Blurb:

Nothing stays the way we want it to, and Cali Anglin learned this the hard way. Before, her life was simple. She was a mom, a wife, and a nurse. Now, she also must fight to save the lives of her family, her neighbors, and herself after a virus went awry and a plague of zombies took over life as she knew it. 

No one is immune and no one is coming to save them. If they hope to be able to make it through the impossible, the survivors must create a safe zone within the walls of their gated apartment complex. It's up to this group of people to make life worth living now that the dead have come back.

 There's just one problem... 

How do you survive the zombie apocalypse with your humanity intact?


Published by:
Rudforce Intragalactic

Excerpt: The Complex:The Reanimates Book One

The following is an excerpt from The Complex: The Reanimates Book One, available now on Amazon

**
Threshold

The day that the virus hit critical viral threshold was much like the day before, in the beginning. I had worked the night before at the hospital on the cardiac unit. The night itself didn’t stand out that much on the heart unit, though the ER was hopping like the 4th of July. Had I not known better, I’d have guessed it was a full moon, a notorious omen for hospital staff. The hospital I worked at is in a small town, small for southern California anyway. Being the only hospital for 25 miles around, it made sense to be a trauma center. Throughout the night, trauma codes had kept being announced over the PA, one or two an hour. Our floor had mused over what could be going on out there in the world that could elicit this sudden spike in traumas but no one knew of any reason. It wasn’t a holiday. It wasn’t a weekend. It was a Tuesday. Just any old Tuesday in the end of May.

The drive home was fairly quiet. The usual activity of a weekday morning wasn’t there. The roads were light. I figured that since the schools let out for summer break the day before that maybe the neighbors were taking a day off. I wondered if maybe that was why the trauma count was so high. Yeah, that probably was it. The high schoolers must have had a party that had gotten out of hand. I chuckled to myself as I pulled my truck into the carport for not having had that realization last night.

I lived in a gated apartment complex. I loved it there. I loved the grounds of the complex. I loved the neighbors. I loved the trees. There were many tall trees and that gave a sense of quiet, essential to life in southern California. I glanced over the common area to see that the neighbor kids had left their bikes out on the common grounds. Again. How they had managed to not get those bikes stolen was beyond me. The sidewalk had been decorated with sidewalk chalk and scattered patches had been washed away by the sprinklers. As I walked up the stairs, I began to plan out what I was going to do that day with sleep being high on my ‘to do’ list. I emptied my pockets and walked down the hall. I stuck my head into my ten-year-old son’s room. Drew’s room was chaos now that he was on break. It made me happy to find him sprawled out across the bed; sound asleep, although how such a little person can take up so much area is beyond me. My husband, Trent, was sleeping in the next room enjoying that he had the day off. Trent had often commented on how he loved working for a small cabinet shop because he could make his own hours, a definite plus when kiddo goes off track for his break, since his school was of the year round variety. I had envy issues. People got sick regardless of what my son’s school schedule was, or what holiday it was. I couldn’t just close the hospital to suit me.

I went to the living room and fired up the laptop to check the message forums. My favorite forums are for Kindle fans. Yeah, I was ‘that geek.’ I loved to read and I loved electronic things and as it turned out, I was not alone in my obsession. I found the general chat thread and was surprised to see that there had been over 200 new posts in the 12 hours that I was at work. I must have missed out on some flame war. When I started reading the posts, people kept talking about they couldn’t believe the news stories. Posts continued on about being scared.

What had I missed?

Posts about the news scared me, they had ever since 9/11. Being totally unaware of what was going on when a huge event happens gave me a sinking feeling in the gut. It had me recall that 9/11 when the attacks occurred. I was at home and we didn’t have internet or TV. I found out that the world was ending when my mother in law called me and broke the news over my prepaid cell phone.

I stared at the still turned off television screen for a bit. If I didn’t turn it on then whatever it was that was scaring my internet friends was not real yet. The remote control sat on the coffee table taunting me. I finally reached over, picked it up and pushed the power button. When the screen came to life, the newscaster on the screen looked as though she was frightened by the story she had to tell us. She went on about how surreal the story was and how never in a million years did she think this was a real thing. Pretty much she said a whole lot of nothing.

I started flipping through the channels looking for someone to just say something useful. I finally landed on a channel that gave a smattering of statements that seemed to cross over one another. A virus of unknown origin has struck with certain fatality. Transmission of the virus is unknown. Origin of this virus unknown. Hospitals are overrun. I leaned closer in to pay more attention. Again, it’s the geek in me, anything weird and medical drew me in, just like the electronic things did. I wondered if the H1N1 flu that had the country in a panic a few months ago had done some sort of weird mutation. Finally, on some news channel, the reporter who was shuffling papers about said that the Centers for Disease Control had released the following press release:

“It is believed at this point that a virus is responsible for the deaths of at least 10% of the population. Symptoms are that of a sudden onset febrile condition that is not manageable by traditional cooling measures. The fever results in a seizure that appears at this time to precede death. The infected individual then ceases to exhibit signs of life. Cardiac and neurological monitoring show no activity. Following death the infected individual appears to reanimate. Monitoring continues to show no cardiac activity, despite the fact that this patient is once again moving. Minimal neurological activity resumes. Infected individuals are nonverbal and are extremely violent. Extreme caution around the infected is advised. It is advised that you remain in your home at this time.”

My head swam with that short statement. I couldn’t believe that they said reanimate. You can reanimate a frog with electricity once they died. Reanimating. Wow. It was just such a weird thing for them to say. Reanimating wasn’t a real thing, it is not a thing a disease is capable of doing. That’s the premise behind every zombie story. They reanimated.

Oh. My. God. That was exactly what they were saying, wasn’t it? The patient died. It was after they died that they came back, without a heartbeat, moving and violent. They were talking about real life zombies.

I sat unmoving. While I faced the television I couldn’t see it. All I could see was my son sprawled across the bed. All I could see was walking towards Trent on our wedding day. How would I tell them that there were zombie apocalypse was actually happening? How could I destroy the world as they knew it?

I walked softly down the hall into the pitch dark of the master bedroom. It didn’t often occur to me how dark it gets in there with the extra window coverings I had up to block out the sun in there. Night shifters like me tend to have a cave for a room. That morning it hit me how truly dark it got. I climbed into my side of the king sized bed and just lied there. What was I supposed say? I put my hand on my husband’s arm and he stirred.

Trent pried open his eyes. He smiled when he realized it was me. We’d been married for 13 years and every time I woke him up when I got home he gave me a smile when I saw him. Every morning it looked like he was happy to see me.

“Hey,” he said, still groggy. “How was work?”

Work. Wasn’t that a lifetime ago?

“It was fine.” Gulp. “There’s something going on with the news. I’m gonna turn it on.”

He rubbed his crystal blue eyes and stared at me confused. He reached for his glasses and I fumbled for the remote. I hit the power button and as the older CRT television screen warmed up, playing the audio well before the video feed kicked in. We heard the reporter go on about the release issued by the CDC. The reporter kept on talking about the biggest part of the story, the reanimation. My husband gaped at me with wide eyes.

“Did I have a brain melt just now? Did she say death then reanimation? I seriously must not be all the way awake.”

Just as my lips started to make words the CRT screen lit up and his head whipped to the screen. The anchor woman said now they were going live to the CDC in Washington DC.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Read the full story for only $2.99 on your kindle or free kindle app. If you are eligible for the Kindle Lending Library you can also borrow it for free. The Complex: The Reanimates Book One

Dead Trees Blurb

Dead Trees Excerpt & Cover

As my eyes adjusted, the details became clearer. The form seemed to be a human child, well past the normal gestation period. It was roughly the size of an 18 month old toddler, maybe a tad smaller… or bigger. It was hard to tell through the distortion of water and curved tank walls. There was a feeding tube connected to the lower abdominal area that stretched to the side of the tank where an external device pumped nutrients. The hair was under grown for the age and floated away from the scalp- about two inches in length. Something in the appearance of the child wasn’t quite normal. The face was a tad too elongated and the fingers a bit too bony. The reality of what was before me hit me like a freight train. I staggered back in horror and fell over my own feet. My ass hit the ground hard and my tailbone ached from the impact. The jolt gave me a reminder of my not-so-healed ribs and bruised side. “No… no way. No way did they do… what I think they did.” I got up from the ground and stumbled to the monitor. The lines of code and command had stopped. In its stead was an analysis report on subject: Sheila-2. I moved the cursor around the screen. When it hit the subject name, an underline appeared. I clicked and the screen shifted. Now I could see a conception date, vitals history, and a link to a genetic profile. That link confirmed my fears. The human genome had been crossed with undergrounder and not by splicing or cloning. It was achieved through basic fertilization of Sheila-1 eggs with Anonymous-XY sperm. I had a feeling I knew who that XY might be. One of two candidates… Like a bad accident on the highway, I couldn’t stop looking at the data. Sheila-2 was growing at a fast rate, but not nearly as fast as a pure beastie. Obviously, the human factor had tempered that growth. The vitals were stable. The heart beat a little faster than the average human heart, but not so much that Sheila-2 could be identified as nonhuman during a normal physical. I was pouring over the makeup of the synthetic amniotic fluids (which had been modified to accommodate new needs), when I heard a door open in the distance and lights spring to life in Lab-3. I quickly flipped the screen back to the analysis report and ran. Then I realized that this lab only had one exit- and that exit involved strolling right through Lab-3. “Shit.” I exhaled the word softly and scanned the room desperately. Another door in the back. Thank goodness. This door had no window. Inside was dark and small… a closet. I worked my body between obstructions on the left and right and ended up contorted and restricted, but able to pull the door closed behind me. I heard voices in the laboratory. Funny. Outside these walls, I hid from undergrounders, but inside these walls, I hid from very different monsters. I wished I could make out the words, but the voices were just a continuous string of mumbles punctuated by sporadic pausing. I was stuck in the damn closet for well over an hour. I waited quite a while after the talking died down. Better to be cautious.   It took forever to wiggle out of the closet. I knocked something over as I extracted my body from the cramped space. Whatever it was hit the ground with a resounding crash. Opening the door lightened the shadowed closet a bit. I could see the outline of shelving. When I was officially un-stuck, I found the light switch and flipped it upward. I stared at the shelves. They were lined with gigantic mason jars, each containing a malformed fetus. At my feet lay the broken remains of one of those jars. I was standing on a tiny arm… a tiny arm with tiny fingers. If I was hoping to leave no trace of my presence behind, I failed. Not only did I leave glass, fluid, and flesh; I left a pleasant smelling and steaming pile of vomit. Funny how much I vomited nowadays.

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Crossroads Excerpt & Spotify Playlist

Excerpt 1: The bath water had turned lukewarm and I decided it was time to get out. I dried myself off and dressed into a pair of bed shorts and tank top. I was just getting into bed when I heard my cell phone ring; the personal one, not the work one. Only a few people in my world had access to that number; my father, Margaret and my best friend Carly. “Hello,” I said without even looking at the caller id. “Well, well, well such an informal greeting for your new client.” The voice froze me. Caleb. How the hell does this man keep wiggling his way into my life? “How did you get this number? No one has this number.” I said as I started to pace my bedroom, trying to keep my voice low. “Your father. I want access to you, and I will have it. Now, Kat…” “Katherine. My name is Katherine.” I interrupted him. “Katherine,” he purred. I swore my pussy clenched at the sound. Jesus. Why does he do this to me? “What do you want, Mr. Cross? It is nearly midnight and I was about to go to bed.” My fingers were drumming against my thigh as I waited for his answer, wearing a path in my carpet. “Just to hear your voice, Kat. I mean Katherine.” “What the fuck kind of game are you playing Mr. Cross?” My patience was wearing thin. I was exhausted and not in the mood to deal with his mind games. “Caleb. You will call me Caleb, understood?” There was a change in the intensity of his voice. “Mr…Caleb, what are you trying to accomplish?” I took a deep breath trying to calm my nerves; my fingers still drumming away. “Just to get to know my new publicist.” His voice deepened now and I wondered what he was thinking about. I heard some voices in the background and then the covering of the phone. Fuck this. “Well, you can call between the hours of eight a.m. and five p.m. for those conversations. I have to go.” “You are my publicist and I will have access to you whenever I want.” The voices in the background got louder and I could make out they were female. “You know what Caleb. Fuck you. How dare you call me at this hour when you clearly are busy? Goodnight!” I hung up before I could hear his response. Who the hell did he think he was? My phone rang back immediately. I denied the call and proceeded to turn it off, along with my work phone. Any emergencies could be handled in the morning. I wasn’t ready for the shit storm Caleb Cross was going to bring to my life.

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Blurb For Pulse 

Everyone thought the world would end in a rain of atomic fire; no one suspected it would come from a piece of bad fish.

An unidentified and aggressive illness begins spreading in North Dakota, and the nation panics. People are becoming sick, losing their minds, and murdering each other in disturbing ways. The government is struggling to come up with a solution, but as the epidemic mutates within the civilian population, its grip grows stronger.

Dom is thousands of miles away near Seattle, witnessing his city collapse. The pandemic hasn't even reached them, but people are panicking and rioting as though it's already there. Holed up in his apartment with his best friend and girlfriend, Dom fears the worst.

Dr. Adam Baker dreamt of a different life; one full of scientific discoveries and not a failed marriage and twin daughters who hate him. But when the opportunity to make a difference arises and his team has to find a solution to this national crisis, he finds that what he wanted is more than he bargained for.

Who will survive in the wake of this devastation?

Excerpt & Book Cover For Pulse 

1  The Infected  In a podunk little town in North Dakota a man named Jay Lehmann died. He had no children to his name and never married. His best friend was a bottle of the cheapest whiskey he could find. Calling him the town drunk would be giving him too much credit; really, no one knew him well enough to bestow a title. Four days prior to Jay's death, he bought a slice of salmon on quick sale from the town store. The store didn’t usually get fish, being so far away from water and all. Even at its best by the time the salmon arrived, it was old. It was a real treat, but he felt like he deserved it after the bad summer. Jay pawned a ring he found while plowing his field and made thirty bucks which meant he was celebrating. The color of the fish looked a little off, but he had a stomach of iron like his momma always said. Only gotten food poisoning twice in his life, so there was no sense in wasting a good piece of fish. He seared both sides and ate it chewy in the middle, how he liked his fish. After that he got sick. Sicker than he'd ever been before. Yellow, thick sweat oozed from his pores and was sticky to the touch. Blood vessels popped in his eyes until there were no whites. On the third day he fell into a coma. On the fourth day he woke up. And wanted to kill. An agonizing pain coursed through his body, sending spasms through his arms and legs. Thoughts of every person in town who looked at him wrong flooded his mind. All he could think of was tearing their bodies apart with his teeth, hearing their screams as he took their lives away. Jay Lehmann got to his feet, ran out the door of his one room shack, and began looking for someone to rip apart and eat alive. He went back to the very grocery store he bought the fish from and tore into shoppers with the ferocity of an animal.

Lets Scare Cancer To Death Short Story Titles & Social Media Links

About The V Foundation For Cancer Research

OUR STORY

“Don’t Give Up . . . Don’t Ever Give Up!”®

Serving as the heartbeat of The V Foundation for Cancer Research, formed by ESPN and Jim in 1993, his words throughout the ESPY speech have never been more meaningful. After being diagnosed with cancer at the young age of 46, Jim dreamed of finding cures for cancer. Passionate and committed, he wanted to see his fight through to victory. As a former coach, he began to recruit his team of family and friends to lead the Foundation in his quest to eradicate the disease.

As a cancer patient, Jim recognized the need to invest in young physician/scientists to help establish their careers—after all, someone had invested in him early in his career! Addressing the need to help early-career cancer investigators develop into promising future research talents was the first goal of the Foundation. The V Scholar concept was developed in 1994 to address that need. Today, this highly respected award is eagerly sought by young physician/scientists at the nation’s leading cancer centers.

As with any patient, Jim discovered first-hand how slowly science progresses from the lab to the patient’s bedside. He wanted faster solutions, more progress and better answers. Eight years after his death, The V Foundation announced its Translational Research Grants, designed to accelerate laboratory findings with the goal of benefiting patients more quickly.

Although Jim lost his battle with cancer less than two months after delivering the ESPY speech, his dream of a cure lives on through research grants bestowed in his name. The V Foundation has awarded more than $115 million to more than 120 facilities nationwide and proudly awards 100% of direct donations and net event proceeds to cancer research.

A relatively young organization, The V Foundation has a strong presence in the scientific community. The Foundation is guided by an elite, all-volunteer Scientific Advisory Board who recommends the research projects funded. This Board is comprised of top physicians and research scientists from prominent universities and cancer centers throughout the country. Working with this team of talented professionals, we are proud to carry out Jim’s vision for the future.

Jim’s dream of finding a cure for cancer is one shared by millions. Although we have not yet achieved this goal, every day we get a little bit closer and will continue to honor his inspiring words, “Don’t Give Up . . . Don’t Ever Give Up!” ®

We ask you to join us. Make a donation. Get involved.  Visit Our Site: https://www.jimmyv.org

Watch this video to learn more about our work to fund cancer research.

Jack Wallen's 
THE LAST CASKET COVER REVEAL

And To Whet Your Appetite, Below Is An Excerpt From The Upcoming Book

Last Casket Excerpt

                ACT 1                 one | a hell of a show Everything has changed





Standing here alone again

It's time for my revenge

You put me in this casket

But this won't stop me

You need to burn in hell

No need to run away

I will find you anyway


                       ...Bride of the Monster

Wham! The crunch of the heavy Ibanez ARZ-Series guitar against the back of the zombie's skull sent a screeching feedback through the Blackstar Club 50s amplifier speaker. The sound momentarily stopped the undead bar fight.

“Kitty,” Todd Flash shouted. “Run.”

Kitty Casket was at the lip of the stage, surrounded by zombies, mic in hand and ready to crush any skull to get within striking range.

“Come on, baby,” Kitty squealed, “it's open mic night.”

With a quick windup, Kitty drove the back side of the mic through an eyeball of the nearest undead groupie. The pop of the optical membrane sent chills down her arm and bile up her throat.

“Oh hell,” Kitty protested. “I think I'm going to barf!”

Kitty withdrew the blackish-brown goo covered mic and the zombie dropped with a hollow, wet thud.

“Incoming.”

The shout came from behind.

“Kitty, duck.”

The raging voice belonged to Mike Machine. Kitty knew better than to not comply. The second she dropped to a crouch, a golden cymbal flew over her head and embedded itself into the neck of a monster. The beast didn't drop.

“Fuck,” Tom screamed as he continued forward.

“Tom, don't,” Kitty pled.

Tom was never one to listen. He jumped and landed the sole of his creeper into the symbol to finish the job.

The head and the symbol crashed to the floor.

“Come on, ya ugly bastard.” Billy the Bat was still cranking out power chords as he shouted threats to the undead audience. With each chord the zombies stuttered – almost as if the sound was painful.

“Billy, the zombies say you suck,” teased Kitty.

“Oh yeah,” Billy replied. “They can suck on this.”

Instead of battling back the approaching undead duo, Billy began playing a rockabilly take on Ozzy Osbourne's Crazy Train.

The zombies weren't impressed and marched onward.

It was Tom Mooner to the rescue. He hefted his Fender Squire above his head and dropped it down to cave in the skull of one of the zombies.

“That's how it goes,” laughed Tom.

One moaner remained. The entire band gathered together, encircling the monster.

“Here zombie, zombie, zombie. Kitty wanna play. Rowr.” Kitty teased the zombie. When it turned to face her, Billy the Bat ran a switchblade into the base of its skull. As the zombie dropped, lifeless again, to its knees, the band booed and hissed.

“What? I killed it.” Billy protested.

“Yah, but we were feeling kinda playful. Ya know, give the fucker a show and then, blamo, cave in its frontal lobes.”

“Hey, they're all dead. We did it.” Kitty was glowing with pride. “That was a hell of a show.”

Billy the Bat cleaned off his knife as he spoke. “Our best yet...if you take into consideration our entire audience was comprised of the undead. Actually, this kind of sucked. We need real, living people to play for.”

“And to pay us.”

Tom's interjection sucked the wind out of the band.

“This damned apocalypse,” Kitty started, “it's impossible to find gigs. Before, our only competition was the likes of Nekromantix and Horror Pops. Now we're facing down the living dead and empty venues. I thought the apocalypse would bring a sort of perfect storm for us. I mean, come on, this is our schtick. We own this theme, right?”

The band nodded their heads in unison.

“So why in the hell can't we find gigs?”

Billy raised his hand.

Kitty hissed. “Oh for God's sake, Billy, this isn't a classroom. Put your hand down.”

“Did you ever stop to think no one wants live music now because of the noise? I mean, it is noise that attracts the undead, right?” Billy challenged the group.

Kitty stepped in close to the guitarist. “What are you saying, Mr. Bat?”

Billy's eyes darted to the left and the right, his lip quivered slightly, and his forehead broke out into a sweat. “I'm saying...I don't really know what I'm saying, actually.”

Mike Machine stepped in to save the day. “He's saying we need to find some isolated club where our ear-splitting decibels won't attract the attention of the less-than living.”

“You mean the Mengelites?” Tom Flash interrupted.

 The band booed.

“Oh come on, it's a catchy name.” Tom defended himself. “Seriously, it makes sense. The Mengele Virus is what did them in...hence Mengelites.”

“It's offensive,” Kitty spat. “It's almost as if you're glorifying one of the sickest Germans to ever exist.”

The idea that the virus which brought about the apocalypse was an extension of Josef Mengele's work didn't rest easy on the hearts of Germans. Most survivors on the planet were quick to forget that point. To many of German descent, it was a painful reminder of yet another very dark time of their people

“Come on,” Tom chimed in. “Let's pack up so we can try to locate this Nirvana that Mike mentioned.”

After a round of groans, the band began the slow process of packing up their gear and loading it into the Kitty Mobile. The van was a take on the Scooby Doo Van, only with a predominantly feline theme. Splashed on the side of the van was the band's logo and Kitty's coiffed and lipstick'd visage. The van had already been attacked by numerous zombies as well as a few groups of living humans who simply had enough of walking. Unfortunately, there was little extra room once the gear and the band were on board.

Before leaving the club, Kitty made one last walk-through in search of food and booze. As she stood in the exit, she turned back and purrred before hitting the lights and strutting out to the van.

Meow, sexy kitty, meow.

Eli Constant: DEAD TREES 2 Reveal

Eli Constant
Horror, Science Fiction & Fantasy Author
***COVER REVEAL***
Dead Trees 2

Two years of peace in a primitive setting can make anyone forget a past full of science, beasties, and blood. But when that past comes flooding back- with razor-sharp talons and speed- to pillage the present, who will survive?