What is that you ask? Do I have a new novel by Severed Press out there in the wild, wild world of literary bits and bytes? Why, yes, yes I do.
In the post-apocalyptic, zombie infested wasteland, there is one beacon of safety in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains: The Stronghold.
For decades, the inhabitants have fortified and defended the Stronghold from zombie hordes, building their society and culture on military precision.
And chosen from the best of the best is Denver Team Alpha. DTA is the elite strike force used to rescue survivors and refugees that have made it to the hellish wasteland of Denver below. But because of the unbelievable risks, and high mortality rate, DTA has come to stand for something else: Dead Team Alpha.
Now DTA will be put to the test as something far worse than zombies comes at them out of the wasteland.
Can ya dig it? I knew that ya could.
If you have read my Z-Burbia series then you’ll notice some links and connections between the two series. It was fun writing this, knowing the backstory already, but also inventing so many new things that have yet to be revealed. I love my job!
So, if you are so inclined, grab this puppy and have a read. It’ll be worth it, trust me.
It’s Friday Night Drabble Party AND Valentine’s Day!
I love you guys soooooooo much!
And for Valentine’s Day I get to announce that Z-Burbia is $.99! THAT’S LOVE, PEOPLE! So get you a copy if you haven’t been able to before. Also, there are some great writers with special deals happening today! Check out the Eat Your Heart Out promotion going on for only a couple more hours. GO! GO NOW!
Okay, I’m done. On with the drabble!
“Elk?” he asked, taking another bite. “Boar?”
“No,” she replied.
The delicateness, yet gamey flavor had him stymied. Hints of grass and oak, perhaps even just a little cloves. It tasted so familiar.
“Bison? I give up,” he said finally, patting his belly. “Tell me.”
“Hold on. I’ll get dessert,” she grinned, blowing him a kiss.
His mouth opened in a silent scream as she set the platter down. The frozen head of his lover stared at him, her once bright blue eyes nothing but frosted pain.
“Revenge,” she grinned. “Is a dish best served cold, don’t you think dear?”
Disclaimer: Well, that didn’t feel like 100 words…
Want to hear the first chapter of Z-Burbia? Well now you can! Just click play below and you are good to go!
Whispering Pines is a classic, quiet, private American subdivision on the edge of Asheville, NC, set in the pristine Blue Ridge Mountains. Which is good since the zombie apocalypse has come to Western North Carolina and really put suburban living to the test!
Surrounded by a sea of the undead, the residents of Whispering Pines have adapted their bucolic life of block parties to scavenging parties, common area groundskeeping to immediate area warfare, neighborhood beautification to neighborhood fortification.
But, even in the best of times, suburban living has its ups and downs what with nosy neighbors, a strict Home Owners’ Association, and a property management company that believes the words “strict interpretation” are holy words when applied to the HOA covenants. Now with the zombie apocalypse upon them even those innocuous, daily irritations quickly become dramatic struggles for personal identity, family security, and straight up survival.
Welcome to normal life in Z-Burbia!
Be on the lookout for Z-Burbia 2: Parkway To Hell! Coming soon!
And here we are, another Friday, another Drabble, another Party!
Speaking of parties, how about that new blog of mine? Views From The Captain’s Chair! It’s like the Love Boat meets Crossfire! Uh….no, no, it’s not. But it does have some good writing advice! Check it out!
Speaking of boats…
Mega. Get it. Crazy, awesome fun!
And now to our Drabble!
Shortening Won’t Do
“Time to make the donuts,” Harold said.
He crawled out of bed, put on his slippers then made his way downstairs to the kitchen.
Flour. Sugar. Milk. Water. Salt. Eggs. Yeast. Lard… Lard?
Crap. No lard.
Harold sighed and went to the pantry. He had to have lard; shortening wouldn’t do.
He turned on the light and bent down, lifting the trap door recessed into the floor.
Down the ladder, search the shelves…there! Lard!
“Please…please let me go,” the voice whispered.
Up the ladder, shut the door, off with the light.
“Time to make the donuts,” Harold said.
Disclaimer: Mmmmmm, sprinkles….