It was the first time, Hunter and Rain had a chance to be alone. Hunkered down behind a hastily constructed plywood blind, they watched the road. If they saw a hoard of zombies shuffling towards the neighborhood, they would warn everyone of an attack. But, they saw only a lone directionless zombie here and there.
After spending so much time gardening, building defenses, and killing the dead, they were both tired. In other assignments, they had a few chances to exchange glances, smiles, and winks. Rain knew he wanted to connect with her and she had seen him shirtless on a cleanup detail. She thought he felt the same way. He had seen the way he looked at her as she planted seedlings.
At first Hunter didn't say much, but Rain got the conversation started. In just a few minutes, they were talking easily. Rain had never felt so connected. After all they had seen since the end of the world, they both needed to talk. Soon they touched. It was electric. There was a spark. Soon they were holding hands. He caressed her cheek. They kissed. She had never felt so alive. Soon they were doing everything young lovers could do. They did everything except watch for zombies.
Today, Hunter and Rain are still together. Out there. Somewhere. Wandering the world with a ripped bodice and no pants.
This is an author blog for Alexander Z Pain. It covers fiction writing, the zombie genre, zombies, The Walking Dead, and more.
Wednesday, November 6, 2019
Friday, October 11, 2019
New Short Story on Amazon - Neither Seen Nor Heard
If you are looking for a zombie fix, I've just released a new zombie apocalypse short story on Amazon: Neither Seen Nor Heard. This story fits right into the Zombie Complex neighborhood without any spoilers. I'm very excited about this story because it follows the harrowing apocalyptic journey of society's most vulnerable people: the elderly and young children.
In the story, a great grandfather is left to mind his great grandchildren while the rest of the family goes off to forage for food and gather supplies. Unfortunately, that was days ago. When we join the great grandfather and his young charges, they are getting hungry and worried. As food dwindles, they venture out to find something to eat. But, can these very different generations work together and survive?
I really enjoyed writing this story and hope you enjoy reading it as well. I'd really appreciate your review or rating on Amazon or Goodreads. As always, feel free to DM on Twitter or e-mail about the story. I'd love to hear your thoughts!
In the story, a great grandfather is left to mind his great grandchildren while the rest of the family goes off to forage for food and gather supplies. Unfortunately, that was days ago. When we join the great grandfather and his young charges, they are getting hungry and worried. As food dwindles, they venture out to find something to eat. But, can these very different generations work together and survive?
I really enjoyed writing this story and hope you enjoy reading it as well. I'd really appreciate your review or rating on Amazon or Goodreads. As always, feel free to DM on Twitter or e-mail about the story. I'd love to hear your thoughts!
Tuesday, May 7, 2019
Zombie Short Story: Something You Oughta Know
At a hundred miles an hour, Zeke Patterson felt alive and free. Now that the dead reigned, he was done with 11 to 7 shifts. He was done with spending his entire day down in the pit at the oil change place. Civilization had crumbled and the old rules that held him back were gone. He didn't have to put up with women who were too stuck up to go out with an oil change mechanic. In this new world, sex really was free with a rifle. Zeke grinned from ear to ear. He had shown those office women a thing or two on his way out of Atlanta.
Now, he was on the open highway south of Tifton, Georgia, and the rumble of the old Mustang's V-8 through the glasspack exhaust was music to his ears. Zeke wished he would have killed his boss and taken this car years ago. Now, he looked over at the fully tricked out AR-15 rifle on the front seat. It had a twin drum magazine with 100-rounds ready to go. His trigger finger was itching. He patted the rifle with his right hand and wished he could use it again.
When his eyes returned to the road, he saw a frail looking dead woman in a blue polka dot dress shuffling along in the middle of the highway. Zeke realized there was no time to use his rifle. But, at a hundred miles an hour, it didn't matter. The zombie was obliterated with a slight twitch of his hand at the wheel.
"Mustang Mach 1, baby, Mustang Mach 1!" he yelled out of his window as the shattered remains of a woman disappeared in his rear view mirror. Zeke was too far down the road to see the bloody torso of the female zombie continue her crawl towards Valdosta.
"I am a total bad ass in this world," Zeke yelled to himself throwing an empty liquor bottle out of his window, "A total effing bad ass!"
As the sun got lower in the sky, he realized that he was hungry. He needed something to eat and he needed it right now. These dumbass redneck farmers would feed him or they would pay. Zeke pointed the yellow and black pony car towards the nearest exit. They better turn over their daughters, too.
He roared off the southbound ramp and onto the two lane black top with so much speed that the big muscle car slid across the road and put two tires in the grass of the shoulder when he cranked the wheel hard to the right. Right lane, wrong lane: it didn't matter now. It was his lane. He floored it and the Mustang left burning rubber and a trail of bouncing rocks behind him.
Moments later, Zeke spotted an old farm house surrounded by fields and whipped the car into the driveway. The blood-spattered Mustang made short work of the farm's flimsy front gate and roared to a stop in the driveway beside the old house and in front of the equally ancient detached garage. From the backyard, an old bearded man perched upon a bucket looked up in disgust from a spot in his little vegetable garden. Zeke grabbed his rifle, leaped out of the car, and ran into the backyard. As he approached the garden he noticed a holstered revolver sitting on aluminum cover of a small brick pump house by the garage. This old man is slow and dumb, too, Zeke thought to himself.
"What in the hell are you doing?" the old man asked taking off his dirty gardening gloves.
"I'm here to take your food and anything else your farm has to offer," Zeke replied training his AR-15 on the old man's chest.
"Well, my name is Jeb and, seeing as you just broke down my front gate, I'm not offering you much."
"Old man, I'm here to take what I want and what I can use. I make the rules now."
"Since when?"
"Since I'm the one with an AR-15 and 100 rounds of 5.56 millimeter pointed at you, I'm making the rules as of now."
"You've got a hundred rounds in that thing?"
"That's right! One hundred bullets to tear you apart and let your body rot in this little garden old man."
"Alright," the old man said as he rubbed his furrowed brow. "But, there's something you oughta know."
"What's that you old coot?"
The white haired man removed his well-worn Georgia Bulldogs ball cap and set it in the lap of his work pants. Zeke involuntarily took a step to the side as a bullet tore through his left side, ripped through his heart, blew apart his back bone, exited his right side, ricocheted off his arm, and buried itself somewhere out in the peanut crop. Then, as the crack of the shot echoed off the garage, the younger man collapsed with a look of complete shock.
With no satisfaction, the old farmer slowly got up from his bucket. He looked up at his wife who was standing in the back window of their farm home and nodded. Then he looked down at the fading outlaw.
"It only takes one bullet to kill a man."
Now, he was on the open highway south of Tifton, Georgia, and the rumble of the old Mustang's V-8 through the glasspack exhaust was music to his ears. Zeke wished he would have killed his boss and taken this car years ago. Now, he looked over at the fully tricked out AR-15 rifle on the front seat. It had a twin drum magazine with 100-rounds ready to go. His trigger finger was itching. He patted the rifle with his right hand and wished he could use it again.
 |
| Mustang Mach 1 - Photo by Joost J. Bakker from IJmuiden [CC BY 2.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)] |
When his eyes returned to the road, he saw a frail looking dead woman in a blue polka dot dress shuffling along in the middle of the highway. Zeke realized there was no time to use his rifle. But, at a hundred miles an hour, it didn't matter. The zombie was obliterated with a slight twitch of his hand at the wheel.
"Mustang Mach 1, baby, Mustang Mach 1!" he yelled out of his window as the shattered remains of a woman disappeared in his rear view mirror. Zeke was too far down the road to see the bloody torso of the female zombie continue her crawl towards Valdosta.
"I am a total bad ass in this world," Zeke yelled to himself throwing an empty liquor bottle out of his window, "A total effing bad ass!"
As the sun got lower in the sky, he realized that he was hungry. He needed something to eat and he needed it right now. These dumbass redneck farmers would feed him or they would pay. Zeke pointed the yellow and black pony car towards the nearest exit. They better turn over their daughters, too.
He roared off the southbound ramp and onto the two lane black top with so much speed that the big muscle car slid across the road and put two tires in the grass of the shoulder when he cranked the wheel hard to the right. Right lane, wrong lane: it didn't matter now. It was his lane. He floored it and the Mustang left burning rubber and a trail of bouncing rocks behind him.
Moments later, Zeke spotted an old farm house surrounded by fields and whipped the car into the driveway. The blood-spattered Mustang made short work of the farm's flimsy front gate and roared to a stop in the driveway beside the old house and in front of the equally ancient detached garage. From the backyard, an old bearded man perched upon a bucket looked up in disgust from a spot in his little vegetable garden. Zeke grabbed his rifle, leaped out of the car, and ran into the backyard. As he approached the garden he noticed a holstered revolver sitting on aluminum cover of a small brick pump house by the garage. This old man is slow and dumb, too, Zeke thought to himself.
"What in the hell are you doing?" the old man asked taking off his dirty gardening gloves.
"I'm here to take your food and anything else your farm has to offer," Zeke replied training his AR-15 on the old man's chest.
"Well, my name is Jeb and, seeing as you just broke down my front gate, I'm not offering you much."
"Old man, I'm here to take what I want and what I can use. I make the rules now."
"Since when?"
"Since I'm the one with an AR-15 and 100 rounds of 5.56 millimeter pointed at you, I'm making the rules as of now."
"You've got a hundred rounds in that thing?"
"That's right! One hundred bullets to tear you apart and let your body rot in this little garden old man."
"Alright," the old man said as he rubbed his furrowed brow. "But, there's something you oughta know."
"What's that you old coot?"
The white haired man removed his well-worn Georgia Bulldogs ball cap and set it in the lap of his work pants. Zeke involuntarily took a step to the side as a bullet tore through his left side, ripped through his heart, blew apart his back bone, exited his right side, ricocheted off his arm, and buried itself somewhere out in the peanut crop. Then, as the crack of the shot echoed off the garage, the younger man collapsed with a look of complete shock.
With no satisfaction, the old farmer slowly got up from his bucket. He looked up at his wife who was standing in the back window of their farm home and nodded. Then he looked down at the fading outlaw.
"It only takes one bullet to kill a man."
 |
| 30-30 Winchester Round - Photo by Hmaag [CC BY-SA 3.0 (https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)] |
Sunday, April 21, 2019
The #WolfPackAuthors Anthology: Once Upon A WolfPack
Over the past few months, I've been involved with an online writers group collectively known as the Wolfpack Authors. We support each others writing efforts and help each other get the word out about our work. It's great to have friends in the writing business that I can count on for good advice and support.
We've recently put together an anthology to help readers sample all of our work and help a really good cause in the process: The Lockwood Animal Rescue Center. LARC rescues wolves, wolf dogs, and parrots and they also offer a therapeutic environment and help for returning combat veterans. All of the profits from our anthology will be donated to benefit LARC. Our anthology is called "Once upon a WolfPack" and it is now available for pre-sale on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other ebook platforms.
This awesome anthology contains stories from across many genres contributed by #WolfPack Authors including -
We've recently put together an anthology to help readers sample all of our work and help a really good cause in the process: The Lockwood Animal Rescue Center. LARC rescues wolves, wolf dogs, and parrots and they also offer a therapeutic environment and help for returning combat veterans. All of the profits from our anthology will be donated to benefit LARC. Our anthology is called "Once upon a WolfPack" and it is now available for pre-sale on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and other ebook platforms.
This awesome anthology contains stories from across many genres contributed by #WolfPack Authors including -
- Cozy Mystery - Yuletime at Cherrywood Hall: Veronica Cline Barton
- Fairy Tale/ Parody - Unfairy Prosecuted: J.W. Crawford
- Fairy Tale - Poppy: Tia Fanning
- Fantasy/ Supernatural - For the Love of the Pack: Sharon Lopez
- Horror/ Meta horror - The Untold One: B.L. Clark
- Horror - Frost Harbor: Alexander Pain
- Literary - Omega Road: Lee M. Tipton
- Magical Realism - An Early Snow: Andi Marchal
- P.I./ Detective - The Wolf: Joe Congel
- P.I./ Detective, Cozy Mystery - Mrs Solberg’s Problem: CW Hawes
- Poetry - Wolf Pack United: Angie-Marie Delsante
- Poetry - Welcome to the Den: Lori Katherine
- Romance/ Supernatural - The Soap Maker’s Mother: Christina van Deventer
- Science Fiction/ Military - Sacha: Jeff DeMarco
- Science Fiction/ Paranormal - Wolf Cry: Z Gottlieb
- Science Fiction/ Paranormal - Circus of the Night: Stefan Angelina McElvain
- Urban Fantasy - True Nature : Luna Selas
Tuesday, February 19, 2019
Dear Jesus - A Zombie Apocalypse Short Story
Dear Lord, Dear God Almighty!
I am truly screwed. You must help me get out of this place. When I came to work today, zombies were just a weird story on the radio. But, now I am sitting here in my booth at the gas station watching the whole world collapse. Oh, the day started out normal enough. People would come in, get their gas, and go. There were a couple of broke ass bastards who couldn’t get “their cards to work.” I told them that insufficient funds tended to cause card problems. I know it wasn’t very Christian, but I wasn’t very Christian this morning.
But, Lord, I am now. If you get me through this, I won’t ever visit the strip club again. You know I only went every Friday night to help put those poor girls through college? You know that right? I wouldn’t even go if you hadn’t made those women so perfect. Seriously, Lord, that Tabitha has it going on.
Anyway this morning, work went just fine. But, starting at lunch time, the world went crazy. Everyone was filling up. Some people had their cars packed with the wife, the kids, the dog, and almost everything they owned. People bought every case of water we had. We had lines eight cars deep and stretching clear across the parking lot. One guy came to the window and bought 10 cartons of cigarettes. Since he was carrying a rifle, I didn’t ask any questions.
After he paid, he says to me: “You better get out of here. They’re coming!”
Since he was making me nervous, I told him, “I guess you best be going.”
At the time, I thought I was safer behind the glass since he was openly carrying a rifle right here in this neighborhood. I mean, Lord, this isn’t a bad neighborhood. But, that guy wasn’t crazy. He was right. The ‘hood started to go downhill fast, too.
Once that crazy dude moved on, I started keeping my eyes open and looking for weird stuff from my perch in my plexiglass cage. It didn’t take long to start seeing some crazy stuff. About ten minutes later, a really messed up looking white guy came limping towards the station. He was skinny and walked with a strange limp. I noticed that his clothes were torn, ragged, and bloody. As he got closer to the station, I was shocked to see that he had a least three bullet holes in him. I don’t even know how he was still walking. I lost sight of him as he walked behind a Chevy Tahoe at pump number one.
The next thing I saw was a fat dude running from behind that pump. He shouldn’t have run. He came my way, tripped on the curb for the pump island, and went down pretty hard for a middle-aged dude. Before he could even get back to his knees, that skinny, bloody, creature was on that dude’s back. His hands dug into the man’s shirt like claws and drew lots of blood. The big man rolled and raised his arms to fend off his attacker, and that crazy dude just bit right into his arms. He bit down hard too. I mean he took out some serious flesh out with his bite! The big guy was screaming.
He didn’t scream long though. The woman on pump five calmly put her nozzle away, gots in her big Volvo SUV, started it, and ran right into both the big guy and the zombie. She pushed both of them out of her way and peel out of the lot. She was gone and she wasn’t even looking back. I was stunned. The big guy was down and bleeding out and the scrawny biter got knocked out into the parking lot. I hesitated for a moment and then I did my part: I dialed 911. And, Jesus, do you know what happened then? Nothing. The call didn’t even go through. All the circuits were busy. Who the hell contracts out their 911 service anyway?
I hung up the phone and started to go out there to help. Some lady from another pump ran over to the big guy and knelt down to apply direct pressure to his wounds. An older gentleman came sauntering over to offer his assistance and I could see some other customers were still in their cars frantically dialing 911. So, I leave out through my side door and start to come around the front.
And, Lord, do you know what I saw?
Okay, I’ll tell you. I saw the scrawny white dude--with the gunshot wounds and bumper imprint on his chest--getting up.
Lord, I’m not going to lie. I ran the hell back around the corner and got right back in this here gas station hut. The skinny bloody dude was right on my heels, too. But, I got in here and slammed the door in his face. He’s still out there. He is looking through the plexiglass now.
Oh, he took a break, he took a break to bite the old dude who came to help. He took a break to bite the lady who was helping treat the fat guy’s wounds. He took a break to bite everyone who came to help the lady. I don’t know what that guy is on. He bit everyone. Sometimes, he bit them until they were dead. It was horrible. Sometimes he ripped out their guts. Every time I looked out my window, there was blood and mayhem. But, Lord, that isn’t the worst part.
That scrawny guy and everyone he killed is standing right outside my window and right outside my door. The big fat guy is up and staring right at me. He’s bloody and looks pale, but he is up. How does that even happen? The lady and the old man who came to the fat guy’s aid are out there too. There must be two dozen dead people out there looking at me. They are waiting for me. I know they want to bite me too. I can’t even get out to the Coca-Cola cooler.
So here I am Lord. Tell me how I get out of here. They can’t get through the plexiglass and I can’t get out through my door. So what do I do? How can I escape? If you let me get out and live, I’ll start coming to church. Every Sunday. For real, this time. I mean it. I’m a good person. I work hard. Now I need you to help me.
Please, Lord, help me.
Amen.
I am truly screwed. You must help me get out of this place. When I came to work today, zombies were just a weird story on the radio. But, now I am sitting here in my booth at the gas station watching the whole world collapse. Oh, the day started out normal enough. People would come in, get their gas, and go. There were a couple of broke ass bastards who couldn’t get “their cards to work.” I told them that insufficient funds tended to cause card problems. I know it wasn’t very Christian, but I wasn’t very Christian this morning.
But, Lord, I am now. If you get me through this, I won’t ever visit the strip club again. You know I only went every Friday night to help put those poor girls through college? You know that right? I wouldn’t even go if you hadn’t made those women so perfect. Seriously, Lord, that Tabitha has it going on.
Anyway this morning, work went just fine. But, starting at lunch time, the world went crazy. Everyone was filling up. Some people had their cars packed with the wife, the kids, the dog, and almost everything they owned. People bought every case of water we had. We had lines eight cars deep and stretching clear across the parking lot. One guy came to the window and bought 10 cartons of cigarettes. Since he was carrying a rifle, I didn’t ask any questions.
After he paid, he says to me: “You better get out of here. They’re coming!”
Since he was making me nervous, I told him, “I guess you best be going.”
At the time, I thought I was safer behind the glass since he was openly carrying a rifle right here in this neighborhood. I mean, Lord, this isn’t a bad neighborhood. But, that guy wasn’t crazy. He was right. The ‘hood started to go downhill fast, too.
Once that crazy dude moved on, I started keeping my eyes open and looking for weird stuff from my perch in my plexiglass cage. It didn’t take long to start seeing some crazy stuff. About ten minutes later, a really messed up looking white guy came limping towards the station. He was skinny and walked with a strange limp. I noticed that his clothes were torn, ragged, and bloody. As he got closer to the station, I was shocked to see that he had a least three bullet holes in him. I don’t even know how he was still walking. I lost sight of him as he walked behind a Chevy Tahoe at pump number one.
The next thing I saw was a fat dude running from behind that pump. He shouldn’t have run. He came my way, tripped on the curb for the pump island, and went down pretty hard for a middle-aged dude. Before he could even get back to his knees, that skinny, bloody, creature was on that dude’s back. His hands dug into the man’s shirt like claws and drew lots of blood. The big man rolled and raised his arms to fend off his attacker, and that crazy dude just bit right into his arms. He bit down hard too. I mean he took out some serious flesh out with his bite! The big guy was screaming.
He didn’t scream long though. The woman on pump five calmly put her nozzle away, gots in her big Volvo SUV, started it, and ran right into both the big guy and the zombie. She pushed both of them out of her way and peel out of the lot. She was gone and she wasn’t even looking back. I was stunned. The big guy was down and bleeding out and the scrawny biter got knocked out into the parking lot. I hesitated for a moment and then I did my part: I dialed 911. And, Jesus, do you know what happened then? Nothing. The call didn’t even go through. All the circuits were busy. Who the hell contracts out their 911 service anyway?
I hung up the phone and started to go out there to help. Some lady from another pump ran over to the big guy and knelt down to apply direct pressure to his wounds. An older gentleman came sauntering over to offer his assistance and I could see some other customers were still in their cars frantically dialing 911. So, I leave out through my side door and start to come around the front.
And, Lord, do you know what I saw?
Okay, I’ll tell you. I saw the scrawny white dude--with the gunshot wounds and bumper imprint on his chest--getting up.
Lord, I’m not going to lie. I ran the hell back around the corner and got right back in this here gas station hut. The skinny bloody dude was right on my heels, too. But, I got in here and slammed the door in his face. He’s still out there. He is looking through the plexiglass now.
Oh, he took a break, he took a break to bite the old dude who came to help. He took a break to bite the lady who was helping treat the fat guy’s wounds. He took a break to bite everyone who came to help the lady. I don’t know what that guy is on. He bit everyone. Sometimes, he bit them until they were dead. It was horrible. Sometimes he ripped out their guts. Every time I looked out my window, there was blood and mayhem. But, Lord, that isn’t the worst part.
That scrawny guy and everyone he killed is standing right outside my window and right outside my door. The big fat guy is up and staring right at me. He’s bloody and looks pale, but he is up. How does that even happen? The lady and the old man who came to the fat guy’s aid are out there too. There must be two dozen dead people out there looking at me. They are waiting for me. I know they want to bite me too. I can’t even get out to the Coca-Cola cooler.
So here I am Lord. Tell me how I get out of here. They can’t get through the plexiglass and I can’t get out through my door. So what do I do? How can I escape? If you let me get out and live, I’ll start coming to church. Every Sunday. For real, this time. I mean it. I’m a good person. I work hard. Now I need you to help me.
Please, Lord, help me.
Amen.
Friday, January 25, 2019
Did you find Zombie Complex
Every once in awhile, I'll leave a copy of Zombie Complex: The Battle for Chattahoochee Run just laying out so a potential reader can find it. I've left copies of in airports, in shopping centers, on commuter trains, and in lots of Little Free Libraries. I always hope that these complementary copies are found, read, and enjoyed. If you find and enjoy Zombie Complex, give me a shout on Twitter or leave a review about it on Amazon.
I'd hate to think that cleaning people just sweep them up and throw them away. That would be such a waste! If you find Zombie Complex laying out, give out a great big social media shout!
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| A free copy of Zombie Complex awaits a reader in Minneapolis, Minnesota! |
I'd hate to think that cleaning people just sweep them up and throw them away. That would be such a waste! If you find Zombie Complex laying out, give out a great big social media shout!
Sunday, December 30, 2018
New Review for Zombie Complex
One of the biggest challenges for an independent author is getting reviews. However, they've been trickling in for Zombie Complex: The Battle for Chattahoochee Run. Today, I learned that Zombie Complex was reviewed by Susie of Bookworm Reviews and earned 5 out of 5 stars. The work of book reviewers and book bloggers is especially valuable since they read plenty of books and let authors know how we are doing in comparison with others in our genre and the book universe.
I tried hard to make the characters real in Zombie Complex and the reviewer appreciated it.
Now this book shows how a real zombie apocalypse would have gone down, forget what Hollywood shows you 'Zombie Complex: The Battle for Chattahoochee Run' by Alexander Pain shows how real people try to stay alive. (Read the whole review on Bookworm Reviews.)
Of course, good reviews also pose a challenge. They add motivation to my writing efforts and they challenge me to keep quality high!
I tried hard to make the characters real in Zombie Complex and the reviewer appreciated it.
Now this book shows how a real zombie apocalypse would have gone down, forget what Hollywood shows you 'Zombie Complex: The Battle for Chattahoochee Run' by Alexander Pain shows how real people try to stay alive. (Read the whole review on Bookworm Reviews.)
Of course, good reviews also pose a challenge. They add motivation to my writing efforts and they challenge me to keep quality high!
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| Reviews help Zombie Complex take off! |
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Young Love and Zombies
It was the first time, Hunter and Rain had a chance to be alone. Hunkered down behind a hastily constructed plywood blind, they watched the...
-
At a hundred miles an hour, Zeke Patterson felt alive and free. Now that the dead reigned, he was done with 11 to 7 shifts. He was do...
-
Dear Lord, Dear God Almighty! I am truly screwed. You must help me get out of this place. When I came to work today, zombies were just a... -
It was the first time, Hunter and Rain had a chance to be alone. Hunkered down behind a hastily constructed plywood blind, they watched the...
