Horror Month Presents: Armand Rosamilia

I get to introduce to you tonight one of my favourite zombie writers, the man who peaked my very first interest in the zombie world. Not only does he have very cool taste in music, but he writes some pretty cool stories too. You should go read them and see for yourself, but be warned, this dude does not do things lightly. Don't let his kind face fool you. This is horror. This is horror to the max...

I'll hand it over to him now, and let him tell you all about himself and his brilliantly revolting writing.

Enjoy...


Name: Armand Rosamilia


Website: http://armandrosamilia.com

Other contacts/social media sites:   

https://www.facebook.com/armand.rosamilia 

https://twitter.com/ArmandAuthor    

http://www.linkedin.com/profile/view?id=40918429&trk=nav_responsive_tab_profile


Link to your Amazon page and or any other place that your books can be purchased:

http://bit.ly/ArmandR

Where did you grow up?

I was born in Newark, New Jersey and grew up in a little fishing town called Belford, about an hour south of Newark. I had a great childhood and was close enough to the major cities I could go and do cool things without having to be in the center of it at all times.

What made you start writing?

Dean Koontz books my mother had. I read every paperback of his and at twelve decided I wanted to write horror books.

Is it something that you have always wanted to do?

Yes, once I realized Dean Koontz was a bagillionaire and lived in a giant mansion and wrote a book a day and sold them. I was twelve. Even when I found out the harsh realities of writing it was too late, I was hooked.

What is your favourite genre to read, and do you have any favourite books or authors you would like to recommend?

I actually mostly read non-fiction. I love entertainment persona autobiographies and biographies more than reading fiction in the last few years. I find more ideas from a history book when I write horror than reading and copying ideas from another horror author. That being said, there are a few great authors I will still always read: Joe McKinney, Mark Tufo, Bryan Hall, Tim Marquitz, Scott Nicholson… and many many others. I read a lot.


Do you ever base your characters on anyone that you know, or are they solely from your imagination?

It varies. There are many characters based physically on people I know, or named for certain people in my real life. Sometimes I'll end up using a certain person's personality when I'm writing a character. At other times the entire person in the story is made up and not close to anyone I know.                       

Tell us about your latest book. The story/plot.

"Dying Days 3" continues the story of Darlene Bobich, trying to survive the zombie apocalypse. As if her and her fellow survivors didn't have enough to worry about (the zombies don't only want to bite you, they want to sexually violate you), but now some of the zombies have started to remember who they are and how to do basic things. And they are still pissed off.  

What gave you the idea?

The idea for the zombies becoming cognizant was actually part of the beginning idea for the first story but I took my time getting to it, dropping hints in the first two novellas as well as some of the other stories in the series. The idea came from the simple idea about zombies and once everyone was dead… where would the food come from? If they wanted to survive there needed to be an adjustment. 

What genre is it?

Horror. Zombie horror. Extreme zombie horror.

Who is your favourite character? And why.

Easily the main character, Darlene Bobich. Probably out of any character I've ever written, and I've created quite a few (I currently have about 100 releases for sale on Amazon). I like her because she isn't a superhero or an unflinching badass. She's a normal person trying to survive. She gets scared, she cries, she has breakdowns. She is normal. I like to see where she'll go next and how she'll evolve in each story. 

And worst?

Worst characters I've written up until "Dying Days 3" were the zombies, actually. They were one-dimensional biting machines and I never focused on them as much as the survivors. Now, with the turn of events in the third book, I can have some fun giving them some unique traits and seeing which ones stand out.  

What are your hopes for it?

World peace. Or selling enough books to keep feeding my kids. I want to give my loyal readers a great book to latch onto, and hope it will bring in new readers all the time. 

What’s the project that you’re going to be working on next?

I always have half a dozen projects I'm writing at any given moment. Right now I am writing in my contemporary fiction stories, Flagler Beach Fiction Series, which is totally different from what I've been doing. I'll also be working on "Dying Days: Origins," which tells the prequel tale of Tosha Shorb (from "Dying Days 2") as well as an anthology of other author's writing tales set in the "Dying Days" world. And about a million other things. 

What’s the best piece of advice that you have been given in regards to your writing, and by whom?

My creative writing teacher in high school, Miss Stansky, told me to stop writing for other people and to just write for myself. I was writing 'cool' or 'cute' stories my friends would like, and she told me to write them for me. If they were any good, people would want to read them. She was right.

---

---

Dying Days 3 Cover

Now we get an excerpt from Dying Days 3! I'm calling it an extract, but in all honesty, it's a huge chunk of book. I couldn't find a good place to cut off, that's just how good it is...

---

Dying Days 3 Excerpt

Prologue

Frank.

He had a name, once, and it was Frank. He had a last name, but he couldn't remember it. His thoughts, at the moment, were on trying to figure out what exactly a last name was.

The noise he heard was the ocean and he moved his stiff neck and looked down to see his shuffling feet kicking up sand on a beach. Frank had never been to the beach. Never felt sand on his toes, but he was doing it now. He was barefoot. He didn't know why.

Frank couldn't stop walking. He was being driven by something, an anger… but he didn't know who he was mad at. He knew he was raging, though, and needed to strike out and rip someone apart. He didn't know why, but, suddenly, knew it was the only reason to keep moving.

There were others on the beach, but he felt nothing toward them. No anger and no need to destroy them. They moved in the same flowing, general direction as he did. One would veer off and walk into the waves or over the dunes, and he could see more stepping out of the surf and joining the walk.

Zombies.

The word came unbidden to his mind. These were zombies, undead, monsters… and they were in search of the living, to tear them apart, to rape them, violate and break all in their paths. They weren't evil. They were just hungry.

Frank willed himself to stop. A man, with his head broken and at an odd angle, bumped into him. Frank lashed out, with creaking arms, and knocked the zombie to the ground.

It felt right. This mindless creature struggled to rise on battered legs but seemed incapable of simply rolling over and pushing himself up.

Frank knew how to stand. He knew the mechanics of how to drive a car, how to brush his teeth, how to make love to his wife.

His wife had been sick? Frank remembered bits and pieces of memory. He lived in Montreal. He worked in a dead-end job selling newspapers. His wife had been back to Sweden to see her sick mother. By the time she'd returned to Canada, she was coughing and wouldn't talk about the visit or her mother.

He couldn't remember his wife's name, but he remembered the bite mark on her forearm. The wound festered and he'd taken her from the airport right to hospital.

There was an incident. Frank remembered a nurse and doctor being bitten. By his wife? Chaos in the emergency room, followed by stampeding hospital personnel and patients. He went for his wife; she was out of the bed, dragging smashed equipment as she moved.

Frank remembered trying to extricate her from the machines, pulling needles and wires from her body. She stared at the blood as it spurted from her wrist and onto his chest.

Then she'd bitten down on his neck and the pain was intense. He saw red and then… he was dead. He couldn't remember his wife's name.

Warmth on his feet, as the sun beat down. This was no Canadian beach. He had no idea where he could be, but he was walking, so it couldn't be too far.

Frank remembered biting people and savagely attacking their bodies. He remembered ripping apart orifices and, actually, having brutal sex with people until they died. The thought appalled him at first.

The zombie was still trying to get up on the beach. Frank was about to help him, but then he stopped. Why should he? It dawned on him: this monster was after the same dwindling thing he was looking for. The living.

Frank reached up with stiff hands and felt his neck wound. It was just a sliver of ripped skin, although, he swore she'd done a number on him before he died. He flexed his legs and it felt good. How was this possible?

The blood.

Frank knew the blood, coursing over and into his body, made him stronger. It made him grow closer to whole again. With each living body he consumed, he was closer to being fully formed. He needed to find humans before the rest of these weaklings did.

He knew by looking at them, as they walked by, they weren't conscious of their surroundings or aware like he was. He didn't know why, and he didn't care.

"I was in the first wave. My wife was patient zero," he actually whispered through cracked lips, and was amazed he'd spoken. He felt his vocal chords flexing for the first time in, what, days? Weeks? Months? Years?

The zombies around him were growing as well, but they were nowhere near where he was. But, in time, they would rival him, and grow aware. They would try to destroy him as the enemy. Frank couldn't have that. He was even angrier now, but he let it wash over him. He could control it, little by little. He knew his brain was now his driving force, and not the insatiable hunger.

With his back threatening to pop, Frank bent down and lifted the zombie to its feet. The mindless creature began to shuffle away without a notice to Frank or the help.

Frank moved behind him and wrapped both arms around its neck, crushing the unused windpipe and yanking as hard as he could, trying to dislodge the head from the body. He struggled for several minutes before stopping. The zombie didn't fight back; its feet still trying to propel it forward.

Finally, the head snapped back and the zombie went lifeless. Frank dropped it to the beach. One less to contend with. The beach was filled with them.

Claudia.

His wife's name was Claudia, and he'd met her online. In a chat-room. They'd talked and had webcam dates for months before she flew from Sweden for a visit. She never really left, moving in with him, getting a job at the local daycare, and only returning to Sweden to pack her things and for family emergencies. They'd been wed six months later, a small ceremony attended by friends and family. Their honeymoon was spent in Florida, a week holed up in a hotel room making love while the sound of the waves crashed outside their balcony.

Frank knew he wasn't in Montreal, and he wanted to find his wife. Or did he? She would try to feed off the living as well, and once the stock was gone, he knew he would become a dried husk. He needed the living.

Another zombie got too close and Frank twisted its neck until he heard the snap. These creatures had no fresh blood he could use, but they needed to be eliminated.

Frank trudged down the beach, weaving back and forth as he came across new undead, breaking necks with wild abandon and feeling better and better as he did, using muscles he'd not used in a long time.

There was a pier up ahead and he made his way to it, dropping bodies as he moved from side to side. He went to the dunes and snapped the neck of a little girl, bloody and carrying a small yellow shovel. Two men came out of the surf and he made his way to them. They didn't resist or seem to notice him. He dispatched both, feeling his atrophied muscles seeming to come back to life.

By the time he made his way up to the boardwalk and onto the pier, he was grinning, which hurt, but not as much as he thought it would. 

He could read the signs around him, as his bare feet slapped on the warped wooden boards. The large building, at the mouth of the pier, was a restaurant. Frank thought he'd seen it before, and knew Claudia was in the car with him. A rental car. His honeymoon?

The sign painted on top of the building said FLAGLER BEACH.

Where he'd spent his honeymoon. In Florida.

Frank had walked about 1,400 miles. How long would that take?

His nostrils expanded and he took in some of the fresh salt air. A zombie walked right up to him before veering to his left. Frank broke another neck.

He began moving north on A1A, sure this was the direction he'd gone when he was here with Claudia. He needed a place to stay and recover. He could feel his body struggling to survive and grow now. His wounds would heal and his blood would begin flowing again. Frank just knew it. Would he be able to pass for human? Would he be able to get close to them without being destroyed? His mind was filling with memories and thoughts and overloading.

He needed time to process everything in his head, and form a game plan.

The streets weren't crowded with zombies but there were enough of them. He knew it was pointless to wander and try to kill every single one of them, but if he didn't they would eventually gain consciousness and try to destroy him. He'd been one of the first. He had no idea how many more, from the initial wave of attacks, were still out there, and if they were plotting as well. He couldn't take the chance.

He stopped, the hot pavement burning his feet. He didn't actually feel the pain but it was instinctive to him. His feet were black with grime and the bottoms were probably flayed of skin. It would grow. He needed to find shoes to wear.

Across the street was an abandoned restaurant with a wooden walkway leading to its front door. Java Joint. It was a coffee place, the windows blown out. Frank decided he would stay there, out of the sun and away from any of the living. He would gain strength and destroy any zombies who got too close.

He would begin to plot his next move. But, first, he needed to find a good pair of Nikes. And a living person so he could bathe in its blood.

---

Chapter One

"If I hit the next three in a row, you owe me a kiss," John Murphy said to Darlene Bobich. "Deal?"

"Fine. But I get to pick the targets."

John shook his head. "No way. You'll see a zombie out in the middle of the damn ocean and point him out. It has to be in range and fair."

Darlene smiled. By now, he knew all her tricks. She walked to the side and looked down at the multitude of undead wandering the dunes, underneath her stilt house, and on A1A. She pointed out three zombies in the distance but still in range of his crossbow. "Hit all three and I will give you a kiss."

John smiled. "I'm hoping for a big, sloppy kiss. Not some lame peck on the cheek."

Darlene blushed and looked away. Even though they'd been playing this game for a long time, they still hadn't done anything about it. Each day the flirting got more intense, the sexual innuendos more pronounced, and she caught him staring at her and smiling when he thought she wasn't noticing.

And she stared at him. Constantly. Since coming back from St. Augustine, things had changed between them. They were even more awkward, in fact. Darlene wanted him and she knew he felt the same, but there was something holding them back. It wasn't the thought of his wife out there, still alive, somewhere. Darlene had overheard John and Murph, his dad, talking about it the other night.

"You don't want to hear it, son, but she's gone. If she isn't, there's no way she'll find you down here. I loved her like a daughter, but there comes a time in a man's life when he needs not dwell on the past and what might happen. You have a great girl right here, and you know you can't afford to waste anymore time," Murph had said.

"I know. I really like Darlene. Shit, I'm in love with her. But it still feels like cheating. I love being with her, love everything about her. Yet… if I commit to us, it will feel like I let my marriage go. The commitment we had."

"There are no more laws."

"There is for me, pop. There's still a God above us, and he still wants us to obey him. You know my marriage vows are still in my heart."

"I thought I raised you better than that," Murph said with a snort. "All law-abiding. It makes your rebel old man sick. But I get you. More than you think. But don't let her get away from you, because Darlene is special. She won't always be here. Someday, she's going to get sick of this game you two play, or head back to Maine and home, or find another man."

"Better than me? I doubt it."

"Shit, boy, you better make your move. If this old man finds some little blue pills in one of these raids, I'll be giving you a run for your money with her."

"First one gone. Are you even paying attention?" John said to her, bringing her back to the present. "I'm not falling for your lame tricks. If I hit them, they count."

"Whatever. Big baby."

The second one was dropped with little effort. John puckered his lips. "Wet your whistle, because the John John train is about to pull into the station.

"Dork."

John leaned against the railing and aimed the crossbow. "The one with the blue shirt, right?"

Darlene came up next to him. "Yes."

"Get ready to kiss me."

Darlene slid a hand between the rail and his jeans and lightly stroked his crotch with two fingers.

The shot went wide, disappearing into the dunes.

"No way, I get a do-over!" John cried.

"Do-over? Are you five?"

"You know you can't do that." John shook his head. "I get another chance."

"Nope." Darlene puckered her lips and blew him a kiss. "This is as close as you're getting, John John."

"You don't play well with others."

"I never said I did. And you lost. How are you going to survive in this cold, dark world? You let a little thing like that distract you. Thankfully, it isn't a life or death situation, or you'd be a zombie. And I'd get to shoot you in the head."

"I love it when you talk dirty. I want a rematch."

"Maybe next time." Darlene lifted her tanned face to the sun and put her hands on her hips. She'd been gaining back a few pounds since their return. She didn't think she'd ever be the overweight girl she was when this all started, but she wanted some of her curves back. She'd replaced some fat with muscle, and probably weighed more. But she was getting solid. And she knew John was responding to her.

But she didn't want to rock the boat. If he was still in love with his wife, she didn't want to come between them. And she knew a kiss might lead to so much more, in the blink of an eye. She wanted it, but didn't want to be the reason he did something regrettable. It was better to have the fantasy with him. To flirt every day, have his back when they hunted and be good friends. But it was starting to strain their relationship. She knew John was fighting a constant war inside his head about her.

"You know I would've made that shot. No problem."

"Yet, you had a problem making the shot. Weird."

"Someday…"

Darlene laughed. "Someday might never come, you know. You're so Charlie Brown to my Lucy. I keep pulling the football away. You'll never learn, will you?"

John was trying not to laugh. "Tomorrow, we'll do it again, only I'll get Eric over here to hold you back."

"And then I'll flash my boobs at you or show you my thong, and you'll probably shoot Eric in the foot."

"Probably."

"Besides, you're forgetting the most important part of your loss."

"What?"

"I grabbed your dick."

John blushed and looked away. "I didn't forget. It's just… I guess I lost but really won."

"I'd like to think so." Darlene opened the door to her stilt house. "I'm going to make coffee. Want some?"

"Sure. I'll be in. Give me a minute."

"I will bring your cup out. We can sit out here. If you look far enough out to sea, you can't see zombies looking to eat you. It makes for a pleasant way to enjoy coffee. I might even have something to snack on."

"I'll set the chairs up." John was smiling at her.

"What's that look for?"

"Nothing." He turned away again. "Just glad to have met you."

Darlene walked up to him and put a hand on his arm. "Same here. I can't imagine going this alone."

"I know I keep sending you mixed signals, and I'm sorry. You have to know I want to be with you. But I can't right now."

"Shh." Darlene put a finger up to his lips and, suddenly, wanted him to kiss it, but knew it would be wrong. "You don't have to explain a damn thing to me. Let's just kill the rest of this afternoon sipping coffee and pretending there's a future for all of us."

"Alright."

Darlene leaned in, suddenly, and kissed his cheek. "I cheated, so you get the kiss."

"I'll take it."

Darlene pulled away before she really kissed him. She was excited just being this close to him. "Coffee coming right up."

---

Chapter Two

Eric White took the binoculars back from Chris Gray. "Anything?"

"Nothing," Chris said.

"I don't get it." Eric scanned the beach, the pier and A1A. There were no zombies in sight. He'd been quite proud of all the traps, pits and fences he'd constructed in this stretch of Flagler Beach. But he couldn't block the ocean off completely, and they'd seen more and more undead being swept in from the water and deposited here.

"Two weeks ago we took out a dozen of them." Eric looked around.

"Maybe they moved on?"

Eric glanced at Chris, seated next to him on the dune buggy. He disliked the guy. Everyone thought he was creepy, and he was. He lived in the furthest stilt house and kept to himself. The only reason he was out here, helping, was because Darlene had forced him to. Otherwise, he'd ignore everyone until he ran out of something.

"We'll check the pier." Eric drove the dune buggy up A1A, keeping his eye out for an ambush. Not that these mindless creatures were capable of setting a trap, but they could be just over the next dune, hundreds of them, swarming and, now, attracted to the roar of the engine.

When Eric pulled into a parking spot, he wasn't surprised to see no zombies loitering. But the neat stack of bodies placed under the pier shocked him.

Chris saw it as well, and hopped off with his baseball bat and rifle.

Eric looked around, expecting to see a sniper on the roof of Finn’s, the corner restaurant, or movement across the street at Veteran's Park. But it was quiet.

"Are we going down there?" Chris asked. He clearly didn't want to.

"We need to ascertain what's going on, so we can report back. Come on, and keep your eyes open. By the look from here, I'd say we have living company in the area."

They went down the steps to the beach.

"Why spend time piling up the dead?"

"Maybe there is a large group and they want to make this a safe haven. Who knows? I just hope they want to talk first and do not try to shoot us." Eric pulled his 9mm. "Move away from me, so they won't have a shot at both of us at the same time."

"The bodies?"

"No, whoever did this." Eric was going to have a word with Darlene when he got back about not pairing with this kid again. He was arrogant, lazy and thought he was in charge half the time.

Eric took three steps down the stairs to the beach when the smell of decay and rot overwhelmed him and he gagged.

"Suck it up, old man," Chris said with a laugh, but his eyes were watering. "Ain't you ever smelled bad pussy? It kinda stinks like this."

Eric hopped down the last few steps, more to get away from Chris than to reach the bottom. He was about to yell at the kid for being such an idiot when the sheer volume of what he was seeing hit him.

Under the pier and stacked in even rows were bodies, piled three high and running for about fifty feet in length. But, under the boardwalk itself were more of the dead. They were piled two high, three rows deep, and ran in either direction for hundreds of feet.

"Shit," Chris said.

Eric had to agree. He started counting and figured out a rough estimate. "I'm going to say three thousand bodies, maybe more."

"That's a lot of dead. No wonder we aren't seeing any in the area. They've all been killed." Chris smiled. "This is good, right?"

Eric shrugged, covering his mouth and nose. "I hope so. But this means a large group is in the area and cleaning house. I just hope they are friendly, and, if they head in our direction, we spot them before they spot us."

"Should we try to locate them? They have to be here and close."

"No. Not until I talk to Murph and Griff. I don't want to stir up a band, especially if they are nomads and will move on. This isn't a good thing, because supplies are already picked clean in Flagler Beach and Palm Coast. I'd hate to think a large group is around and fighting for the same scraps we are, and moving like locusts."

Chris moved his lips to answer but puked instead.

"We need to get back up top. I can only imagine the disease festering with all these bodies. Hopefully, they move along and we can start burying the dead." Eric jogged up the steps and scanned the buildings on A1A. He wondered if they were being watched.

Chris came up behind him. "Now what? Do we head up 100 into Palm Coast?"

"No. We report back. We need to figure out what we're doing. You ready to ride?"

"Sure. I need to get back, anyway."

"Busy? Jerry Springer on TV?"

"Nope." Chris looked up into the sun. "I'm not a big fan of this heat, especially when you have air conditioning and cold water in the fridge. You can report back to Darlene and the others, but I'm going to take a nap."

"You're quite the team player."

Chris smiled. "I try."

Eric bit his tongue and decided to have the talk with the others about Chris. He was glad he wouldn't be at the upcoming report meeting. The kid was an idiot. "Keep an eye out for people in the buildings and on the roofs."

The dune buggy was started and they pulled away from the Flagler Beach pier and headed north. Eric kept to the center of the two-lane road and kept it slow and steady. The last thing he wanted to do was run right into a walking zombie or be going too fast to turn away and crash. 

Eric glanced at the Golden Lion, on his left. In better days, the restaurant was probably packed with customers eating fish and chips, having fruity drinks and enjoying the bright sunshine on the top deck. Now, it was filled with sand, the paint peeling and the tiki bar imploded. This far south, it was only used as a storage place. Eric pulled over.

"What are we doing?" Chris asked.

"I want to see if the stores have been taken from here. Come on, and bring the shotgun."

They stepped over a crumbling wooden booth. Eric looked up at the marquee of a regal lion with sunglasses and sighed. Such a shame. "Follow a few feet behind me. Shoot anything that moves, but don't do anything stupid."

Chris didn't comment, which was a rarity. Usually, he had some lame remark.

Eric didn't see new footprints in the sand covering the floors, but the wind was blowing through the open areas and most of them would be wiped away quickly.

Toward the back of the Golden Lion was a raw oyster bar, where they'd packed items they didn't immediately need but could be used in a pinch, like camping supplies, tents, furniture, motor oil, and lawn equipment. You never knew what you were going to need, and as items were destroyed, broken or ran out of their usefulness, they couldn't be easily replaced.

Eric used his key to unlock the Master padlock on the door. Anyone with a foot could kick the door in, but Eric insisted on the extra precaution anyway. Everything was safe inside, items piled high.

"Look," Chris said. He was pointing at some footprints around the door.

"Barefoot," Eric said. "Might be a zombie, but they aren't necessarily fresh." Eric looked up. "The bar could've just blocked the wind at the right angle. They could be days or weeks old."

"I guess. Can we go now?"

"Sure. Keep your eyes open."

"How many times are you going to tell me that?"

"Until it really sinks in."

They got back on the dune buggy and headed north again. The road was still clear ahead and behind.

Eric picked up the pace. He wanted to talk to the others now. If a large group was in the area, he doubted they would skip over the Golden Lion and would have definitely kicked in a locked door. It didn't make sense.

"Stop," Chris, suddenly, cried out.

Eric pulled over onto the side of the road.

"Back there. I thought I saw someone standing on the ramp."

Eric turned the dune buggy around slowly. "Where?"

Chris pointed at the Java Joint. "That coffee place. I swear, someone was just standing there as we drove past."

"Get the shotgun."

Eric pulled up to the bottom of the ramp and stared at the dark interior, but he saw no movement, especially from this low angle. "I'll lead. Give me the shotgun and stay a few feet behind me."

They took slow steps up the wooden ramp, careful not to trip on debris. At the top of the ramp, they stepped onto the main deck, which wrapped around the building to their left. The front doors were open, the glass long since broken.

Eric stepped inside and led with the shotgun. The tables and chairs had been jammed to either side. The wooden counter was still intact, but the cash register was on the ground in pieces. Two bathroom doors stood before him to the right. "Cover me."

The men's room was empty. Eric flung open the ladies room but it was also unoccupied. Eric pointed to the counter. "Let's check out the kitchen."

"I wish they had a cheeseburger and coffee."

Eric smiled. "Maybe they will. Stay sharp."

Behind the counter was a brush of sand from the broken side window. The cabinets were open and empty, and the soda cooler was a jagged mess. "I've been in here before. Months ago. It's been picked clean."

"Then let's get out of here," Chris said.

"Not until we check the back."

"I have your back," Chris said.

Eric wasn't too relieved by his words. The kid would run in a heartbeat, if there was trouble. "Ready?"

He didn't wait for Chris to say anything before stepping into the kitchen area. It was a wreck but just as he remembered it. There were also bare footprints in the dirt and dust on the floor. Eric didn't like it, but figured a zombie had wandered in at some point recently. More than likely, it was now piled under the boardwalk.

"Clear. Let's get out of here." Eric walked out and back into the sunshine, breathing in the clean air. At least with the demise of the human race, the pollution and noise had stopped. The air was fresh with no vehicle exhausts, cigarette smoke, and music playing. But it was lonely.

They got back into the dune buggy and started driving away.

"I'm almost positive I saw someone," Chris said.

Eric nodded. Normally, he would doubt anything the kid said, and they'd walked through the Java Joint. But Eric couldn't help the feeling they were being watched.

---

Get To Know Armand

Five facts about you that people won’t know about you. Can you juggle? Ride a bike with no hands? Drink beer upside down? Something unusual… GO!

1.  I've actually only ridden a bicycle twice in my life, and the first time I was about 20. true story.                                                                                                                                                 

2.  My goatee is so out of control now i have to let my girlfriend shelly use a straightener on it all the time.                                                                                                                                               

3.  My name is actually armando but i've always gone by armand or by mando to my friends.                                                                                                                                                

4.  I hate all condiments. ketchup, mayo, mustard… gross.                                                                                                                                                   

5. Even though i write mostly horror, i hardly ever read or watch horror anymore. i watch a ton of documentaries and read non-fiction books constantly.                                                                                                                                                            

Five facts about your newest book that people won’t know. Some background history on one of your characters maybe? Maybe it was going to be called something completely different to start out with? Is it the same genre it started out as?...


1.  "Dying Days 3" opens with a zombie becoming cognizant, which was something i'd envisioned for book two but decided to not rush it. i'm glad I didn't.                                                                                                                                                  

2.  The cover for "dying Days 3" was created by ash arceneaux, who has done most of my covers, and halfway through writing the story she sent me the initial idea for the cover. it immediately clicked because i needed a zombie to come out of the ocean, so i wrote the cover zombie into the story itself. kismet.                                                                                                                                                   

3.  The abby character is a definite homage to the real abby miller, who is part of hobbes end publishing. she was a big part of getting "Miami spy games: Russian Zombie Gun" available.                                                                                                                                                  

4.  The jeff character is loosely based on my ex-wives current husband, who i actually like. he's a corrections officer who rides a motorcycle (but not a Harley) and isn't quite the douche bag the character is in the book. i swear.                                                                                                                                                  

5.  Readers have asked why i went from more of an emsemble story like I had with "Dying Days 2" and back to just the focus being on Darlene. the story was always about darlene, and i wanted to get back to her journey. perhaps in future books you'll see some of these other characters popping back in and out.                                                                                                                                                  

Five facts about your next book… Name, genre, expected date of release… 
  
1. "Dying Days 3" extreme zombie novella                                                                                                                                              
2.  Horror/zombie                                                                                                                                             

3.  Out now                                                                                                                                              

4.  Available in print and ebook versions on kindle, nook, kobo and smashwords                                                                                                                                             

5.  Extreme situations, extreme language, extreme zombies                                                                                                                                              

Three tips that you think might be useful for other authors… anything you want. It could be, to write a certain amount every day, only write after midnight and never get Gizmo wet (Sorry, that’s Gremlins not writers! My bad.) Maybe it’s some information that was given to you that has helped your process…

1. Set a daily goal and stick to it. the goal doesn't have to be crazy, either. i do 2,000 words a day. most days I go way over, but as long as i hit that mark i am happy.                                                                                                                                      

2. Don't worry about what your peers are doing. cut the jealousy and the envy and the resentment if others are getting published and you aren't. life isn't fair. suck it up, cupcake.                                                                                                                                     

3. Read. a lot. not just in your field but in all areas. I love reading non-fiction books for ideas more than trying to rip off other horror writers.                                                                                                                                      

---

Happy Reading 

Claire ♥