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Week Of The Undead 2014 Presents: Madeline Sheehans flash fiction; Live Another Day

29/10/2014

2 Comments

 
Our next flash fiction is from the very awesome Madeline Sheehan. Go read. Go... it's awesome!
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Fantastical realm dweller Madeline Sheehan is the USA Today best selling author of the Holy Trinity Trilogy and Undeniable Series.

A Social Distortion enthusiast, lover of mud and anything deemed socially inappropriate, Madeline was homegrown in Buffalo, New York, where she can be found engaging in food fights and video game marathons with her husband and son.



Social Links:

Goodreads | Amazon Author Page | Facebook | Website |


Live Another Day

By Madeline Sheehan


Dropping down on all fours, careful not to settle heavily on any of the creaky floorboards, I crawled slowly across my living room. Like clockwork, several boards moaned in protest as my weight touched down up on them. My heart pounding, I quickly skittered right and then left, much like a crab, until I’d reached the row of windows. Swallowing hard, I gripped the windowsill and gradually pulled myself up until I could see the world outside my prison.

From my vantage point within the top floor of my five-story apartment building, I could easily view the row of shops and independent boutiques below, the afternoon summer sun illuminating the street and the several dozen people milling about.

From far enough away, it could almost be considered picturesque, just another beautiful summer day in Pearl River, New York…if the walls of the buildings weren’t blackened and charred, the doors and windows weren’t busted, and the merchandise that was once for sale wasn’t scattered, broken and shattered, across the sidewalk and street. And if the people were still actually people instead of the infection-carrying, cannibalistic, reanimated corpses they now were.

It was the same horrifying scene that had greeted me every day for two weeks now. Mrs. Havers, a once kind and elderly woman who’d owned the children’s clothing shop directly across the way, was out front as usual. Only today she wasn’t sweeping the sidewalk, wasn’t greeting her customers and passersby with kind words and a smile.

No, that Mrs. Havers was long gone. Today, like every other day for the past two weeks, the former Mrs. Havers was outside her shop, mindlessly shuffling the same ten-foot stretch over and over again. Her white hair, always carefully curled, now hung greasy and limp past her frail, bony shoulders. Her usually perfectly pressed blue summer shift was now wrinkled, caked with dirt and blood. Her vacant milky-white eyes, previously lit with the sort of warmth that only comes from living a well-lived life, were now focused on nothing in particular. Just like the others.

Worse, she was missing most of the skin on her left arm, the limp appendage hanging at an awkward angle. Her right foot was also broken, yet seemed to have little impact on her ability to continue walking. She walked and walked on an endless cycle, never sleeping, only ever pausing in her mindless movements when something would catch her attention.

As if reading from a cue card, when any one of the infected would break their mundane ritual, the entire mass of them would all stop what they were doing to turn in the same direction. Usually it was nothing. A noise off in the distance, a small animal making a commotion of some sort. They seemed to be drawn toward sound, but unless the noise continued on, or produced some sort of visual result, they became disinterested and went back to their habitual shuffling.

If only I had some fireworks. A remote-controlled airplane. Anything that could draw them away, and give me the time I needed to get out of this building and to my car. My once pristine SUV, now covered in gore and surrounded by the infected, sat only a half block down the street. Freedom was so close, yet reaching it was near impossible.

At first I’d been elated by the protection offered by these four solid brick walls. I’d been grateful that those four flights of stairs I’d once complained about daily were now the only thing separating me from the horrors that lay in wait beneath. But my sanctuary had quickly become my own personal prison.

I should have run. I should have gotten out of town when everyone else started packing up and running. I should have done a lot of things, except…

Dropping back down on my knees, I leaned my cheek against the cool wall and tried to breathe through the dizziness and nausea that threatened to overtake me. I had to keep it together. I had to keep going. Only how could I? I was quickly running out of both food and water, I felt filthy, and as far as bathrooms went, I didn’t have a working one. Forget starving to death, the rapidly declining sanitary conditions of my apartment would kill me before I could even think of opening my last can of vegetables.

Blinking away the tears that threatened, I looked blurrily across the room, seeking the small framed portrait seated proudly on the bookshelf. Taken on our high school graduation day, a friend of mine had captured the exact moment I’d come walking off the stage, my diploma in hand, and had run straight into Brian’s waiting arms. Only his profile was visible, his reddish-brown hair, a sliver of his pale, freckled skin, both a testament to his Irish heritage.

I was the dark to his light, my black hair, dark features, and bronzed skin a carbon copy of the Sicilian parents I’d lost to the whims of a drunk driver when I was only ten years old.

The picture was my favorite, depicting my husband as he really was: a tall and muscular, hardworking construction worker from Queens. And me, my smaller, much curvier frame almost entirely engulfed by him and his love. A love I’d clung to ever since I’d lost everything.

“I’ll always protect you, Becca,” he would promise.

And he had.

We’d both grown up as wards of the state, never having very much, and constantly on guard. Back then, living inside overcrowded group homes, I’d needed a protector, a champion, someone who would take care of me when no one else cared. Someone who would love me. And Brian had done just that.

During middle school he’d always kept the bullies at bay, and then later, in high school, he’d given out a fair share of black eyes to a number of guys who’d thought a child in the system would be an easy lay.

He was my first kiss, my first and only boyfriend, my one and only love.

After high school, neither of us were able to afford college. I was lucky to find a job at a local bank, and Brian, already working construction in Manhattan, joined the Marine Reserves. It was a selfless act, to ensure that we’d always have a roof over our heads, food on our table, and clothing on our backs.

The evening before his first deployment, while I cried in earnest, begging him not to leave me, he’d promised me he’d return. Seven months later, a month after he’d come home to me, we stood in front of God, the justice of the peace, and the state of New York, and he promised to love me unconditionally, to be my faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, and to cherish me for as long as we both lived. That was six years ago. We’d been friends for fifteen years, lovers for ten, married for six, and still every bit as in love with each other as we were on the day we wed.

So, no, my husband wouldn’t have forgotten me. Brian McDowell was as honest, as trustworthy, and as loving as they came. He’d never reneged on a deal, never turned his back on a friend, and had never broken a promise. Which only meant one thing.

He was dead.

Back before the infection had struck, but with the knowledge that it was making its way toward us, people everywhere had been running scared, some stockpiling resources and refusing to leave their houses, while others began resorting to looting and eventually violence. It quickly escalated, becoming too dangerous for the average citizen to be out on the streets. Despite the still calm of our quiet suburban town, Brian felt it was no longer safe for me to go to work and as usual, he was right. Two days after I called in my resignation, the bank I’d worked at since graduation was robbed, and three people were killed during the incident.

The president, in an attempt to counteract the ensuing chaos, enacted nationwide martial law. Armed military forces invaded our cities, using brute force and weapons to try to bring the citizens to heel. Brian had been among those called to duty.

Day after day, night after night, I waited, locked inside our apartment while he patrolled the streets of New York City attempting to keep the peace. Nightly, he’d call me, sounding exhausted, growing increasingly angry with each day that passed. He’d never go into specifics but I could hear the fear in his words, sense his anxiety through the phone. This went on for weeks until one day the phone calls stopped.

Two days later, I lost electricity. The following day, I lost water. And it was that same night that the screaming began. They came from every direction, some near and some far. The gunshots that followed weren’t loud enough to drown out the sheer terror, sometimes agony, that each of those screams embodied. I ignored the shouts coming from within my own building, the banging on the doors, the pleas for help. I ignored it all, tears streaming down my face, my heart racing, I ignored it and just…waited.

Sometimes I would watch people running through the street, some managing to reach their cars while others weren’t as lucky. I watched, horror-struck yet unable to look away as the infected would mob them, rip into their skin with their fingers and teeth, eating them alive. Three days later, the last scream sounded. In its place was something far worse: the quiet death that every one of the infected carried within them.

A choking whimper bubbled up in my throat, but I quickly squelched it with the slap of my hand across my mouth. Holding my breath, I squeezed my eyes closed, causing my gathering tears to leak free. As they slid, one by one, down my overheated cheeks, a violent shiver shook my body and my teeth clattered together. It wasn’t uncommon for me to feel cold despite the stifling heat. Oftentimes I found myself shaking, unable to feel warm, the bone-chilling cold coming from a place so deep inside me no amount of layers could help it. It was fear, I supposed, unescapable, and freezing me in ways no lack of temperature ever could.


At night it was worse, the only source of light the moon, every noise that sounded—the unearthly groans from the infected outside, the unexplainable creaks, scrapes, and scratches of my apartment building, even the sound of my own shortened breaths—all leaving me in a state of hair-raising, heart-pounding panic, leaving me unable to sleep.

If the lack of food didn’t eventually kill me, the fear I felt undoubtedly would. Never before had I ever felt so helpless, so unable to fathom a way out of this dire situation.

I needed Brian. I needed his bravery, his strength, his ability to think clearly when others couldn’t. I needed my husband.

That was when I heard it, a booming, resounding crack that I knew to be a gun discharging. Forgoing any sort of stealth, I jumped up to my feet and yanked the curtains open. The scene was much the same as before, only now Mrs. Havers lay still on the sidewalk, the back of her skull blown to bits. The other infected had paused in their shuffling, wildly turning their heads back and forth, seeking out the threat.

I too was seeking the owner of that bullet when another crack echoed through the streets, and directly below me another infected fell to its death. Pressing my face against the glass, I tried to see farther down the street and still saw nothing.

Two more shots were fired, and two more infected fell. Then a maelstrom of bullets zipped through the street, each one hitting their intended target. I watched, my mouth agape, as the source of the shooting finally came into view.

A lifted pickup truck, complete with rooftop fog lights, bright red flames painted along the side, and tires half my height, was rolling to a stop near the end of my block. Men and women, some dressed in plain clothes while other wore military fatigues, all of them heavily armed, were crammed into the bed of the truck, picking off one by one the few remaining infected that were slowly ambling toward them. As the truck came to a stop, several people began climbing out of the truck. Kicking the dead infected out of their way, some continued picking off what was left of the infected while the others headed toward the shops.

My heart in my throat, I flattened my nose against the glass, squinting through the glaring sunlight, eagerly searching the faces of men wearing fatigues for Brian.

Another pickup truck, this one much smaller, pulled up beside the first. Before the truck could come to a complete stop, a male figure jumped out of the back. Tall and broad, dressed in fatigues and a football helmet, he took off down the center of the street. As he drew closer to my building, I noted his broad shoulders, the mechanical and familiar way he jogged, and my heart began pounding, beating faster and faster the closer he came.

Stopping directly in front of my building, he looked up, it seemed, right at me. My breaths became short and strained as the welling excitement in my stomach grew to an unbearable level. I was going to puke, or cry, or shatter into a thousand pieces, maybe all of the above. It had to be him, it had to be him, because if it wasn’t him…

“It has to be him,” I whispered fiercely, my hands clenching into fists. “Please, God, you have to be him.”

Reaching up to grab his helmet, he pulled it off his head, revealing a familiar shock of messy reddish-brown hair. Looking directly up at me, he smiled his achingly beautiful smile, and I stopped breathing altogether.

It was him, he was here.

And I knew then I would live to see another day.

© Copyright Madeline Sheehan

Finally...well, almost finally, don't forget to hop on over to the Coffin Hop and check out some other cool blogs and giveaways.

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COFFIN HOP is the ultimate horror author/artist/creator online event running annually from October 24-31 at COFFIN HOP

Come visit us October 24 - 31 to join hundreds of authors for seven full days of terror, mayhem, madness and unseemly shenanigans. Prizes and contests at every stop. Fiction, Fury and Fun!

Happy reading book whores, 
from your horror hostess
Claire 
Don't forget to enter The Week Of The Undead Giveaway using the link below.

WEEK OF THE UNDEAD GIVEAWAY
2 Comments

Madeline Sheehan's Unbeloved is LIVE!

25/6/2014

8 Comments

 
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I have the awesome NYT Best Selling author Madeline Sheehan on the blog today, telling us all about her newest release - UNBELOVED. 

In case you've been living under a rock, let me tell you about it.
Unbeloved is the fourth installment in her Undeniable series, following the lives of Deuce West president of the Hells Horseman, and Eva West. 
It's not just a love story, it's a fucking experience. One you will connect with on so many levels.

Madeline truly has a way with words. She'll make you feel every emotion the characters go through, so that you are living the experience with them, and when you finish her books and look around you in awe, you can't help but wonder how the hell everything can just carry on.

For those of you who don't know Madeline, here's a little about her.



BIO:

Fantastical realm dweller Madeline Sheehan is the USA Today bestselling author of the Holy Trinity Trilogy and Undeniable Series.

A Social Distortion enthusiast, lover of mud and anything deemed socially inappropriate, Madeline was homegrown in Buffalo, New York, where she can be found engaging in food fights and video game marathons with her husband and son.

Social Links:

Goodreads | Amazon Author Page | Facebook | Website |


Blurb, Banner & Book Cover From Unbeloved

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Warning: This is not a conventional or predictable love story. It involves one woman and two men bound by a love so destructive it spans two decades, pitting brother against brother, and shattering the lives of those touched by it.

Dorothy Kelley is a born romantic, searching for her prince. Instead she finds herself pregnant at fifteen, and a in a loveless marriage by the tender age of eighteen.

Then hope comes riding into her life on a motorcycle and within weeks, Jason “Jase” Brady, a member of the Hell’s Horsemen motorcycle club, sweeps Dorothy off her feet.

But nothing is ever simple for Dorothy. Jase is married with children. And as Dorothy patiently waits for Jase to give her the happily-ever-after she’s been dreaming about, James “Hawk” Young, a member of the Hell’s Horsemen with secrets of his own, sees an opening into Dorothy’s life and takes it.

Carrying on two secret affairs is no easy feat. As Dorothy tries to dig herself out of the mess she’s created, covering one mistake with another, tragedy strikes, nearly costing Dorothy her life and that of her unborn son.

What follows is a long and painful journey of self-discovery and forgiveness, as Dorothy comes to realize that home was exactly where she’d left it, and the love she’d forever craved had always been within her reach.

This is the story of Dorothy, Jase, and Hawk.

We are all born pure; it is our journey that burdens us and leads us astray. Our mistakes that beat us down and cover us in guilt and shame, burying us a little more with each passing hardship. It is up to us to dig ourselves out, to come to terms with our faults, to embrace not only our imperfections but those of the ones we love, and to once again find the path we strayed from.


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Purchase Links

Amazon USA 

Amazon UK 

Special Guest Interview With Best Selling Author Madeline Sheehan, Deuce & Eva West From The Undeniable Series

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Today I have some very special guests on the blog, USA TODAY Best Selling Author Madeline Sheehan, and Deuce and Eva West from her Undeniable series.

Claire – Hi, nice to have you all here, settle in, grab a beer and let’s talk. I’d like to address Madeline first, but of course you can both speak up if you feel the need to.

Claire - Madeline, tell us about the newest book in the Undeniable series.


Madeline - The newest book, UnBeloved, is centered around the aftermath after Dorothy, Jase and Hawk’s love triangle was brought violently to light. It’s a little different than the first three books in the series as it doesn’t deal with first love or lust, but a homecoming of sorts and a realization of oneself. It’s an emotional ride, for sure, but definitely not as wild as some of the others.

Claire - I know the fans have been itching for the story of Jase, Dorothy & Hawk—me in particular. There’s something about a love-triangle that I love to hate. But for you, is there a particular story that you can’t wait to tell?

Madeline - I am itching too! To tell ZZ’s story, UnDying. It’s been a long time coming and it’s going to blow up in all our faces. It’s also the book that will bring the entire saga full circle and back to the beginning again. Actually, to say I’m excited is an understatement, I’m bloody (that’s for you, Claire) ecstatic!

Claire - When you write, do you stick to a strict outline or does the story evolve as you write it? For instance, were there different outcomes for some of the characters originally?

Madeline - I usually begin with a strict outline that veers left, plows headfirst into a tree, backs up, gets lost down a dirt road, breaks down at a dead end and goes off wandering into a dark forest. Thankfully the sun eventually comes up and shows me the way home. But there you have it. My process. Shhh, don’t tell anyone what an absolute clusterfuck it is. But honestly, it’s the only way I know how to tell a story and I’m always happy with outcome.

Were there different outcomes originally for some of the characters? No way, Jose. But there were different beginnings. I play around with ideas until I can get into the head of the character and once that happens, the story clicks and the words just flow. Off the road, into a tree…ect, ect, you get my point.


Claire - You must be pleased with how well loved the series is, I mean, you have some seriously hardcore fans. Does it make it more stressful for you? Or do you find it helps?

Madeline - A little of both. God knows, I want to please everyone, but life tends to get in the way. It is stressful when fans are screaming for the next book but at the same time I feel it pushes me to do better than the last, to give my all for them. There is no better feeling than knowing all your hard work is being appreciated. Although, after each book is finished, I do need to decompress for a bit, get out of my head and back into the real world.

Claire - So, what’s coming up next for your readers? And when can they expect to get their greedy little mitts on it?

Madeline - Obviously UnBeloved is coming, and after that I have two more books planned for the UnDeniable series: UnDeserving is Preacher’s story (before Eva’s birth) and the final book in the series, UnDying.

In the midst of all that, I’ll be working on the final book in my Holy Trinity Trilogy, something I’m dreading, having to say goodbye to those characters I’ve grown to love, but as well as being excited to move onto to other genres I’ve been dreaming of exploring. Lately I’ve been playing around with horror and I’m really enjoying the outcome, so we shall see what happens. I’m sure 2015 is going to be an insanely busy year for me!


Claire - I know that you currently have two series out – The Undeniable series and The Holy Trinity series. If I remember correctly you’re on to the last in the series of The Holy Trinity series. Do you have any more apocalyptic books in the works?

Madeline - I do. And all I can say is that I have a surprise coming very, very soon. Stay tuned. ;)

Claire - I want to ask Deuce and Eva a couple of questions now, but as previous, feel free to interject if you have something you want to add.

Claire - Deuce, you met Eva when she was just a young girl, in the years between you two meeting back up, did that young girl ever cross your mind? Obviously not in a sexual way. It was after all the start of you taking over the Hell’s Horseman, and affectively having to man up. Not that you weren’t man enough before that…wait, I’m fucking this question up. Back to my point though. Did you ever think about the little girl you met in prison and what had become of her?

Deuce - Yeah.

Eva – *looks at Deuce* Is that all you’re going to say?

Deuce – Yeah.

Eva - *looks at Claire and shrugs* Sorry…

Claire - And we know that you thought of him a lot over the years, Eva, but did you ever see yourself with him? I’ve always believed that when you know, you know.

Eva – Oh, I knew. I always knew he was it for me and I fantasized about it, definitely. But did I ever actually think Deuce and I would ever truly end up together, as a family, married and with children? Honestly, no. There were just so many obstacles. Thankfully, it didn’t turn out that way.

Deuce – Babe. Yeah.

Claire - So, the future? What do you see for it? And for your kids.

Eva – I see our kids having more kids, I see a family so huge, and so full of love. I see a happy ending for us all. *looks at Deuce* Our happy ending.

Deuce – *Grins at Eva* Babe.

Claire - And the Hell’s Horsemen? One thing we’ve all learnt through the series is that family doesn’t always mean you’re blood related. I guess that means that your family is always growing. Are there any newer members that we can look forward to getting to know?

Eva – Of course you’re going to see some of the kids fall into the life, both the boys and the girls, as for non-blood related members, you’ll just have to wait and see.

Deuce – Don’t need any more fuckers to take care of.

Claire - If you weren’t President of the club, what do you think you would be doing? You must have had ambitions when you were younger. And Eva, the same applies to you. I know that you both have each other, and your family, but taking that aside, what else would you have liked to do with your lives?

Deuce – Bitch, are you stupid? What else is there? If I didn’t have the club or my family I’d be eatin’ concrete on the way to no-fuckin’-where.

Eva – I honestly don’t know. I’ve never known anything but the club life. It was my whole life. Even when I was at college, I never really planned on doing much with my degree. The club was everything.

Claire - I’m not going to beat around, your story worked out, but it was a fucked up start to a relationship. Did you ever think that you would get to this point?

Eva – Like I said earlier, I wanted this, him, but I never truly believed it would ever come to fruition. Although, I can’t stress enough, how happy I am that everything turned out the way it did. Right, baby?

Deuce – Babe.

Claire - How’s Danny, Cage and Ivy doing? What are they up to now?

Eva – Both Danny and Cage are married, both living in their own homes. Ivy is still with us, she’s been seeing someone and Deuce isn’t too happy about it, but is Deuce ever happy about anything?

Deuce - *grunts*

Claire - I don’t believe in regrets, or mistakes, I believe that everything happens for a reason, but do any of you look back on some of the things that have happened and wish that you had done things differently?

Eva – No. I think if we changed even the simplest of things, we wouldn’t have had the same outcome.

Deuce – I think some of that shit coulda been fuckin’ avoided, yeah?

Eva – *rolls her eyes* Deuce doesn’t believe in fate.

Deuce – Fate is for pussies. We make our own fuckin’ path.

Claire - To all of you. If you could say something to your younger self, what would it be?

Eva- Peanuts. Don’t forget the peanuts.

Deuce – I ain’t answerin’ anymore woman shit.

Madeline – Make all the same mistakes. Fuck up. Go crazy. Date those assholes, keep writing, piss off your parents. It will all be worth it. Every single crazy, fucked up second of your life, is going to lead you home. And happy.

Claire - I want to thank you all for coming along today and talking to me, though I’m sure you got dragged along by Eva, Deuce J

Deuce - *grunts*

Claire - Thanks for your time.

 
Unbeloved (Undeniable #4) is out NOW at all major retailers—or at least the ones that have any fucking sense!


The Holy Trinity Series Also By Madeline Sheehan

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Get one-clicking, and as always, happy reading, book whores!


Claire C. Riley
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