive.

Even so, were anything to happen to Alien Rosencrantz, I would be mildly perturbed for an appropriate mourning period before reporting to His Potentosity for vaporization for failing to protect my life mate.

So I was able to relate to VGRF’s sadness at the possibility of losing the partner with which she engaged in a primitive fluid exchange ritual.

“Perhaps you should rest now, human,” I said.

“No,” VGRF said. “I want to be here when he wakes up.”

Blandie, the other human female, stretched her arms out and yawned.

“Oh, look at the time,” she said. “We might as well get going Bernie. It’s not like BQB is going to get any less comatose if we hang around.”

“Nah boo,” Bernie replied. “I wanna get my homie’s back.”

Blandie’s voice turned shrill.

“I said, ‘Let’s go!’”

“Fine! Damn girl.”

Bernie was already….what’s that expression humans use when the females run the show? Ah, yes. “Whipped.”

I too headed for the door.

“I’ll be back,” I said to Video Game Rack Fighter.”

“Where are you going?”

“I must call another zombie author and continue BQB’s interview series. He’d of wanted it that way.”

Oct 26 2015
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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 26 – Part 4

Hauser was dead as soon as he hit the ground. The zombies tore him apart, leaving little more than a pile of bones and shreds of meat.

I landed on my shoulder and felt my head smack the floor. The pain was so intense, but I fought through it and was able to get away while the walking corpses were distracted with Hauser.

I crawled under the scaffold. Cowardly, I know, but I hoped it would provide me with some cover. Maybe they wouldn’t notice me.

Fat chance.

As soon as they were done with Hauser’s remains, they grabbed the bars that held the scaffolding together and shook it until it collapsed on me.

A heavy metal bar knocked me in the head. Pinned to the ground by the wreckage, I couldn’t move and felt myself drifting into unconsciousness.

I heard gunfire. I turned to my right. There was a small area I could see out of.

I came face to face with a person wearing a gas mask. Man? Woman? I didn’t know. Said individual reached a gloved hand toward me.

Then I passed out.

Oct 26 2015
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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 26 – Part 3

“TWO NERDS ENTER! ONE NERD LEAVES! TWO NERDS ENTER! ONE NERD LEAVES!”

So went the chant of the unruly crowd, my former friends, neighbors, and townspeople turning into monsters worse than the zombies on the gym floor below.

I don’t know if it’s the lack of law and order, or the never ending danger, but something about a zombie apocalypse sure brings out the worst in people.

The scaffold was rickety. One wrong step was going to send me sailing to the ground.

WHIFF!

Hauser’s mop handle passed an inch above my head.

“Why, Hauser?” I asked. “Why did you cut a deal with Morganstern? You didn’t have to frame me!”

BQB took another wack at me. I deflected the attack.

“BQB, from the moment you stepped in here, I’ve been plotting your demise! I was going to kill you whether the General got involved or not!”

I jumped over a thrust that was meant to knock me off my feet.

“You really think I’d allow a little piss ant like you take away my statue?”

CRACK! Our mop handles met in the heat of battle. We were at a stalemate, pushing our weapons against each other, holding each other back.

It reminded me of the time Capt. Kirk and Dr. Spock had to fight each other on the old Star Trek TV show. I can say stuff like that because I’m a nerd.

“I had nothing to do with that!” I cried.

“Bullshit!” yelled. “You know you lobbied Bramble to take down my statue and put up one of you in its place!”

“You’ve got to believe me, Doug,” I said. “I’ve ALWAYS believed that there isn’t a finite amount of success. There’s plenty of room for everyone to make it, so I’d never bring someone down just to prop myself up. I talk about this on my blog all the time.”

With one swift motion, Hauser swept my leg and I was down, the scaffold shaking as I heard the board.

“You know only 3.5 people read that shit!” Hauser said.

The crowd was divided on who it wanted to win.

“Miami Vice forever!” yelled one lady from the bleachers. “Doug Hauser is a God that walks amongst men!”

“LIES!” shouted another spectator. “Bookshelf Q. Battler’s 3.5 readers have put East Randomtown on the map!”

And it degenerated from there.

“Finish him, Hauser!”

“Kick his ass, BQB!”

Hauser raised his mop handle/bo staff high in the air, preparing to bring it down in a crushing blow.

“Let’s see you try to blog your way out of this, EDUARDO!”

I did the only thing I could think of.

I brought my leg up fast and kicked my opponent…right in the wang.

The Johnson. The Twig and Berries. Mr. Happy.

“Ugh,” Hauser said as he dropped his handle to grab, well, his other handle. “That was a bitch move!”

It was. It really was. Men understand how much that hurts so its definitely reserved for life or death situations.

This certainly was one, as the zombies below were grabbing hold of the scaffold and rattling, hoping to shake us loose so they could snack on us.

Hauser’s face was one of tremendous pain and he staggered backwards, misjudged the amount of space he had left, and ended up stepping off the scaffold.

I stood up and investigated. There was a single hand clutching the board.

I knelt down and looked over the side.

Hauser was barely holding on as a pack of dirty zombies, at least a dozen or so, were snapping their teeth at an expected treat.

The crowd cheered at the possibility of an impending fatality.

I reached down.

“TAKE MY HAND!”

Hauser looked up at me, confused.

“You’d…you’d save me?”

“Yes! Let’s end this madness!”

Hauser used his free hand to grab mine and began using the leverage to lift himself up.

But then he removed the hand he was using to hold the scaffold and used it to grab the back of my neck.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Hauser’s had a dead look in his eyes.

“I’d rather us both die than see my statue replaced by a dirty stinking loser with only 3.5 readers!”

Down we both went, hurtling to the ground below, where the snarling undead were waiting for a feast.

Oct 26 2015
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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 26 – Part 2

n the middle of the gym, a ten foot tall scaffold had been set up. Loose boards on the top served as a rickety, makeshift floor.

Hauser and I stood on the gym floor, waiting for the spectacle to begin.

Hundreds of survivors poured in to observe the competition. They took the top row of seats on each side and then the remaining rows were retracted in so the zombies wouldn’t be able to reach them.

George, the DiStefanos and a few more armed goons took up high positions, guns at the ready to take down any zombies that tried to attack the spectators.

The crowd cheered as the master of ceremonies walked in.

He was Leo McKoy, a wild haired, crazy eyed bum and East Randomtown’s most notorious drunk/barfly.

He’d fashioned a white bed sheet into a toga and carried a ram’s horn, which he blew into as soon as he reached the scaffold.

“Where the hell did you get a shofar?” I asked.

“Bitch, I never leave home without my shofar!” Leo replied.

To say Leo wasn’t right in the head was an understatement. Before the fall of East Randomtown civilization, the cops arrested him every other day for public indecency. He’d spent many a night in the drunk tank.

“Citizens of Fort Hauser!” Leo shouted. “A great accusation has been leveled at Bookshelf Q. Battler. And now, as is our custom, he will prove whether or not he is worthy to stay in our settlement by taking on his accuser! Should BQB defeat Hauser, he will then have defeat an entire zombie horde to win back his life and his freedom.”

“Just going to go on record again as saying a trial with facts and evidence would have been the more civilized approach,” I said.

Leo handed us each a long wooden stick.

“Your weapons!” Leo said. “You will each compete using the ancient bo staff, just like the ninja masters of old!”

“Is this a mop handle?” I asked.

“It’s a bo staff!”

“This IS a mop handle,” I said. “The part where it clips to the mop head is right here!”

“Shit, Battler, must you ruin everything?” Leo asked. “Just like you two ruined my life?”

Leo had a longstanding grudge against Hauser and I.

“I volunteered for this duty as I truly hope that BOTH of you usurping bitches will become zombie food and then I, Leo McKoy, will take my rightful place as East Randomtown’s Most Famous Citizen!”

Doug slapped his forehead.

“Oh for the love of God, Leo. Not the James Van Der Beek story again.”

Leo raised his hand into the air.

“The James Van Der Beek story!” he yelled. “In the year of our lord, I, Leo McKoy, was employed as a delivery driver for Schultz’ Delicatessen, home of the all you can eat cheese platter!”

“I’ve taken that challenge many times,” I said.

“It shows, Man Tits,” Doug said.

“Oh shut up, Mr. Gray Chest Hair.”

“Silence, bitches!” Leo said. “For your better is speaking. I was charged with the task of delivering a reuben sandwich on wheat bread with extra cole slaw, a bag of barbecue potato chips, and a bottle of Sprite to room thirty-one of Motel Nine, just off of Route Twelve.”

“That’s the shittiest area of town,” Hauser said.

“I reached my destination, knocked on the door and what should greet me but the angelic, cherubic face of one James Van Der Beek, who at the time was known for his role as Dawson Leery on the hit WB Network show, Dawson’s Creek. God bless the WB, may it reign supreme for years to come!”

“The WB went off the air years ago,” I said.

“Damnation!” Leo said. “Anyway, I said, ‘Mr. Van Der Beek, I hope you enjoy this reuben sandwich with extra cole slaw and might I add that I think it is bullshit that Joey Potter refuses to give you the love that you so obviously deserve! To wit, Mr. Van Der Beek replied, ‘Yeah buddy, it’s just a TV show.’”

“That story’s crap,” Hauser said. “An in-shape star like James Van Der Beek would never eat a reuben sandwich with extra cole slaw.”

“The man was famished!” Leo replied. “His car broke down and he was waiting for it to be repaired. He hadn’t eaten all day.”

“You do know that it was probably just that guy from the gas station, Ted Bickerstaff, right?” I asked. “That guy looked a lot like James Van Der Beek. He was always going to clubs and passing himself off as Dawson Leery to all the chicks back then.”

Leo lost it.

“HOW DARE YOU QUESTION TO RECOGNIZE JAMES VAN DER BEEK, AMERICA’S TOP HEART THROB TURN OF THE MILLENIUM?”

“Chill out man.”

Leo moved his robe aside and pointed to a signature across his chest. Emblazoned in blank ink, it read, “James Van Der Beek.”

“Behold, the evidence!” Leo said. “I asked Mr. Van Der Beek to sign my chest with a magic marker as proof of our encounter and his kind reply was, ‘Sure man. Whatever it takes to get you out of my face faster.’ I then went straight to the tattoo parlor to have the signature traced over permanently so as to be preserved for the ages.”

“For Christ Sakes, Leo,” Hauser said. “Are we going to get this thing started or what?”

“Hauser!” Leo said. “You got the shit beaten out of you on a cop drama over thirty years ago. What have you done lately?”

Hauser sneered.

“And BQB, you run a WordPress website that attracts the attention of 3.5 readers. So what? I bet half of them are just there to spam your site with comments about discount penis enlargement cream!”

“That’s uh…actually accurate.”

“This,” Leo said, pointing at the signature, “Is the reason why I truly hope both of you asshats will die horrible deaths, for both of you have been vying for the position of East Randomtown’s Most Famous resident for far too long when everyone knows the title belongs to me!”

“I could give a shit,” I said. “It’s all yours.”

“It’s all mine,” Hauser said. “It’s always been mine.”

“Take your positions!” Leo commanded.

Hauser climbed a ladder to the top of the scaffold. I followed. Leo handed our mop handle bo staffs up to us.

“Two nerds enter! One nerd leaves! THAT is the way of…ZOMBIE DOME!”

The crowd went wild.

“This isn’t even a dome,” I said. “It’s a gym.”

“BQB,” Leo said. “Come on…you know? You’re being a turd in the punch bowl.”

Leo held up an air horn.

He pointed to a set of double doors.

“When I give the ceremonial signal, those doors will be opened, and a zombie horde will be set loose! Our competitors will fight to the death and whoever survives shall take on the zombie menace!”

The crowd clapped and stomped their feet.

“Do you bitches have any last words?” Leo asked.

“I will ALWAYS be East Randomtown’s Most Famous Citizen,” Hauser said.

I looked down at Leo.

“Everyone knows that the true heart of Dawson’s Creek was Joshua Jackson in his role as Dawson’s incorrigible troublemaking pal, Pacey Whitter!”

Seething with rage, Leo blared on the air horn.

The double doors open and like a herd of gazelles, the undead creatures charged into the room.

“Shit,” Leo said. “I probably should have gotten to high ground first.”

Those were the drunk’s last words before one of the zombies chomped on his neck.

Oct 26 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 26 – Part 1

I’m not going to lie. I have body issues.

I was told I’d have to be shirtless for my trial by zombie combat.

I stood there in the locker room, staring at the mirror.

“Crap. I have man titties.”

“You look fine,” VGRF said as she wrapped her arms around me.

“I’ll never have the stunning physique of Johnny B. Truant, author of The Beam, Fat Vampire, and other works.”

VGRF slapped me across the face.

“Damn it, man! I love you just the way you are. Stop comparing yourself to the prime physical specimen that is Johnny B. Truant, co-host of the Self-Publishing Podcast! He has pecs that no man could ever achieve!”

“I wish I could call the SPP guys on the space phone right now,” I said. “They’d probably have some good advice to get myself out of this. Alas, such world renowned media moguls would never be bothered to talk to a lowly nerd like me.”

“Stop selling yourself short, BQB.”

Our conversation was cut short by the sounds of giggling. We followed the sound to the shower room, where Bernie and Blandie were smooching furiously.

“WHAT THE?” was my response.

“Yo!” was all Bernie could get out. “What up, G?”

Blandie blushed.

“You two? Really?”

“BQB,” Blandie said. “You and I never worked out because you’re too smart and independent.”

Blandie put an arm around Bernie.

“All I’ve ever wanted was a man with a brain full of mush that I can play and easily manipulate.”

Bernie smiled a stupid grin.

“And all I’ve ever wanted is to touch some tit-tays.”

“How long has this been going on?” I asked.

“A few days,” Bernie said. “Sorry playa, I shoulda blasted you the deets sooner.”

“Nah, it’s cool,” I said as I drew VGRF close to me. “I’ve found my soulmate. Blandie, you’re a godawful human being, but every human needs someone.”

“Thanks?”

“And Bernie,” I continued.

“Yeah?”

“It’s your funeral, dude.”

George and the DiStefanos walked in.

“It’s time, maggot,” George said.

VGRF hugged me so tight she practically pushed herself through me.

“Be safe and come back to me, my nerdy stallion!”

I looked at my she-nerd lover. The tears were coming.

“Buck up, buttercup. I’m off to kick some zombie ass.”

Alien Jones tugged on my arm.

“BQB, I’ve traveled all over the universe and…”

“I know,” I interrupted. “You’ve never met a warrior more capable than me?”

“Actually, I’ve met thousands better than you,” AJ said. “But remember. You’re fighting a Moloklaxon warlord here. You’re taking on a man in his fifties. If you can’t take out an AARP card carrier, you should be incredibly ashamed of yourself.”

I put my hand on AJ’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Esteemed Brainy One.”

George grabbed my arm.

“Come on! There’s no time to bond with your deformed kid!”

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Oct 25 2015
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#31ZombieAuthors

#31ZombieAuthors – Day 25 Interview – Zombie Warfare

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Today’s guest is Luke Duffy, author of The Dead Walk the Earth and When There’s No More Room in Hell series of books, which detail the journeys of soldiers as they fight undead hordes.

Have you ever read a zombie book written by a guy who’s skilled at jumping out of perfectly good airplanes? Having grown up in Northern England, Luke joined the Parachute Regiment at the age of eighteen. Further, he has worked in Iraq on the Private Security Circuit.

His first book, Running the Gauntlet: The Private War in Iraq, detailing his memoirs from his time on the circuit, was published in 2011.

Following that non-fiction work, he turned his attention to zombie lore.

Luke, thanks for taking a minute to talk with me today, and thank you for your service.

NOTE: BOLD=BQB; ITALICS=LUKE

Q.  I’m just going to say it. Look at you. Soldier. Private security. 51qtY0bYz1L._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_You’re a badass. As a layman, I’d think that having such vast military experience would inform one’s writing. Do you find that’s the case? Do you draw on your experience when writing your books?

A.  Absolutely. I read a few apocalyptic books before I decided to write my own. Some were great, others were awful. But one thing I found that the majority of them had in common was that most authors lacked any real experience in military matters. Don’t get me wrong, there were some great efforts out there, well researched and thought out, but there was always something missing. The mark was never quite hit. Only someone who has experienced being shot at, blown up, or felt those familiar sensations of dread and retrospect when preparing for a fight, can write a realistic battle scene. I’ve always tried to make the action as close to real as possible, and my own experiences have helped, a lot. I like to draw the reader into the pages, making them imagine what it is like to come under fire and wonder whether they would make it out. As a reader, it’s important to feel part of the story.

Also, most of my characters are actually based on real people that I have known over the years.

Q. You started out with non-fiction and then moved on to fiction. What drew you into the world of zombies?

A. In a few short words; Dawn of the Dead. I’m talking about the original. I watched it when I was about six or seven, and from there, I was hooked. It wasn’t so much the action and the zombies themselves, but more to do with the collapse of society and the slow death of humanity. Even as a kid the words ‘what if?’ rattled around inside my head. The end of civilisation has always fascinated me, regardless of the cause. But what could be more exciting, terrifying, and total, as the dead returning to life and hunting the living?

I like to imagine how different people, from various rungs of the social ladder, would react to a global crisis such as a zombie plague. I think true, true colours would quickly come to light, and I think the whole ‘good and bad’ thing would be turned on its head in many cases. I couldn’t imagine Bob Geldof and Bono still wanting to save the world, hugging plague victims and shaking hands with zombies. I think they would barricade themselves into their mansions and drop from the radar.

Q. Here’s a question I’ve thrown at a lot of writers this month. How do you find the time to write? I ask because I’m rather unfocused and if a good show comes on TV, there goes my writing for the day. So obviously, I respect a guy who has served in the military and in private security and yet still finds the time to write. Do you have any advice for aspiring scribes on how to balance work and writing?

A. My best piece of advice would be to create a routine. Finding the time and motivation to start writing, even if I’m half way through a book and on a roll, can be extremely hard. Sometimes I need to give myself a serious kick up the arse to get myself down behind my computer. Like you said, distractions can have a severe effect on you. So, what I do is ensure that I get myself into a routine. If I’m working away, most of my writing is done in the evening, which can be a real pain because my energy and enthusiasm is sapped by then.

When I’m home in the UK, it’s a little easier. I get up, have a coffee and a smoke, check the news, as well as the usual morning stuff that a man does. Then, come ten o’clock, I get to work and do at least four hours writing each day. After that, the world is my lobster and I don’t feel guilty, having the fact hanging over my head that I jacked on my work for the day because Susanna Reid was looking particularly hot on morning television and I became side-tracked.

Q. The description of The Dead Walk the Earth states, “Eight soldiers, accustomed to operating below the radar, carrying out the dirty work of a modern democracy, become trapped within the carnage of a new and terrifying world. Deniable and completely expendable. That is how their government considers them, and as the dead begin to walk, Stan and his men must fight to survive.”

“Deniable and expendable.” OK. So obviously, I enjoy being alive, so I’m not asking you to get into “If I tell you I have to kill you” territory (sorry, bad joke there) but generally speaking, is being “deniable and expendable” a fate that soldiers often find themselves facing?

A. Depends on the type of soldier and the operations being conducted. There’s no such thing as a clean government, and they all need someone to get their hands extremely dirty on their behalf, from time to time. I’ll not go into too much detail, but deniable operatives do exist. No, not like xXx and Mission Impossible. They’re just beyond fantasy. Deniable operators could be the man next door, or the guy driving your taxi. Shaved heads, huge muscles, and wearing Oakley sun glasses in the dark… don’t help.

I suppose that all soldiers are expendable, to a degree. Or at least they are viewed that way by the people who send them to war. No politician, no matter how sincerely they claim to have, has ever lost sleep or shed a tear over the men and women of their country being brought home in bags. Tony Blair and George Bush; they saw their military as mere pawns to be moved about on their own paths towards personal glory and gain.

Don’t get me wrong, I was part of the invasion of Iraq. I was amongst the first troops into Kosovo during the liberation in 99. I battled in Sierra Leone during their civil war, and I patrolled the streets of Northern Ireland before the peace process. I enjoyed the lot, but I never lost sight of the fact that not a single member of the government cared how many of my friends lost their lives.

Since joining the private circuit in Iraq, I’ve seen the attrition rate first-hand, and watched as countless friends were killed. Yes, we were in it for the money, but we were also doing a job on behalf of the US and UK governments, helping to rebuild the Iraqi infrastructure. But before long, the media stopped reporting the deaths and the government leaders forgot about us. All the while, the deaths of British and American private military soared. Expendable.

Q. Hypothetically, would today’s modern military be able to take on a zombie outbreak? Not that I spend a lot of time worrying about such a scenario, but I’d be interested to hear your take on it.

A. It depends on society as a whole, I suppose. In my books, the concept of the dead returning to life (zombies) has never been imagined. There are no books, movies, computer games, or folk tales about such creatures. So, when the dead begin to rise, it’s complete confusion, terror, and chaos. No one knows how to deal with the problem. On the one hand, some see the threat for what it is, and insist that immediate action be taken. However, on the other hand, there are the ‘bleeding hearts’ and ‘do-gooders’, bleating that even the dead are people and have rights.

Governments hesitate, fearing backlash should they act with what can be viewed as brutality and inhumanity towards the infected (yes, I believe that even on the brink of an apocalypse, the politicians would still worry about their image and future votes).

People struggle to come to terms with the outbreak. Families cannot imagine that the monsters staggering towards them are no longer their dad, mum, sister, brother, uncle – twice removed… etc.
Then there are the legal complications to consider. Most people out there follow the rules. They avoid confrontation and shy away from violence. Inflicting pain and suffering is not a desire that most human beings carry. Many would hesitate, because we have all been brought up to understand that killing is wrong, both in a legal and moral sense. Suddenly being told that it is perfectly okay to smash your neighbor’s head in with a hammer, isn’t going to have any great and immediate effect. Most people would simply lock their doors and hide. Even I would hesitate, and I don’t like my neighbors.

Morality and human emotions play huge parts in the downfall, and only when it is too late, do people realize the extent of the catastrophe and put down their delusions of decency and respect, but by then, it’s too late.

However, in reality, I believe that the military would soon have the outbreak under control. No doubt, they would all be rounded up and sent to work in Starbucks, maybe even become Labour Party members.

Q. Any plans for further zombie books in the future? Or perhaps other monsters? I read a post on your blog that made me think you find technology as infuriating as I do. That me think – soldiers vs. killer robots has some potential.

A. I take it that you’ve never watched Terminator?

Seriously though, yes, I find technology infuriating. In my opinion, it causes more trouble than its worth, even though I have found myself reliant upon it.

I have one more book to write in the current series, and then I intend to get a couple of kids’ books written that I have in mind. Yes, it’s a dramatic shift from people being eaten alive and copious amounts of profanities and violence, but I’ve had these stories in my head for some time, so I will be hanging up my zombie hat for a while. I may return in the future, if the demand is high enough and I have some new ideas, but for now, I need to step away from the genre.

Q. Luke, thanks for stopping by. Before I go, do you have any last minute advice that might help me survive the East Randomtown Zombie apocalypse?

A. Get away from the cities. Find a place that is remote. The dead are stupid, and lazy. Can you imagine them walking up mountains or fording rivers? High-ground, preferably open with good all round visibility, would be your best bet. Dense forests are also good, but they can be a double edged sword; they can’t see you, but you can’t see them, either. I wouldn’t like to have to bug-out from a wooded area during the dark hours, surrounded by zombies

If you’re stuck in an urban area, stock up, stay out of sight, and keep quiet. Remember, a barricade can never be too big, no matter how valuable that antique chest of drawers is. Trust no one, and lock your heart away in a sealed box. There’s no room for easy emotion and sentimentality in the zombie apocalypse world. Finally, make a note of all the people close by who have pets, because when the time comes, cats and dogs make good eating.

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Oct 25 2015
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BQB's Zombie Apocalypse Survivor's Journal

BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 25

Our hands were bound behind us as Hauser’s goons lead us into the gym.

A small card table was set up. Hauser sat in a folding chair in the middle. To his left was Mario Guzman, the settlement’s accountant. To his right was Janet Melman. As a nurse, she was the only one left in town with any medical training. Mario and Janet were Hauser’s two closest advisors.

Hauser banged an empty beer can on the table. I guess that was the closest thing he had to a gavel.

Esteemed Mayor Hauser

The Right Honorable Mayor Hauser

“Eduardo Ricardo Papageorgio Von Finklestein,” Hauser said.

“That’s Bookshelf Q. Battler to you, failed actor,” I replied.

“Fine. Bookshelf Q. Battler. You stand accused of grand larceny of community property and treason against Fort Hauser. How do you plead?”

“That this is all some bogus bullshit,” I said. “You know you framed me, Doug.”

“Oh sure, blame me for your treachery,” Doug said.

Mario intervened.

“BQB, your only options here are guilty or not-guilty.”

“Fine. Not guilty.”

Mario took over.

“Video Game Rack Fighter aka Victoria Gloria Somersby Stratenhaus. Bernard Plotz. Bland Life Settler. And uh, I’m sorry BQB, what’s your deformed kid’s name?”

I sighed.

“AJ.”

I leaned down to whisper to Alien Jones.

“Just so we’re clear, you could totally vaporize these clowns, right?”

“Yes.”

“But you’re not going to?”

“Sorry. Potentate’s orders. No vapey vaping the humans in public unless it’s absolutely necessary.”

“It’s looking pretty necessary.”

“Nah, you got this, nerd,” Alien Jones replied.

Hauser banged his beer can.

“The prisoners are ordered not to talk to each other!”

“Bernie, Blandie, and AJ, you’re accused of conspiracy and aiding and abetting BQB in a criminal enterprise. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty,” Bernie said.

“Not guilty,” Alien Jones said, turning heads with his Barry White-esque voice.

“Question,” Blandie said. “If I say whatever you want about BQB, will you let me go?”

“No,” Hauser said. “We’ve pretty much convicted all of you dirtbags in our minds already.”

“Fine, not guilty then.”

“OK, so now what?” I asked. “I get flogged? Horse whipped? Put in the stockade? Sent to bed without my supper, what?”

“This was just your arraignment, BQB,” Mario said. “Your trial is tomorrow.”

Hauser leaned in and said ominously, “A trial by… zombie combat!”

“Oh come on!” I said. “You’re going to make us fight zombies? Isn’t that a little ridiculous? All because of what?  A little alleged toilet paper theft?”

Janet shuffled a few papers and looked at me.

“Our settlement might not be much, but we’re nothing if we don’t have law and order, BQB,” the nurse said.

“But what the hell will making us fight zombies even prove?” I asked. “That’s the worst idea for a trial I’ve ever heard of!”

“What kind of a trial do you suggest?” Mario asked.

“A real one! One with facts, witnesses, evidence and rational arguments!”

“You’re losing me,” Mario replied.

“Hear me out and I will prove to you that none of us had anything to do with the supply theft…”

I pointed at Hauser.

“…and that that piece of shit set us up!”

“That’s an outrageous charge, BQB!” Janet said. “Why, without Mayor Hauser’s leadership I doubt any of us would have lasted this long.”

Hauser laid it on thick.

“Oh, Janet, that’s ok. The young man knows not what he does.”

“BQB,” Mario said. “This idea of an ‘actual trial’ you raise. That was the way of the old world. We’ve built a new society since then and the old world’s ways just don’t apply any more.”

I felt like I was in an insane asylum.

“It’s only been twenty-five days!” I said. “The apocalypse only affected this stupid town! The world still exists! We’re still in America! You can’t force us to fight zombies!”

“Not ‘us,’” Mario said. “Just one of you.”

Mario looked around.

“Who will be the champion of Fort Hauser?” he asked.

“I will,” Hauser said. “Douglas Hauser. I took thirty seconds worth of punches in the 1980’s, I can certainly take on a pathetic book nerd.”

“I’ll round house kick your face, old man!”

I leaned down to AJ.

“Still ixnay on the ape-vay?”

“Up-yay.”

“Amnit-day!”

“Will you be your group’s champion, BQB?” Mario asked.

I turned to my group.

“Don’t try to talk me out of this.”

Pause.

“No one is,” Blandie said.

I turned back.

“Yes. I will be the Champion of All Nerds, as I have been since the day I was born.”

“Then it’s settled,” Mario said. “Zombie combat at dawn!”

“Wait,” I said. “How is this zombie combat if I’m fighting Hauser?”

“You and Mayor Hauser will fight each other AND zombies,” Mario explained.

“Oh you people suck so much ass,” I said.

George and the DiStefanos had been watching us the entire time. Mario looked at them.

“Take the prisoners away.”

“With pleasure,” George said.

“It’s going to be ok,” VGRF said.

“I hope so,” I said as George prodded me in the back with the butt of his rifle. “But I’d better call a zombie author for some encouragement first.”

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Oct 24 2015
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#31ZombieAuthors

#31ZombieAuthors – Day 24 Interview – W.J. Lundy – WTF

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My guest today is soldier/writer W.J. Lundy.

A veteran of the U.S. Military with service in Afghanistan, W.J. has over fourteen years of combined service with the Army and Navy in Europe, the Balkans, and Southwest Asia. W.J. is an avid athlete, backpacker and shooting enthusiast.

After being asked in jest about how it would be possible to defend against a zombie attack, W.J. began taking notes about his ideas and sure enough the Whiskey Tango Foxtrot series was born. In fact, W.J. wrote the first book of the series, Escaping the Dead in a small, spiral bound note book and later tapped it out on a keyboard once he got back home.

So it just goes to show you, 3.5 readers. You never know where or when inspiration might strike.

 NOTE: BOLD=BQB; ITALICS = WJ

61iZBK4i3+L._SX353_BO1,204,203,200_ Q. W.J., welcome. Thanks for talking to me today and thank you for your service. Obviously, I’m not a military man but I’m going to wager that “Whiskey Tango Foxtrot” translates into “WTF” or in other words, a phrase I might yell if I see a zombie, correct?

A. Absolutely, it is a bit of military vernacular. There are so many common phrases like this, and when I came up with the story line WTF fit the tale best, it really punctuates that first flash message to your brain when the target refuses to go down. It also translates nicely into civilian speak.

Q. I’m just going to throw it out there. I’m envious of your multi-tasking skills. I’m always whining that I’m never able to find the time to write and yet here you are, serving in the military, fighting evil, being an all around bad ass and such, and you still find time to write and publish. Meanwhile, if I feel a little cranky, or tired, or if there’s a good movie on HBO then I call it quits on writing for the rest of the day, so my hat goes off to you, sir. How do you do it? For aspiring scribes like myself, what advice do you have to balance work and writing?

A. I have to admit I find it very difficult. When I first started writing it was to fill the voids and occupy the down time while overseas, I could pour words on the page. As I returned from Afghanistan, my downtime was replaced with family time and many, many, other things. Now that the series and demand for more books has taken off, I typically find myself writing in the midnight hours of the day. I have pushed a lot of TV viewing and pleasure reading to the back for a while.

Breaks tend to help me and motivate my writing. Recently I was out on a 12 week training stint, it pulled me completely out of my creative zone, those reboots slow down my production, but I also come back with fresh ideas and a stronger drive to tackle a project. I like opening a document back up after one of those extended breaks, it’s like seeing something from a different POV and the characters really begin to take off again.

Q. There’s an old adage that goes, “Write what you know.” Obviously, you’re doing that here. How does your military experience inform the journey of your protagonist, Staff Sergeant Brad Thompson as he and his brothers and arms fight the zombie hordes?

A.  The biggest connection to my experience is with the character development and the character interactions, I also like to take readers to different parts of the world, places the average civilian will never experience. At the heart of the story, I like to stay true to my service background, and the military’s core values. Even if it at times it makes the story line feel stiff, I will choose realism over fantasy action scenes. In a civil breakdown like in WTF, it would all fall down to discipline and small unit leadership. Most of my real world missions have all been Joint service and I like to describe the “one team-one fight” relationship that the different branches of the service have. As long as those things remain after the balloons go up, I think we have a chance. If people stop working together and the military and law enforcement fall into anarchy and chaos we are all F’d….

Q.  Divided We Fall, which is Book Six of the Whiskey Tango Foxtrot series, has currently sold 150,000 copies and has 1,000 five star reviews by Amazon customers. Admittedly, I’m no publishing expert, but I am a book nerd and in my experience, that’s pretty amazing. The average of all your customer reviews is 4.8 and to put things in perspective, George R.R. Martin’s Game of Thrones has a 4.5 average. I’m not putting down Game of Thrones, but it just goes to show even the likes of the great George R.R. will have the occasional crabby reviewer throw a monkey wrench in the works. Can you take my 3.5 readers and I under your wing, oh wise one, and put us on the path to greatness with a few writing tips? How are you able to acquire such a high level of customer satisfaction?

A. Honestly I am amazed at my readers and the kind reviews I have received. The best thing I can say is write in your own voice, and don’t try to paint a picture in someone else’s vision … If that makes sense. I’ve helped a few aspiring writers and some of the worst things I’ve read is when a writer is trying to mimic another work, or write in someone else’s voice. Just tell the story the way you’d tell it to a friend, describe the scenes the way you see them. And of course find a quality trusted editor that you like and enjoy talking to. If you don’t like your editor, or have a bond with them it will show in the end result.

Q. Do you have any plans to branch out and possibly have the military fight other types of monsters? Just spitballing here, but Army Dudes vs. Cthulhu would be pretty sweet.

A. The Darkness Series is an Alien\Zombie hybrid tale, I have big things in mind for that series. The tone really hardens in the second book of the series The Shadows. If you like Body Snatchers with a mix of Battle of Los Angeles I think you will dig The Darkness. It is a fast developing Science fiction horror tale with some hard hitting guerrilla warfare dropped on top. The setup has been laid down with TD and I am really letting things go wild in TS.

Q. W.J. thanks for taking the time to speak with me today. Before I go, do you have any last minute advice that might help my friends and I brave the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse?

A. Zombies are synonymous with any threat (hurricane, terror attack, random violence). Stay vigilant, stay alert and stay alive. Whenever possible travel in pairs, know when to fight and when to run, and when you must fight, then fight as a team. Know your terrain and most importantly, always have a plan and a place to regroup with family if you lose comms.

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