Prepare is the young adult novel I am in the process of writing.
After years of self enforced solitude in the face of a zombie uprising, Colt finds herself escorting a woman, Mia, to the ruins of a city in Mexico. Mia is everything Colt isn't: caring, patient, and capable of showing emotion. The longer Colt's around her, the more she's forced to confront the past thought to have been left behind and the future she'd never been to concerned with.
Now, with the added pressure of things changing again, the zombies becoming more dangerous, and the conundrum that is their whole existence, Colt has to decide if this trip, this woman, is worth it. Honestly, killing zombies was easy. Colt never imagined the hardest part of dealing with an apocalypse would be dealing with the scars inside herself.
After years of self enforced solitude in the face of a zombie uprising, Colt finds herself escorting a woman, Mia, to the ruins of a city in Mexico. Mia is everything Colt isn't: caring, patient, and capable of showing emotion. The longer Colt's around her, the more she's forced to confront the past thought to have been left behind and the future she'd never been to concerned with.
Now, with the added pressure of things changing again, the zombies becoming more dangerous, and the conundrum that is their whole existence, Colt has to decide if this trip, this woman, is worth it. Honestly, killing zombies was easy. Colt never imagined the hardest part of dealing with an apocalypse would be dealing with the scars inside herself.
Excerpt from Prepare:
Chapter One
Grey eyes.
No pupils.
Gotcha.
I pulled the trigger and heard the soft thunk of the bullet exiting the silencer and hitting home, watching the zombie drop. That counted two today, and I was more than happy with that. I dropped down from the low branch and headed back towards my car, looking around as I did. Most likely the others hadn’t heard the gun fire, but the new ones were a bit brighter than the others, so I couldn’t just waltz my way through without being cautious. Leaves crunched beneath my feet, each loud snap raising the hair on my arms. There wasn’t a breeze, but the blood in my bare arms ran cold the longer it took for me to make my way back.
Finally I saw the cruiser and picked up the pace, getting in and slamming the door shut while turning the ignition. I peeled out, glancing at my rearview mirror and confirming I was still alone. The highway was close, I saw the zombie from it while I was driving. I weaved around the cars on the exit ramp, barely slowing down. I’d become a bit of an expert when it came to dodging roadblocks, or ramming them down, depending on the type of block.
This zombie had been wearing a confederate uniform, which was confusing for this part of the United States. I wondered what their foot pace was, how fast they were moving now. The first ones were slow and lumbering, built more for the mow down effect they’d achieved in the beginning. These newer ones though, I clocked one actually running a few feet before slowing back down. Honestly that had been the scariest shit I’d seen in a long time. A zombie running.
I sighed as the memory of the kill I’d just made spread through my veins, burrowing into my bones. It’s like a drug, honestly. Every day I wake up itching for the next kill, the next fix. If I go too long without it I get antsy, twitchy, the next kill sloppy with my desperation. I try to average five on good days, two on slow. It keeps everything at bay, leaves my nightmares satiated and sluggish so they leave me alone.
The apocalypse started about four years ago. I’d seen a lot of this country since everything fell apart, met a few people, and picked up different things over the years. The cruiser was my dads, it got better gas mileage than my beat up truck did. I’d been alone since day one, hadn’t picked up anyone. I didn’t think I ever would, if I was being honest with myself. It was better to be alone. I’d camp sometimes in the elaborate shelters people had created, the hodge podge towns and lives they’d erected, begging for that old feeling of normalcy. I never stayed more than a few days, though. Enough to refuel, rest up, and stock up on food. As long as I could still find gas I wouldn’t settle down. After it was gone though, I didn’t know what I was going to do. That’s a bridge we’ll burn later though, right?
I sped down the highway for a few hours. It was coming up on midnight in . . . Georgia or Florida, I think. One of those states where alligators tended to out number humans now a days. I’d filled up before I’d spotted that zombie and I was getting to the point where I was thinking about pulling over and finding a place to sleep. I’ve never been worried about the cruiser getting stolen, because 1) people still get That feeling when they see one and 2) I’d developed a bit of a reputation for myself those last few years. You take out one swarm in front of a town and everyone’s calling you Colt. It’s fine, though. Real names were too personal, there was a chance you could form a connection with someone, and I feared that more than the zombies.
Anyways: midnight. Alligator country. Getting tired. I pulled off the highway, eyeing the hotel that looked the last wrecked. It wouldn’t have heat or electricity, but if I was lucky the water pressure was still good and I could take a shower.
I navigated the cruiser into a space and hopped out, grabbing a duffel and a lantern, locking the car. The front door was already open thankfully so I walked in, gun cocked and ready, lantern lit. They didn’t tend to hang out in abandoned areas like this, but it was always better safe than sorry.
After confirming there was nothing murderous around I went about trying to figure out how to get into a room. Sometimes when there was a power failure like the ones that took out most of the world a few years back the lock system stayed where it was. So unless someone had been holding a door open when the power failed, there was a good chance I’d be sleeping on a couch, which was fine, just not ideal.
I trudged my way up to the second floor, facing the parking lot. Saying a little prayer to a dead god, I tried the handle of a random room. When the handle gave under my pressure I sighed in relief and let myself into the room. A dusty, moss colored king sized bed greeted me, welcoming if not a bit tattered. This was so much better than I could have hoped for.
Giving the comforter a good shake after setting the lantern on the side table out the window, I took a brief minute to look at the stars. Since the lights went out it was so much easier to see them. At first I used to pull over at night and spend hours just staring, mapping out constellations and finding the different planets. That got old though, and sometimes I find myself wishing there was city lights to drown them out again.
It’s not like they haven’t been trying to get everything back online. After the first wave of attacks the population of America decreased to a little over a third of what it used to be, and the population of the whole world was worse off. Whenever it would seem like we were able to rally back, they’d meet us with those grey blank stares and various eras of guns trained at our heads. No one knew where they were getting these weapons. At first there was a rumor that China had taken the dead from around the world or had made poor clones and outfitted them with these high tech guns and uniforms from that regions historical opposers. After the reports of China being hit worse than the U.S. started flooding in, that particular rumor died. One thing was for sure though: someone had made these zombie like things and had given them a weapon that rivaled anything even dreamt of. They were science fiction and war movies love child: able to blast a golf ball sized hole with such precision and accuracy that it would have made H.G. Wells weap with adoration.
The gun was different in appearance depending on what type of uniform the zombie was wearing, but the guts were all the same. Gleaming, glowing, green light danced across the different parts. There didn’t seem to be a place where the bullets originated from, so realistically it had to be a ray of some sort. The triggers were all lined with ridges and bumps, which I found were sensors. The gun was actually calibrated to the zombies fingerprints and heat pattern. If there wasn’t a proper fingerprint and an exact temperature that apparently they all ran on, it wouldn’t shoot. When we collectively found that out it was like a cane to the back of our knees. The only way we had a chance against the endless numbers and advanced weaponry they had was if we could use their weapons back at them. Last I knew they still had scientists trying to figure out how to re-calibrate the triggers. That was before the last power failure a few months back, eliminating the rest of our already meager luck.
The zombies had started to learn from us. Some were faster and more aggressive, like I said earlier. The latest wave had been seen setting up camps in the trees and large buildings, like a sniper would. There were still some from the first wave lolling about, and you can generally tell what wave they were from by their eyes. As each wave progressed in their warfare, they eyes had started to get a little less blurry, a little less grey. Pupils had started to surface from the abyss. They still mostly relied on sound, but the one I killed yesterday . . . I swear it looked at me, actually saw me.
I had looked at his gun after he was dead, the same as all the rest. It was honestly a beautiful piece of machinery in the end. Before I’d never been much into guns. I knew a lot about them because of my dad, but personally I didn’t see the real appeal. Now though, I get it. I kept that kills gun, mainly because that was had been eons worse than the last one, and also because there was something about the Gewer 86 that called to me. It was a stupid size for me to carry, considering I was already carrying my Colt 1911, Glock 17, and AR 15. Knives were stupid and pointless when talking combat so I kept a rather small one in my boot. I ended up throwing the G 86 into my duffel.
I turned away from the window and set the comforter back on the bed. My boots and jacket landed on the floor before it even settled on the off white sheets. I hadn’t had a night in a proper bed in a long time and I think my back was more excited than my brain was at this new development.
I sat on the bed and pulled my duffle towards me, taking my small amount of possessions out and looking them over. A book on fighting strategies throughout the decades, a worn photo, a few changes of clothes and toiletries, dog tags, a badge, and that damn gun were all I owned in this world. I didn’t look at the photo as I slid it out of the page I’d used it to mark my place with. I’d read it thousands of times, trying to figure out if the zombies had any sort of strategy. Aside from total destruction, there seemed to be none. They didn’t want a surrender or a treaty, they didn’t understand reason or even any form of spoken word. All they wanted was our annihilation.
Not able to focus on the book, I picked up the G 86. The gun felt light in my hands, just like all the other ones did. Our guns could be cumbersome and heavy, yet these guys had the luxury of light, deadly weaponry. Fuck that.
I tossed it to the side and slid into the covers. I turned off the lantern and sighed, sinking into the mattress. The last thought I had before sleep embraced me was a hope that my nightmares were still gnawing on my last kill.
Grey eyes.
No pupils.
Gotcha.
I pulled the trigger and heard the soft thunk of the bullet exiting the silencer and hitting home, watching the zombie drop. That counted two today, and I was more than happy with that. I dropped down from the low branch and headed back towards my car, looking around as I did. Most likely the others hadn’t heard the gun fire, but the new ones were a bit brighter than the others, so I couldn’t just waltz my way through without being cautious. Leaves crunched beneath my feet, each loud snap raising the hair on my arms. There wasn’t a breeze, but the blood in my bare arms ran cold the longer it took for me to make my way back.
Finally I saw the cruiser and picked up the pace, getting in and slamming the door shut while turning the ignition. I peeled out, glancing at my rearview mirror and confirming I was still alone. The highway was close, I saw the zombie from it while I was driving. I weaved around the cars on the exit ramp, barely slowing down. I’d become a bit of an expert when it came to dodging roadblocks, or ramming them down, depending on the type of block.
This zombie had been wearing a confederate uniform, which was confusing for this part of the United States. I wondered what their foot pace was, how fast they were moving now. The first ones were slow and lumbering, built more for the mow down effect they’d achieved in the beginning. These newer ones though, I clocked one actually running a few feet before slowing back down. Honestly that had been the scariest shit I’d seen in a long time. A zombie running.
I sighed as the memory of the kill I’d just made spread through my veins, burrowing into my bones. It’s like a drug, honestly. Every day I wake up itching for the next kill, the next fix. If I go too long without it I get antsy, twitchy, the next kill sloppy with my desperation. I try to average five on good days, two on slow. It keeps everything at bay, leaves my nightmares satiated and sluggish so they leave me alone.
The apocalypse started about four years ago. I’d seen a lot of this country since everything fell apart, met a few people, and picked up different things over the years. The cruiser was my dads, it got better gas mileage than my beat up truck did. I’d been alone since day one, hadn’t picked up anyone. I didn’t think I ever would, if I was being honest with myself. It was better to be alone. I’d camp sometimes in the elaborate shelters people had created, the hodge podge towns and lives they’d erected, begging for that old feeling of normalcy. I never stayed more than a few days, though. Enough to refuel, rest up, and stock up on food. As long as I could still find gas I wouldn’t settle down. After it was gone though, I didn’t know what I was going to do. That’s a bridge we’ll burn later though, right?
I sped down the highway for a few hours. It was coming up on midnight in . . . Georgia or Florida, I think. One of those states where alligators tended to out number humans now a days. I’d filled up before I’d spotted that zombie and I was getting to the point where I was thinking about pulling over and finding a place to sleep. I’ve never been worried about the cruiser getting stolen, because 1) people still get That feeling when they see one and 2) I’d developed a bit of a reputation for myself those last few years. You take out one swarm in front of a town and everyone’s calling you Colt. It’s fine, though. Real names were too personal, there was a chance you could form a connection with someone, and I feared that more than the zombies.
Anyways: midnight. Alligator country. Getting tired. I pulled off the highway, eyeing the hotel that looked the last wrecked. It wouldn’t have heat or electricity, but if I was lucky the water pressure was still good and I could take a shower.
I navigated the cruiser into a space and hopped out, grabbing a duffel and a lantern, locking the car. The front door was already open thankfully so I walked in, gun cocked and ready, lantern lit. They didn’t tend to hang out in abandoned areas like this, but it was always better safe than sorry.
After confirming there was nothing murderous around I went about trying to figure out how to get into a room. Sometimes when there was a power failure like the ones that took out most of the world a few years back the lock system stayed where it was. So unless someone had been holding a door open when the power failed, there was a good chance I’d be sleeping on a couch, which was fine, just not ideal.
I trudged my way up to the second floor, facing the parking lot. Saying a little prayer to a dead god, I tried the handle of a random room. When the handle gave under my pressure I sighed in relief and let myself into the room. A dusty, moss colored king sized bed greeted me, welcoming if not a bit tattered. This was so much better than I could have hoped for.
Giving the comforter a good shake after setting the lantern on the side table out the window, I took a brief minute to look at the stars. Since the lights went out it was so much easier to see them. At first I used to pull over at night and spend hours just staring, mapping out constellations and finding the different planets. That got old though, and sometimes I find myself wishing there was city lights to drown them out again.
It’s not like they haven’t been trying to get everything back online. After the first wave of attacks the population of America decreased to a little over a third of what it used to be, and the population of the whole world was worse off. Whenever it would seem like we were able to rally back, they’d meet us with those grey blank stares and various eras of guns trained at our heads. No one knew where they were getting these weapons. At first there was a rumor that China had taken the dead from around the world or had made poor clones and outfitted them with these high tech guns and uniforms from that regions historical opposers. After the reports of China being hit worse than the U.S. started flooding in, that particular rumor died. One thing was for sure though: someone had made these zombie like things and had given them a weapon that rivaled anything even dreamt of. They were science fiction and war movies love child: able to blast a golf ball sized hole with such precision and accuracy that it would have made H.G. Wells weap with adoration.
The gun was different in appearance depending on what type of uniform the zombie was wearing, but the guts were all the same. Gleaming, glowing, green light danced across the different parts. There didn’t seem to be a place where the bullets originated from, so realistically it had to be a ray of some sort. The triggers were all lined with ridges and bumps, which I found were sensors. The gun was actually calibrated to the zombies fingerprints and heat pattern. If there wasn’t a proper fingerprint and an exact temperature that apparently they all ran on, it wouldn’t shoot. When we collectively found that out it was like a cane to the back of our knees. The only way we had a chance against the endless numbers and advanced weaponry they had was if we could use their weapons back at them. Last I knew they still had scientists trying to figure out how to re-calibrate the triggers. That was before the last power failure a few months back, eliminating the rest of our already meager luck.
The zombies had started to learn from us. Some were faster and more aggressive, like I said earlier. The latest wave had been seen setting up camps in the trees and large buildings, like a sniper would. There were still some from the first wave lolling about, and you can generally tell what wave they were from by their eyes. As each wave progressed in their warfare, they eyes had started to get a little less blurry, a little less grey. Pupils had started to surface from the abyss. They still mostly relied on sound, but the one I killed yesterday . . . I swear it looked at me, actually saw me.
I had looked at his gun after he was dead, the same as all the rest. It was honestly a beautiful piece of machinery in the end. Before I’d never been much into guns. I knew a lot about them because of my dad, but personally I didn’t see the real appeal. Now though, I get it. I kept that kills gun, mainly because that was had been eons worse than the last one, and also because there was something about the Gewer 86 that called to me. It was a stupid size for me to carry, considering I was already carrying my Colt 1911, Glock 17, and AR 15. Knives were stupid and pointless when talking combat so I kept a rather small one in my boot. I ended up throwing the G 86 into my duffel.
I turned away from the window and set the comforter back on the bed. My boots and jacket landed on the floor before it even settled on the off white sheets. I hadn’t had a night in a proper bed in a long time and I think my back was more excited than my brain was at this new development.
I sat on the bed and pulled my duffle towards me, taking my small amount of possessions out and looking them over. A book on fighting strategies throughout the decades, a worn photo, a few changes of clothes and toiletries, dog tags, a badge, and that damn gun were all I owned in this world. I didn’t look at the photo as I slid it out of the page I’d used it to mark my place with. I’d read it thousands of times, trying to figure out if the zombies had any sort of strategy. Aside from total destruction, there seemed to be none. They didn’t want a surrender or a treaty, they didn’t understand reason or even any form of spoken word. All they wanted was our annihilation.
Not able to focus on the book, I picked up the G 86. The gun felt light in my hands, just like all the other ones did. Our guns could be cumbersome and heavy, yet these guys had the luxury of light, deadly weaponry. Fuck that.
I tossed it to the side and slid into the covers. I turned off the lantern and sighed, sinking into the mattress. The last thought I had before sleep embraced me was a hope that my nightmares were still gnawing on my last kill.