Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse (Book 4): Last Fight of the Valkyries

by E. E. Isherwood

  There are lots of other little things that have been mentioned in the 80+ reviews for book 1 that I could discuss at length, but I'll just breeze over them to wrap this up. There are some complaints about not enough cussing in the zombie apocalypse. Personally, I don't mind cussing in books, but when I wrote this, I didn't feel any need to overdo it. Call it a residual effect of using my grandma as an archetype for Marty. She wouldn't want needless cussing in “her” story. My grandma never used a harsh word in my presence, much less cuss words. I generally don't talk that way around my family, though I have plenty of friends who do. I'm ambivalent on the issue, but for my book I did what I felt was true to the story. Of course, many others responded that they appreciated the story was on the clean side, and in fact I let my ten year old read the first book.

  Someone mentioned the one-dimensional racial makeup of the story. I have to wonder if that person even read the book though, as one of the central characters (Officer Jones) is clearly described as a big black man. As you readers know, book 4 has three major characters of “color.” Also, though I don't make a big deal out of it, Phil's last name is Ramos, suggesting he is Hispanic. I honestly don't know that it does anything to advance the story besides give him some depth beyond what I've written. I think my characters are concerned with larger issues. When my wife first read book 1, she imagined Victoria was also Hispanic, even though I don't recall any indication of race. Go figure.

  Well, that's all the highlights of the reviews for this edition of my ramblings. If you care to add creative reviews to any of my books you've read, I'll mention them in the notes of my next book! Thank you, truly, for being a reader!

  E.E. Isherwood, April 17, 2016

  Sample of The World Burns

  I am pleased to introduce a book sample from fellow author Boyd Craven III. Some of you will undoubtedly already know him from his prolific works in the post-apocalyptic genre. I know him from the author side--he helps new authors with advice, feedback, and support. I couldn't think of a better way to say thanks than to include a sample of his work and recommend you check him out while you are waiting for my fifth zombie book to release this June.

  The World Burns

  Copyright © 2015 Boyd Craven III

  The World Burns

  By Boyd Craven

  All rights reserved.

  Sample of The World Burns provided to E E Isherwood by Boyd Craven III

  Chapter 1

  Blake never had much money, but living frugally was second nature to the guy who did odd jobs for everyone in town and wrote a blog about living off the grid. Most of the work he did was handyman work. None of it was licensed or inspected, but it was good work that would pass. The folks who paid him didn’t care about a piece of paper and knew quality when they saw it. Blake loved spending all his free time blogging or outdoors. He spent most of his time in the bottomlands of Kentucky where he lived. Fishing, hunting, and growing a big vegetable garden made for a quiet and solitary lifestyle, and he didn’t need much in the way of income.

  He’d inherited ten acres from his grandpa that had an old barn full of one hundred years of assorted junk. That was where he built his small homestead. At first he had a camper trailer on site, but as money came in little by little, he started to build a simple home for himself. Being a jack of all trades and master of none, he was easily able to purchase the materials he needed and the equipment necessary to dig and hand-pour a basement. He then spent the next two years building the house. He’d worked as many jobs as he could find, including a paper route, to get all the materials he needed purchased. He finally finished the house of his dreams.

  There never was a missus out there; not many ladies would like to live so far away from town, and the only electricity he had was from the twenty-four-volt Uni-Solar roofing he’d bought on the cheap. He used it to power his well and two small chest freezers. One of the freezers was actually converted into a small fridge, and took a lot less energy. He’d found the conversion kit on Amazon of all places for around fifty dollars, made by Johnson Controls. He put those in another portion of the basement where it was cooler, hoping that it would take less energy that way. The Internet was taken care of by a wireless air card and his laptop, or his cell phone. The most expensive part of his house was the big deep-cycle batteries. Blake kept them and the charge controller stored in a special room in the basement so they’d never freeze or get stolen.

  The day he moved out of his camper and into the house was a joyous day, and although Blake could have used the propane wall heater in the camper, he instead installed a little potbellied stove for heating and cooking. With two years living through the mild Kentucky winters in a camper, he was more than ready for a little bit of comfort, and he set about finding furniture to fit the house. Wondering where to look first, he was startled by his cell phone breaking the silence.

  “Hello? Blake’s Handyman Service,” he said, not recognizing the number.

  “Hi Blake, this is Pastor Duncan. We have a leaky pipe here at the church, and I can’t figure things out.”

  “Ah, hi Pastor. I’ll be right over.”

  “Thanks Blake,” he said and hung up the phone. Furniture shopping would have to wait.

  Getting into his almost used up 70s Dodge D truck, he prayed the old beast would turn over. The old diesel engine needed some serious work, and he hadn’t had the time to do it, as it’d all gone into finishing the house. After a couple tries, the truck belched a dark cloud and rumbled as it idled.

  “I should have all the tools already,” Blake mumbled to himself.

  He headed into town, not knowing how his life was about to change.

  Chapter 2

  “Okay Pastor Duncan, I got it all squared away,” he told the portly man.

  “How much do I owe you?” The pastor had a checkbook out and a pen poised to the paper.

  “Well, it’s two hours and…” his voice trailed off into nothing as a slender woman came walking in, her dark brown hair cut short, almost in a spike. Most ladies that turned his head had long, flowing hair, but this one was different. She had a presence that made him notice. She had freckles spread across her cheeks and dark green eyes that hinted at the fun and excitement she’d seen in her life.

  “Hello, I’m Blake,” he held his hand out as she stopped next to the pastor and gave him a quick one-armed hug.

  “Oh, sorry, how rude of me. Blake, this is my daughter, Sandra. Sandra, this is Blake.”

  “Pleasure,” she said with a smile, showing her teeth. His heart felt like it was laboring to start again, and he couldn’t quit staring.

  “So Blake…?”

  “Huh?” He looked at the priest again.

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “Well, this is the only church in town and all. How about we call this tithe for this week?”

  “Nonsense. What’s your usual rate?”

  “Thirty-five an hour,” he admitted after a pause. “But it was a simple fix. I spent more time showing you how to fix it next time it happens. How about we call it oh…twenty-five dollars, and the rest is tithe?”

  “Why twenty-five?” Sandra asked him.

  “It’s how much a fuel pump costs.”

  “Is that your truck out front?”

  “The one with the tools?” He was glad to have a chance to get the younger lady talking to him. She was an adult, but almost too pretty to look at for long without getting caught staring.

  “Yeah, must be. You know how to put one in?”

  “A fuel pump? Sort of. I work on just about anything, but it’ll be a first with that old beast.”

  “Here you go,” Pastor Duncan smiled as he pushed a check into Blake’s breast pocket and left the room unnoticed.

  “If you want a hand, I know that truck like the back of my hand.”

  “How?” He knew it was dumb to ask, and it probably broke some sort of ethics thing, but a lady, a pretty lady, who knew mechanics?

  “Well, the army unit I
was stationed with had a ton of them. You get the parts, they run forever. Especially the diesels like you got.”

  “You were in the army?” Surprise after surprise floored the thirty-year-old man. “You look like you just graduated high school.” He winced when he realized how insulting that must have sounded.

  “It’s okay, you don’t have to pull your foot out of your mouth. I get that a lot. I’m actually twenty-eight, and the motor pool was my life until about two months ago.”

  “Thanks.” He laughed in relief at not getting called out for his careless tongue. “Tell you what, I’ll be in town again on Friday to pick up an order I have coming in. Maybe we can borrow Pete’s Garage, and later on, I’ll take you out for something to eat?”

  Blake realized not once had he checked out her finger to make sure she was available. He was about to apologize when she smiled and nodded.

  “That sounds wonderful actually.” She took his hand and gave it a squeeze and wrote her number for him.

  He left the church and headed to the bank, surprised when he pulled the check out and found it was made out for one hundred and fifty dollars. He was going to complain, but the money was already being counted by the teller. He could always stuff the rest into the donation basket the next time he was in town for church. It would be awkward to do without an envelope, so he snagged one from the bank and then walked across the street to the supermarket.

  “Morning Blake.” Sally, his mother’s best friend when his family had been alive, greeted him as he walked into the small air-conditioned grocery store. “Picking up supplies?”

  “No ma’am, just wanted to get a paper and maybe a bottle or two for later on.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. I’ll swat you down if you try to buy some—”

  Sally broke into a smile as Blake got two Diet Cokes from the refrigerated case and put them on the counter along with a newspaper. If he was in town, he might as well check Craigslist ads and the paper before heading back home. Trips to town cost him in terms of fuel, and though he lived a frugal life by necessity, he had brought some cash of his own just in case he found something.

  “That’ll be four dollars and five cents, hon.” She smiled. He paid her and left the store.

  The heat in the truck hit him like a ton of bricks, but Blake rolled down the windows and spread out the newspaper before cracking into his first cola. The advertisement page held almost nothing of interest. At least, nothing that wasn’t way too expensive. He was about to give up and check Craigslist on his phone when he saw an advertisement that caught his eye. Storage Unit Auctions, Friday July 9th, 2 p.m. Smiling, he started the truck and headed back towards the house, the thirty minute drive soothing despite the deep ruts of the two-track lane.

  Chapter 3

  Blake didn’t get any more calls that week for folks needing a handyman, so he used some of the camping furniture in the house. He had fun testing out the gray water system he had set up on his sink and shower. Just having a pressurized shower felt luxurious. He’d easily made his water heater using one-inch pex tubing and coiling it inside an insulated box covered in glass. The whole thing was mounted on the roof. With only one side dedicated to solar, the other was still available. The pipes ran down to the basement and fed throughout the house wherever hot water was needed.

  Friday came after a long week of gardening, and he spent a little more time on how he looked. He trimmed his hair the best he could and had the best shave ever, now that he had a big mirror to stand in front of in his otherwise empty house. If he planned things out right, he could get the parts, go fix the truck, go to the auction, and then go on a date. It’d been years since he’d last gone on one, and Blake stressed over what to wear. In the end, he put on his best shirt and the best jeans he had with a clean pair of work boots. He hitched up an enclosed trailer he’d had forever to his truck so he had extra room to haul his findings

  After leaving the auto parts store, he thumbed in Sandra’s number and waited for her to pick up.

  “Hello?” Her voice was music to him.

  “Hi, this is Blake. I’m in town today doing some stuff and—”

  “Great! I already talked to Pete, and he said we can use the bay with the lift.”

  “You know Pete?”

  “Of course. I went to school with his daughter. I’ve been working off and on for a day or two there to have some rolling around money.”

  He laughed. “That’s good news. When do you want to—”

  “I’m ready now if you are. Meet you there.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you soon.” He hung up.

  He pulled into Pete’s parking lot and dropped the trailer in one of the back parking spots. He noticed Sandra immediately. He pulled in as she directed him and stopped. For an hour they worked on the truck, and Blake learned a ton of new tricks on diesel maintenance. With a new fuel pump and water filter, some tweaks and vacuum tubes replaced, the truck was purring like a kitten.

  “What’s the Trailer for?” Sandra asked him as they were washing their hands with some goop.

  “Well, I just finished building my house, but I’ve been sleeping on the floor…So…I thought I’d go to an auction today and see if they had any beds, chairs. That sort of thing.”

  “Sleeping on the floor? Why would you do that?”

  “It’s better than the camper, trust me.” He smiled at the bemused look she gave him.

  “You can’t live in a camper in town. Where are you?”

  “Out on Holloway Trail.”

  “That isn’t a trail, that’s an old logging track.”

  “I have ten acres up there I got from my grandparents. Nice and quiet.”

  “I bet. Well, let’s go to the auction then.”

  “Uh, I didn’t ask you because, I mean, you’re welcome to come of course but,” he stammered.

  “You didn’t think I’d want to go to something so boring? No, I won’t consider that part a date…and you have to quit thinking you’ll stick your foot in your mouth around me. I’m just a normal girl.”

  --End of Sample --

  If you liked this sample, you can find the rest of the story for free via kindle unlimited or .99 on Amazon here: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00UE1QH1G.

  Boyd's mailing list signup for new releases: http://eepurl.com/bghQb1

  Sample of Post Apocalyptic Ponies

  Introduction to E.E. Isherwood's Revolutions Per Mile series.

  Being a writer gives me all the advantages of being a picky reader. If I can't find a book that is exactly what I want to read, I can write it. My first series of books dealt with zombies and the survival of a 15-year-old boy and his 104-year-old great-grandmother. That allowed me to explore the world of the young man as he was faced with the challenges of an unfolding emergency. They aren't traditional heroes nor are my zombies traditional zombies. But they are the types of stories I love to read. As of April, 2016, I'll have four volumes in Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse.

  The Revolutions Per Mile series takes place after America's collapse. Instead of zombies, the culprit of the world's demise is thought to be nuclear war. My heroine, Perth Hopkins, is a young girl who grew up wrenching with her father as he worked on his sports cars. That knowledge gave her the leg up she needed to escape the mushroom clouds and find refuge on the high plains of Kansas.

  But as a reader I wanted to focus less on the cause and more on the result. I imagined Hays, Kansas as a focal point for people fleeing the big cities at opposite ends of Interstate 70 (Denver and Kansas City). Those with the fastest cars would arrive there first, be in the best position to make the rules, and so on. Speedy modern muscle cars would find a place in the ecosystem of the post apocalyptic high plains. The cars are well-maintained, drawing spare parts from the multitude of vehicles abandoned on the highways, and fuel is plentiful because of the relationship with the oil fields of North Dakota. Drivers like Perth would do well in such an environment, though the challenges would only grow as survivors became more desperate
and the cars themselves began to break down.

  America's lifeblood is its highways. I believe Kansas is where that blood will flow the longest. See if you agree. I hope you'll find this introductory story exciting as we take a look at this New World through Perth's eyes.

  Welcome to Post Apocalyptic Ponies.

  E.E. Isherwood

  Revolutions Per Mile Series

  Post Apocalyptic Ponies

  Post Apocalyptic Mustangs [May, 2016]

  Post Apocalyptic Chargers [June, 2016]

  Post Apocalyptic Ponies Prologue

  The long ribbon of pavement brought me to this place when I was fifteen. It chewed on my leg like a feral dog for two years until I was old enough and talented enough to get behind the wheel and tame it. Once I tasted the road, I bled gasoline.

  I now live in high plains Kansas. It's an island of safety between the glowing nuclear pyres. Girls my age must work to survive, same as everyone else. My unfortunate sisters have to toil in the fields or wrench in garages. They go slow.

  I'm one of the lucky few: I spend my life going fast as a courier. I feel the wind through my hair. I get to see what's over the horizon. I do everything in the top gear. Without us drivers, this place would be nothing more than tumbleweeds and hawks.

  I never look back, except for my dad. He perished with the rest of the world. Truth be told, I wanted to die with him. But some days, when I drive very fast, he returns to me. Tells me I'm pushing too hard.

  He always forgets. Out here, there's no slowing down.