Tag Archives: zombies

#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.

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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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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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#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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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 24

I tied a string to the locked door handle and carried the other end to the middle of the locker room.

“Call me MacGyver because I’m about to turn something into nothing,” I said.

“You’re going to encourage them to floss?” Alien Jones asked.

“No,” I said, handing the Esteemed Brainy One the string. “You yank on this when I’m in position and as soon as our captors open the door to investigate, I will round house kick them in the face, steal their weapons, and we’ll make a run for it.”

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” VGRF said.

“Not really,” Alien Jones replied. “Funny story, but that’s actually how the Tardoznians conquered Solano.”

“Not exactly a MacGyver move though,” VGRF said. “MacGyver would take like a paper clip and a milk carton and make a tactical nuke.”

“Does anyone have a better idea?” I asked.

Hearing none, I took a spot next to the door.

Alien Jones yanked the string. The handle rattled a bit.

Everything was quiet for a minute, then from the other side of the door, Carl yelled, “Hey! Stop rattling the handle!”

I looked at Alien Jones and nodded. The little green guy yanked the string again.

“Seriously!” Carl yelled. “That’s mildly annoying! Knock it off!”

Alien Jones yanked the string again.

“Fine!” Carl yelled. “You all want to be a bunch of jerks and make noise all day? Fine by me! Rattle away!”

We gave up.

“OK,” I said. “That was a shit plan.”

“What now?” Blandie asked.

“Sit here and wait for our imminent demise,” I said.

Everyone huddled around Alien Jones’ space phone to watch Netflix.

Bernie hanged back.

“Yo homie, I got yo back.”

“Thanks Bern.”

“Nah G,” the wannabe rapper said. “I been thinkin’ a lot about that shit you said to me back at Price Town. You was mad right yo.”

“I was?”

“Hellz to the yeah,” Bernie said. “I need to get my shiznitty together. Get a day job. Pay my bills and get me a fresh crib so I can work on the Funky Hunks revival in style.”

“I thought I said to give up the Funky Hunks.”

Funky Hunks represent.

“You was wrong about that, playa,” Bernie said. “It’s Funky Hunks or die as far as I’m concerned. But you’re right. I need a job until that happens. And luckily, thanks to the Internet and technology, I can kick my fresh rhymes and deliver them straight to the public without the middle man.”

“You’ve got a point,” I said. “I run a blog for 3.5 readers. You could probably find 3.5 forty something ladies in blue denim stretch pants who’d appreciate the Funky Hunks’ wholesome style, just as the soccer moms of the past did.”

“Damn straight, sucka,” Bernie said.

He bumped my fist and then we performed an elaborate handshake.

“You still remember our shit?”

“You know it.”

Bernie turned himself into a human beatbox, dropping a beat with his mouth. Then he launched into our signature song, “We Be Recylin.”

WE BE RECYCLIN

MC PLOTZ:

Yo. 1999. It’s Funky Hunk time!

Check it!

You mixed in your cans with a banana peel.

Fool, you why you givin’ Mother Nature a raw ass deal?

Recyclin’ is what you need to do.

To save the world and make a difference too

Bernie paused and handed me an imaginary mic.

I was reluctant at first.  It’d been so long since I picked up the mantle of Read N’ Plenty.  But then I just went for it.

READ N. PLENTY:

Give me the mic!

And let me recite

About the trash in my can that I pack in tight!

I keep the bottles from the cans and the cans away from paper!

We only got one world and it’s up to us how we’ll shape her!

We turned to the group, struck the classic 90’s rapper folded arm pose and said in unison:

Word to Gaia, bitch!

Alien Jones scratched his head, unsure of what to make of the spectacle. Blandie rolled her eyes. VGRF stood up and clapped her hands.

Carl piped in from the other side of the door.

Read N. Plenty

Read N. Plenty

“Are you guys doing that Funky Hunk stuff? Aww, I loved those songs! That’s so cool and non-threatening! Reminds me of the simpler days of my youth! Can you do, “Look Both Ways Before Crossing the Street, Bitch?

“Umm,” I said. “OK.”

“Cool.”

We heard the door unlock.

“Hold on,” Carl said. “I’m going to come in and watch.”

I ran into position next to the door. We all looked at each other, unable to believe Carl was this stupid.

The hill billy walked through the door and BAM! I round house kicked him right in the face, sending him crashing to the floor.

I grabbed his rifle.

Quickly, we made it to the hallway only to find George and Billy coming up from the other side.

“Damnation!” George said to Billy as soon as he spotted us. “I leave your idiot brother in charge for two seconds and look what happens!!”

George and Billy took a few shots at us. I returned fire. All three of us were terrible shots. NRA memberships were definitely not in our futures.

In the middle of the hallway, there was a door. I grabbed the handle and covered the group as they ran in, sending a hail of suppressing fire at our captors.

I learned that move from watching Video Game Rack Fighter play War Shooter for hours on end.

Finally, when everyone was in, I locked the door.

George and Billy and pounded their fists on it.

“Believe you me,” George yelled. “That ‘aint a room you want to be in, Battler!”

The room was pitch black. We couldn’t see anything.

Groans. Grunts. Ugghs.

“Did you leave one of your pornos going on the space phone?” VGRF asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said. “Um, I mean no, I don’t watch stuff like that.”

“Humans, I sense a problem,” Alien Jones said.

I found the light switch and flicked it.

We were in an empty room filled with at least twenty zombies. They all lunged at us. There wasn’t much room to fend them off.

“Ideas?” VGRF asked.

“The Mayor isn’t ready for you to meet them yet!” George shouted.

I opened the door. My group and I returned to the hallway to find George and Billy pointing their weapons at us.

George locked the door. The zombies on the other end pounded on it.

“They’re for your trial,” George said. “The Mayor’s going to have some fun with you, boy.”

“Can you stop calling me, ‘boy?’” I asked. “No offense, but it makes you sound like you’re from Deliverance.”

George grabbed me by the back of the neck.

“Come on, nerds! Back to the showers with you!”

We were returned to the girls’ locker room. Carl’s knocked out body was collected and we were locked in.

“Try another stunt like that and every last one of you will be executed where you stand!” George warned.

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you, guy who used to cut my hair for five dollars and hand me a lollipop when I was a kid. Good to see the zombie apocalypse has worked its magic on everyone.”

I looked at Alien Jones.

“Do you have to hack it up again?”

“Nope,” the Esteemed Brainy One said as he handed me the space phone. “I just stashed it in my pocket this time. These cargo pants are fun AND functional!”

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#31ZombieAuthors – Day 23 Interview – Peter Cawdron – Outsmarting Zombies

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My guest today is Peter Cawdron, who comes from the land down under.  I don’t have to pay the Men At Work a royalty for saying that because Peter is an honest to God Australian zombie enthusiast.

Peter’s the author of the Z is for Zombie series of books which include What We Left Behind and All Our Tomorrows.  These books tell the story of teenager Hazel, who in the midst of a zombie apocalypse, searches for Steve, David, and Jane, the only people who ever understood her.

An avid fan of such classic science fiction writers as Philip K. Dick, Arthur C. Clarke and Michael Crichton, Peter is also a prolific science fiction author in his own right.

I wonder if there’s an extra charge to call Australia?  Aw screw it, the bill for this phone goes to Alien Jones anyway.

G’day Peter.

NOTE: BOLD=BQB; ITALICS=Peter

Q.  I just discovered that my perpetually angry uncle, who I thought never understood me, is in fact, the only person who ever understood me and what I need to make it in the world.  Unfortunately, he’s dead, though he visits me in ghost form from time to time.  Your protagonist, Hazel, feels like only three people understand her.  Is she really that confounding or is it typical teenage “no one gets me” angst?

41CT9h3vOuL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_ (1)A.  Teenage angst is cliche, and yet there is an element of personal growth we all go through where we’re learning about the world afresh. I don’t know that it stops as an adult, at least, it shouldn’t. It hasn’t for me. I’m always learning, and not just intellectually. Emotional learning is often more important than facts or figures. I think that’s one reason why coming-of-age books have such universal appeal. It’s a chance to re-learn and renew, regardless of how old we may be. 

In my novel What We Left Behind and the sequel All Our Tomorrows, we see life through the eyes of a teenager struggling toaccept the end of the world, fighting to make a change. All too often, it is the upcoming generation that is the catalyst for change. Us old farts need to respect that, listen and understand. It’s the youth of today that can change tomorrow, and that’s the message common to my novels as well as books like Hunger Games, Maze Runner, and so many others. Change is good. It’s the status quo that’s scary.  

Q.  As a zombie fan, I’ve noticed that in most zompoc tales, zombies are never referred to as “zombies.”  They’re “walkers” or “the undead” or “creepers” and so on but never zombies.  Your characters refer to them as “Zee.”  Why is that?  Is “zombie” too informal?  Will we ever crack open a novel where a writer has a character saying, “Holy crap!  It’s a zombie!”

A.  Oh, they’re called zombies in What We Left Behind as well as Zee, but Zee makes things more personal, and I think that’s important. Zombie stories are notorious for being impersonal. Survivors are often portrayed as brutal if not more brutal than the zombies themselves, whereas zombie stories are really about survivors. And what is a zombie but a survivor that fell and failed. Zee makes that more poignant, reminding the reader that zombies aren’t simply cannon fodder. To the survivors, they once were as we are, and the term Zee keeps that fresh in mind.   

Q.  How did you get into the zombie craze?

A.  My kids love The Walking Dead, and I enjoy it too, but I get frustrated with the inaccuracies. Gasoline, as an example, has a shelf life of about nine months. Diesel’s a little better, but will be pretty nasty after a couple of years. So at some point everyone’s going to be walking, or riding bicycles or horses. The SUV might look like the ultimate zombie killing machine, but it’s not sustainable, so in All Our Tomorrows, they drive around in a Tesla with the doors stripped off and the seats torn out to keep the weight down, charging the car with solar panels. For me, it’s fun to consider practical stuff like that. 

Zombies are dumb, right? So what’s the greatest weapon in the zombie apocalypse? Smarts. I’ve tried to write novels that have smart, unique solutions to the zombie apocalypse rather than relying on shotguns and machetes all the time. Shotguns might work on the zombie in front of you, but the noise is going to bring in a dozen more zombies, while a machete is just plain stupid. It’s going to get stuck every time. 

41IgGgymVqL._SX331_BO1,204,203,200_Q.  You’re also a sci-fi aficionado.  One work of yours that caught my eye is Little Green Men, about a crew of space travelers who set down on a frozen planet and are attacked by, sure enough, little green men.  Is a story about trustworthy, non-murderous aliens possible?  Does it say anything about us as humans that we have a tendency to think the worst about the possibility of life on other planets?

And by the way, I have a colleague named Alien Jones who is in fact, a little green man.  He’s been totally above board thus far, but do you think I should keep an eye on him?

A.  Little Green Men is brutal. It’s a homage to Philip K. Dick and has an alienesque feel to it (Alien Jones would love it), but yes, it is possible to write about trustworthy, non-murderous aliens. Anomaly is my best selling novel, having sold over 75,000 copies.  Anomaly was my debut novel and even today, a dozen stories down the road, it still outsells everything else I’ve written. If you enjoyed Carl Sagan’s Contact, you’ll love Anomaly.

413RLsZCgPL._SX311_BO1,204,203,200_
As for Alien Jones, he’s clearly hampered by a paranoid companion 🙂

Q.  On your Amazon page, you talk a bit about the difference between general and “hard” science fiction.  Could you explain it for my 3.5 readers?

A.  Hard science fiction is a misnomer. 

Science fiction shouldn’t be hard to understand or hard and inflexible. There’s merit in keeping scifi as accurate and plausible as possible. There’s always a degree of handwavium in science fiction when authors start projecting their thoughts into the future, but the limitations of concepts like the speed of light actually add to the realism of a story. 
As much as I love the Star Trek reboots, I cringe when they ignore common sense. There’s one scene in Star Trek Into Darkness where Kirk is on the Klingon home world some undisclosed number of light years away from Earth, and he calls up Scotty on his handheld communicator. Scotty is in a bar on Earth and answers Kirk’s technical question. To me, that’s a wasted opportunity. Even if Kirk was somewhere within our solar system, say on Mars, Scotty couldn’t have a realtime chat like that, he’d be waiting at least half an hour for a message to arrive. Communication between star systems would be like the letters of the 1700s taking months to years to transit the globe. Star Trek Into Darkness wasted a wonderful opportunity, as instead of taking the lazy, easy way out, the writer could have used that limitation to drive up the tension. Sure, Scotty’s got the answers. But he’s not there, so Kirk has to figure it out on his own and that’s far more rewarding for the audience than watching Kirk being given a get-out-of-jail-free card. 
Hard science isn’t difficult, it’s just plausible and believable, and it makes stories more gritty and realistic. 

Q.  Peter, thanks for taking my call.  Before I go, do you have any advice that might help my friends and I survive the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse?

A.  Think before you act. Remember,

  1. You’re smart. They’re not. 
  2. They have numbers. You don’t.  
 Keep those two facts in mind and you’ll do fine. Oh, and keep a copy of What We Left Behind handy, you might find some good tips in there. 
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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 23

We were all exceptionally bored.

Uncle Hardass

Uncle Hardass

A long day rolled into evening, nothing but a drip from the nearby showers to entertain us.

OK, there was also a plethora of streaming media content from Alien Jones’ perpetually charged space phone, but while the rest of the gang watched a movie, I wasn’t into it.

I felt an overwhelming urge to be alone and walked off into the shower room.  Once I was by myself, the tears flowed freely and I openly cried.

From behind me, I heard the voice of a grumbly old man.

“Waaahhh…waaah waaah!”

I turned around.

“Uncle Hardass?”

For those above and beyond this site’s average 3.5 reader count, I was raised by my Aunt Gertie and her husband, my Uncle Hardassimo “Hardass” J. Scrambler.

Before he died of a massive heart attack, Uncle Hardass’ favorite past times included:

  • Complaining about hippies, commies, and others he deemed no goodniks who didn’t work hard enough.
  • Slaving away at the salt mines.  Literally, he worked at Salt Mines, Inc. and his job was to dig hunks of salt out of the ground everyday.
  • Reminding me how much he did and how little I did in comparison.  I tried not to take it too personally, because he’d of reminded everyone else in the world too had they been willing to listen.

Despite watching his casket get lowered into the ground, I’m still haunted by his ghost to this very day.

That’s not a metaphor.  He actually just shows up at BQB Headquarters unannounced to bitch about whatever I’m doing, inform me that I’m doing it wrong, and to demand an answer as to when I’m going to abandon writing and take a job at the salt mines.

Writing, of course, to Uncle Hardass, is a pursuit beneath “real men” and is something that only hippies and commies do.

Ironically, despite his protestations against writing, Uncle Hardass, from time to time, manages to log on to my blog uninvited to offer his, Things That Really Frost My Ass column. It’s not really a column so much as it is a laundry list of things that are pissing him off at a given point in time.

“Yeah it’s me,”  Uncle Hardass said.  “Holy shit, look at you, ya’ blubbering crybaby! This really is the girls’ locker room, isn’t it?”

“Whatever,”  I said.  “Hit me while I’m down.  That’s what you do.”

“I’m not hitting you, Nancy.  What gives with the waterworks?”

“You want to know why I’m crying?”  I asked.  “Because you were right.”

“I always am,”  Uncle Hardass said.  “About what this time?”

“Writing.”

“Bahh!  Writing!”

Uncle Hardass raised his voice a few octaves, pretending to be all girly and mocked me.  “Oooo la dee da!  Look at me!  I’m a writer!  The world needs my thoughts and opinions!”

Then he reverted to his old, miserable self.

“Baloney.  Give me the salt mines any day.  Write a thousand words and you’ve got nothing but a bunch of shit on paper.  Yank a hunk of salt out of the ground and Salt Mines, Inc. will give you just compensation for it.  That’s the problem with your generation.  Everybody wants something for nothing.  Everybody thinks they’re so damn special.”

I laughed.

“Ohhhh, don’t worry about that, old man,”  I said.  “You worked on me long enough to convince me that I’m not special.  Every day I wake up and the first thing I think about is how exactly un-special I am.”

Uncle Hardass snapped his fingers and a table appeared in the middle of the showers.  There was a basket with cold cuts and bread in it.  He took a seat and proceeded to make himself a sandwich.

I took the other chair.

“Well,”  Uncle Hardass said as he spritzed a slice of bread with some mustard.  “It worked, didn’t it?”

It worked?”  I asked.  “That I’m acutely aware of how little I matter to the world?  Yes.  Yes it worked.”

“Do you have a job?”  Uncle Hardass asked.

“Yeah,”  I replied.  “At Beige Corp.  It’s boring as hell and pays shit.”

“But does it pay the bills?”  Uncle Hardass asked.

“Yes,”  I admitted.

“You’ve got a girlfriend?”  the old man inquired.

“Yes.”

“You don’t take her for granted do you?”

“No.”

Uncle Hardass cut his sandwich in half.

“Why?”

“Because she’s smart and pretty and could have anyone and if I don’t make her happy she’ll leave me because I’m not…”

Uncle Hardass perked up and pointed a knowing finger at me.

“Say it.”

“…special.”

“You’re welcome,”  Uncle Hardass said as he bit into his dinner.

“Oh whatever,”  I said.  “You’re really going to eat that?”

“I’m dead,”  Uncle Hardass said.  “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

He took another bite, then picked up a napkin and dabbed some mustard off his chin.

“Son, when you were growing up, every adult in your life had a job.  Your teachers were supposed to make you feel special because the idea that you could do anything made you study more.  Your aunt made you feel special because it made her feel special to see you smile but me?  I had the hardest job of all.  Life will take its size twelve boot and wedge it straight up your ass if you’re not careful and it was my job to dissuade you of all this ‘I’m special’ bullshit so that you were prepared for all the crap the world throws your way.  In spite of a world designed to tear the little guy apart, you’re still here..  You’re alive.  You have a roof over your head and people that give a shit about you and none of that came from writing so you’re welcome, Lord Fauntleroy.  My work here is done.”

“I’m never going to write again,”  I said.

“Glad to hear it,”  Uncle Hardass said.  “Writing is for weirdoes, primadonnas, and women.  But uh, just out of curiosity, why?”

“Writing got me into this mess,”  I said.  “A corrupt general conspired with the corrupt mayor of this settlement to frame me because he didn’t like something that was written on my blog.  Now my friends will pay because I had a big enough ego to think people would want to read my dumb blog in the first place.”

Uncle Hardass picked up the other half of his sandwich.

“You know, son, writing is a girlish hobby to be sure but, if it makes you happy and it’s legal then it’s your God given right as a citizen of the United States of America, the greatest f%^king country on the face of the Earth to do it if you want to.”

“You hate writing,”  I said.  “You don’t hate writing.  Make up your mind.”

“Oh it’s made up,”  Uncle Hardass said.  “Writing is stupid and unmanly.  But all I ever wanted for you was to be able to survive on your own, pay your own way through life and find a woman that can look at you for five seconds with puking and now that you’ve got all that, I could give three shits what you do in your spare time.  Personally, a real man would get a second job but if you want to mince around and tap out words like you’re the next Oscar Wilde have at it.”

“You’re the most complicated man I’ve ever met,”  I said.

“Not really,”  Uncle Hardass said as he made himself another sandwich.  “I like money.  I like to work hard for it.  I like being independent and that only comes from working hard for money.  Also, I like that now that I’m dead I can eat as much as I want and not get fat.  You want one?”

“Nah, I’m good,”  I said.

“Seems like the only thing a real man in your situation could do now is spring his friends out of this hooscow and get them out of harm’s way,”  Uncle Hardass said.

“Why?”  I asked.  “Apparently if you die you just get to visit your relatives and bitch at them.”

Uncle Hardass smiled.

“Am I really a ghost, BQB?”  Uncle Hardass asked.  “Or subconsciously, has your mind focused the practical, pragmatic tough-guy side of yourself into an apparition that looks like the only adult you knew when you were growing up that warned you that the real world doesn’t hand out participation ribbons?”

I sat and thought about that.

Uncle Hardass smacked the table and laughed.

“BAHH HA HA!  I’m just screwing with you!  Of course I’m a damn ghost, you jackass!”

The old man handed me the basket, snapped his fingers and made the table and chairs disappear.

“My boy, the thing to remember is this.  Whether it’s writing some kind of fruity novel or saving your pals from an unjust fate, the only way to get something done is to realize that you’re not special enough for the universe to take an interest and make things happen for you.  YOU have to make them happen for yourself.”

“Thanks,”  I said.

“But seriously, stop crying.  You look like a homosexual.”

I snickered and wiped a tear off my face.

“You’re not allowed to say stuff like that anymore.”

“Aww who gives a shit?  I’m dead.”

Poof.  He was gone.

I carried the basket into the locker room and set it down.  It was a welcome sight for everyone as our captors hadn’t thought/cared to leave us any food.

“Where’d this come from?”  VGRF asked.

“Uncle Hardass.”

As the Bookshelf Battle Blog’s Second-in-Command, VGRF was familiar with my ghost uncle.

“Sweet!  Pimento loaf from the great beyond!”

“Guys, I have to cut movie night short,”  I said as I grabbed the space phone.  “I gotta bust us out of here but first?  I need to call a zombie author.”

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 22 (Part 2)

The door read:

GIRLS’ LOCKER ROOM

The DiStefanos pushed us in and locked the door.

VGRF and I walked in. Blandie, Bernie, and Alien Jones were sitting around on changing benches.

“Aww, BQB,” Bernie said. “All through high school, I dreamed about living inside the girls’ locker room, but not like this, yo!”

Blandie stomped her foot and made her typical mad face.

Boo! Blandie is still the worst!

Boo! Blandie is still the worst!

“What did you do, BQB?! What did you do?!”

“Silence, blonde human,” Alien Jones said as he hopped off his bench. “BQB has done nothing wrong. Well, I mean he has done wrong in so many, many other ways. His life is a total mess but in this particular instance, he is blameless.”

“We’ve been set up,” I said. “Alien Jones, can you use your mind reading powers to detect who framed us?”

“It was Hauser,” AJ replied.

We all let out a collective gasp followed by a “WHAAAT?!”

“He’s struck a deal with Morganstern,” Alien Jones said. “The General contacted Hauser and threatened to blow up the rec center and all the survivors in it unless Hauser kills you and offers evidence of having done so.”

“So why doesn’t he just put a bullet in my head and get it over with?” I asked.

“Because you have replaced Hauser as East Randomtown’s favorite son,” Alien Jones explained. “You’ve brought a modest amount of glory to your burg by setting up a WordPress site that attracts the attention of 3.5 readers. It’s not much, but it’s more than Hauser’s done lately. His thirty-second stint on a 1980’s cop show is old news. Because you’re so loved by the citizenry, Hauser knows he can’t just shoot you. He needs to turn the public against you.”

“By making everyone believe you’re a dirty supply thief,” VGRF said.

“Precisely,”  AJ said.

“So now what?” I asked.

Alien Jones hopped back on a bench.

“We wait.”

“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “We need to bust out of here.”

“There’s no escape,” Alien Jones said. “The DiStefanos are guarding the door.”

“Vaporize their sorry asses with your powers!”

“Hauser is the only rec center resident outside this room who knows I’m an alien,” AJ explained. “Everyone else just thinks I’m a deformed human child. The Mighty Potentate would never approve of me outing myself.”

“Makes no sense,” VGRF said. “You out yourself on the Bookshelf Battle Blog all the time.”

“Only to 3.5 readers,” Alien Jones said. “And for the most part, they usually just assume BQB is pretending to be an alien and that I’m not real. The Mighty Potentate would be tried for violation of Intergalactic Space Law were it to ever come out that he’s interfering with Earthly affairs, namely by sending me to help Bookshelf Q. Battler. His Potentosity would certainly vaporize me on his way out.”

“A trial,” I said as I sat down. “So how bad could that be? We’ll just convince the jury we’re innocent.”

“It’s not that kind of trial,” Alien Jones. “Here, all issues of guilt are decided by…a trial of zombie combat!”

“Aw snap,” Bernie said. “I gots to bust some zombie ass?”

“Did you just say, ‘snap?’” Blandie asked.  “That’s so 1999!”

“OK,” I said. “We can get through this. I’d better call a zombie author for advice and…aw crap!”

Everyone looked at me.

“The space phone!” I shouted. “I left it out there!”

“No worries,” Alien Jones said. “I anticipated the evildoers’ moves and was able to smuggle it…”

“…in your pocket?” I asked.

“…inside of me,” Alien Jones said.

I shook my head.

“I don’t get it,” I said. “How? You don’t have a butt! You have no orifices to speak of!”

“I do have one.”

Alien Jones punched himself in the stomach and then started hacking up a lung. He sounded like a cat stuck on a hairball.

Hack…hack…hack…HACK!!!!

He looks like he's laughing but he's really barfing...up a space phone.

He looks like he’s laughing but he’s really barfing…up a space phone.

SPLAT!

The space phone popped out of the Esteemed Brainy One’s mouth and onto the locker room floor, covered with sticky alien spit.

“You may make your call now.”

“Um…thanks…you know…I think I’m going to pass on this interview,” I said, staring at the messy phone. “You wanna take this one for me, buddy?”

“Humans,” Alien Jones said as he picked up the device. “Such pansies. You’ll wear the same undies for a week but a little intergalactic spittle freaks you out.”

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 22 – (Part 1)

The morning was off to a bad start.

George the Barber

George the Barber

George the Barber, accompanied by the DiStefano brothers, were in the office VGRF and I used as our bedroom. We were half-asleep on an old cot when they barged in, shouting and pointing their guns at us.

“Get your ass up, traitor,” George said.

“Excuse me?”

“Now!” the old man said as he slapped me across the face.

We got up and our captors marched us across the gym floor. Every survivor stopped what they were doing to observe the commotion.

“Want to tell me what this is all about?”

“NO TALKING!” Billy shouted as he mashed the butt of his rifle against my back.

“F&*K!” I cried. “Is that any way to treat your Deputy Mayor?”

“Oh, I have a hankerin’ all your rights and privileges have been revoked, boy,” George said.

The trio lead us out into the parking lot where Doug, Mario, and a few armed goons were standing around the Compensator, the SUV my friends and I had driven over from the mall.

“Bookshelf Q. Battler,” Hauser said.

“Doug, I’m not supposed to be outside, remember? Morganstern’s been itching to get me away from the rec center so he can blow me to smithereens.”

“You think I care after your betrayal?”

“What?” I asked.

Doug nodded at Mario, who in turn, opened the back door of the Compensator. It was overflowing with pilfered stuff. Food. Boxes. Cans. Packages. Much needed supplies.

“I trusted you with a position of authority and you robbed us blind!” Doug shouted.

Mayor Hauser

Mayor Hauser

I didn’t know what to say.

“That’s not…I didn’t do that!”

“A likely story,” Doug said. “The three hoodlums you came in with are already in custody. We’ll give you some time to rot and think of what you’ve done until we can organize a trial. May God have mercy on your soul, Bookshelf Q. Battler.”

Carl grabbed me and Billy grabbed VGRF. We struggled as they dragged us back to the rec center.

“Wait,” VGRF said. “BQB didn’t do this!”

“That’s noble of you to protect your beau, girly,” Doug said. “But you need to start thinking about yourself. If he forced you to help out with this, now’s the time to come clean.”

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#31ZombieAuthors – Day 21 Interview – Al K. Line – Zombie Botnets, Literally!

zombiebotnet

FIND THIS ZOMBIE AUTHOR ON:

Amazon      Website

Facebook

My guest today is Al K. Line.

3.5 readers, you might want to log off Twitter for a moment.

Al’s the author of the Zombie Botnet series. The mayhem begins when a devastating computer virus delivers subliminal data packets via social media, turning computer users the world over into murderous creatures.

A resident of rural England, when Al isn’t busy writing, he spends his time with his wife, sons, and dogs, the latter of which he notes he has too many.

Al, welcome.

NOTE: BOLD=BQB; ITALICS=AL

51wVI4sSyfL._SX295_BO1,204,203,200_ Q.  You’re the twenty-first zombie author I’ve interviewed this month and I have to admit, I honestly thought I’d of heard it all by now, but people becoming zombies via a computer virus? For the less tech savvy among us, can you explain how this works in your books?

A.  Sure. Ven, the woman behind the “bit of bother,” lets loose a computer virus designed to infect millions of devices and allow her to get up to no good. Unfortunately, it all gets a little out of hand. The virus she unleashes has been compromised and the data packets go viral. An embedded subliminal message in the form of a video basically rewires the brain of anyone that views it and then it’s game over — welcome to zombieville.

Q. How did you come up with this idea?

A. The term zombie botnet is well known within the hacker community, it’s a way of describing a huge array of devices that have been infected and can be manipulated for all manner of nefarious naughtiness. What if the zombie botnet really could do as the name implies? It came from there.

Q. Everywhere I go, people are glued to technology. Phones. Laptops. Tablets. Everyone’s checking Facebook, Twitter, or some other site and usually the latest update is something as trivial as “I just blew my nose.” Do you think we might be zombies already?

A. I love technology, use it daily, and my career relies on it, but yeah, it can get out of hand. It’s the change it has caused to society that I find most interesting, making people slaves to the latest trend or social media platform — let’s face it, if we lose our internet connection for a few minutes we begin to panic, right? This is what the series plays on: our inability to look away. The first thing we do when we hear of a disaster is to check Twitter or Facebook, well, what if those platforms are the very ones causing the problem? People would still look, they can’t help it. It’s too ingrained into the fabric of our techno-reality now to ever go back.

Q. I notice this series is actually considered half-horror/half-comedy. I have to say, the idea of society being hoisted on its own technological petard seems rife with the ability to provide social commentary, not to mention a joke or two.  Personally, I’m so addicted to social media that if all I have to do not to become a zombie is not check Twitter, I’m not sure I could do it. How are you able to combine humor with horror, when the two normally don’t mix well?

A. You gotta see the funny side, right? It’s the whole premise. Yes, there is social commentary, but it isn’t judgmental. We all have our obsessions, our hangups and our needs, and the absurdity of how the infection is caused screams for a bit of a laugh at our own expense. Plus, to be honest I can’t help myself. Characters suddenly appear on the page (I mean computer screen really) and they often happen to be rather comical — there’s no stopping it once the words somehow jump from my brain to the developing book.

Q. Al, your book features people being turned into zombies via subliminal messages. Just now, a real live zombie actually just jumped out of my computer screen. Have you ever heard of such a thing happening in zombie lore and any ideas on how to defeat such a menace?

A. Oh, loads, it happens all the time. The best thing to do is to scream really loud and run really fast — only pausing to update Facebook and check if anyone has posted anything on Twitter that could help in 140 characters or less.

Q. Thanks for the interview, Al. Before I go, do you have any last minute advice that might help my friends and I survive the East Randomtown Zombie Apocalypse?

A. Nope. You’re going be dead any moment. Actually, should I even be answering this? Hello? I knew it, dead already, brains all over the floor. There’s probably some zombie granny chewing on your intestines at this very moment. Oh, don’t forget to follow me on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/authoralkline

Yeah, I get the irony.

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BQB’s Zombie Apocalypse Survivor’s Journal – Day 21

Another morning in the computer lab.

Coming Soon - Johnny Gunhands: A Farewell to Hands (hands to be edited out in post-production)

Coming Soon – Johnny Gunhands: A Farewell to Hands (hands to be edited out in post-production)

I paced the floor and slurped on stale coffee while Alien Jones typed the words as they flowed from my cake hole.

“Johnny Gunhands. He’s muscular, rugged, virile, and in his late twenties.”

“ERRRNT! Wrong!” the Esteemed Brainy One replied.

“Wrong?”

“Wrong! How could someone become such a skilled master at taking down criminals without a bit of life experience behind him?”  Alien Jones asked. “Personally, I picture Johnny Gunhands pushing forty.”

“Aww but then the young people won’t read it,” I said. “Everyone under thirty-five is convinced that everyone over thirty five is a bunch of corrupt old farts who’ve sold their souls to the man!”

“What does everyone over thirty-five think about everyone under thirty-five?” AJ asked.

“That all they do is snapchat and take selfies all day.”

“Are these assessments accurate?”

“Surprisingly so on both counts,” I said.

I took another sip of my java. Bleh. It was rank, but my only source of caffeine. It would have to do.

“Fine,” I said. “We’ll compromise. Johnny Gunhands is thirty-two. Old enough to get some respect from gray haired readers. Young enough that the selfie stick crowd won’t think he’s Methuselah. Can I go on?”

“Please.”

“So in the opening scene, we see a butcher’s knife. A random mobster holds it up in the air and a ray of moonlight glistens off of it. It comes down with a WHACK and then the mobster says, ‘That’s what you get for arresting the boss, see?’”

“SHIT!” Alien Jones cried.

“Oh like you could do any better.”

“No,” AJ said as he nursed his hand. “The mouse. It got white hot and…”

Sparks flew out of the monitor. To our amazement, a foot came out of the screen, then another one, then a torso, arms, and a head.

“What the F%$K is that?” I yelled.

“It’s an e-zombie!” AJ replied.

The monster let loose with a terrifying growl and then lunged at me.

I did what any man trained in martial arts could do.

I performed a round house kick to the beast’s head, knocking it clean off.

It rolled to the floor but it was still alive. It grunted and it’s eyes moved around.

I stepped on it, pressing my foot down until I felt the skull crack under my shoe, the damned creature’s brains going kerplooey.

“I’ve heard about a computer virus but this is ridiculous!” I said. “Who knew that e-zombies were even a thing?”

Alien Jones handed me the space phone.

“There’s an author who knows all there is to know about this.”

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