All of These Things are Just Like the Others.

A long time ago I got sick of the wave of post-apocalyptic horror and thriller novels. Like the endless vampire novels that preceded them, I kept waiting for the fad to vanish, but somehow it hasn't quite done that. As with the vampire novels, these apocalypse-inspired things are all now almost exactly the same as the ones that lumbered out before them. They do seem to appeal to an audience that is obviously addicted to them and the mainly politically Fascist crowd who absorb each, one after the other. So they keep the idiot neo-Nazis happy and reaffirm their almost mindless beliefs.

So here is a fill-in-the-blank form that can serve as blurbs for any such novels that seem to endlessly sprout out of the right wing scumpile. Have fun.

After the _________ apocalypse, join _________ as he/she travels across ________ in a desperate journey against ________ to rescue his/her ________. Will he/she find the ______ to battle against the _______ and reach his/her ________?

Find out in Wanky McWankerface’s latest novel, __________!

(Wanky McWankerface was a ______ who served in the ________, and is now a ______ when not writing novels about _______.)

Fill in the blank.

THE LIVING END: A Zombie Novel.

I haven't posted a promo for this book in a while. This was my first zombie novel. I wanted to play with some of the mythology first developed by John Russo and George Romero. Now there is a truly monstrous flood of zombie novels. The sub-genre seems to be more popular now than vampire fiction was back in the 90s. The racist gun-porn crowd who seem to be attracted to the zombie scene in huge numbers had issues with the book. But the sales were good and the response from the folk who aren't neo-Nazis was positive.

THE LIVING END by James Robert Smith.

THE COALITION, A Zombie Series.

Just another promotion for what are the last of my zombie novels. I wrote three such books--THE LIVING END, THE NEW ECOLOGY OF DEATH, and THE COALITION (which is a series of three novellas telling one over-arching story). That's it for me on the whole zombie trope. I had my say and no matter how tempted I may be to write another one, no thanks.

With the third chapter now published, you can pick up all three sections of THE COALITION zombie series. Classic apocalyptic zombie adventures!

So, here are the great covers for THE COALITION published by the always excellent Severed Press. Along with links to the ebook versions. But keep in mind that you can order them in paperback versions, also.

COALITION: STATE OF EXTINCTION.

COALITION: LORD OF THE LIVING.

COALITION: THE 2% SOLUTION.

THE COALITION TRILOGY.

All Three Books!

Here are the great covers for my apocalyptic zombie series, THE COALITION published by the always excellent Severed Press. Along with links to the ebook versions. But keep in mind that you can order them in paperback versions, also.

Part One: State of Extinction.

Part Two: Lord of the Living.

Part Three: The 2% Solution.

Long Delayed...

I'm closing in on completing the long-delayed third and final chapter of THE COALITION zombie yarn. I'll speak at some later date why it's been such a chore to complete, but the end is in sight.

Here's a very brief view of what's to come:

As he’d figured, the rumble of the jet engines had meant that the monsters who stalked out of sight in the wilderness beyond had come calling. The first place they’d been drawn had been the airport, of course. But the staccato rattle of automatic gunfire had erupted from that quarter, followed by the growl of other engines that soon joined the spitting of lead.

Ron had ordered Jean and Oliver to remain indoors while he viewed the action that was, for now, confined to the newly cleared and operational Charlotte-Douglas Airport. Through the powerful lenses of his finest binoculars he was watching the forming battle from the secure perch of their rooftop redoubt.

The first thing he’d noticed in the morning light was that the enormous C5 transport was painted a dull flat green. All markings of the US armed forces—from any of the branches—had either been removed, or had never been present. From what he did know, the only versions of that jet that were operational were all property of one or the other of the branches of the US military. So this one had either been taken from one of those branches, or had been in private hands. Or perhaps it belonged to one of the civilian arms of the government—either the CIA or DIA. Ron pulled the binoculars from his face and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Hell, the ideas and suspicions made it all too bothersome to ponder.

What he needed to do was pay attention to what was going on.

During the night, while men had obviously worked through the dark hours, guided by generated lamps that he could see standing on tripods all over the tarmac, the newly arrived forces had been quite busy. There were armored personnel carriers—three of them—and two giant vehicles that he realized were Abrams tanks. Even those were absent any markings that labeled them as property of the Army or Marines. They were all just painted that same flat desert camouflage. There weren’t even any identifying numerals or letters to differentiate one from the other.

Off to the east of the C5 transport there was a house-sized oblong of what appeared to be something made wholly of steel. Using the figures that he could see scurrying around the thing, it was roughly fifty or sixty feet long and twenty feet wide, perhaps fifteen feet tall. It was on a trailer with stout wheels. Ron could even see a large semi sitting idle nearby, and he didn’t need a rocket scientist to tell him that the heavy truck was going to soon be pulling whatever was on that trailer.

While the men had worked in the temporary electric lamps, the deaders had come filtering out of the wilderness as Ron had known they would. But they’d been prepared for that. Whoever these jokers were, the Colonel had told them what to expect and they had come loaded for bear.

The airport was all but smothered by an army of rot on its north side. And a mindless pincer movement had gone into motion; the classic flanking maneuvers of the dead. Of course there were no tactics involved on behalf of the zombies—they were merely like a river of stinking water that pushed until it met resistance and then parted to flow around the blockage until that poisonous stream met again at some further point. It wasn’t measured and it wasn’t considered, but it was surely effective against the living. Riggs had long since lost count of the number of times he’d seen people overtaken by the mindless simplicity of it.

As he put the lenses back to his face, Ron was glad that he’d talked Jean and Oliver into remaining inside. He wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but he didn’t like what he was witnessing and he didn’t want to them to watch what was going on if it went against those people who were now holding the airport against the dead hordes that had assembled there. Seeing the inexorable tide flow around the major block of buildings to converge on the makeshift strongpoint of the big jet and its disgorged cargo, Ron felt that he could all but hear and smell the stalking mass that heaved itself toward the pristine lines of the winged vehicle.

He feared the worst.

 
Realizing that the initial reactions had been just preliminary movements by what he now saw were soldiers, Ron went to one of the chairs he kept at his reloading station and pulled it close to the wall that surrounded the roof. Seated, he leaned forward until his elbows were on the concrete parapet and settled in for the show.

COALITION excerpt.

THE NEW ECOLOGY OF DEATH is the last zombie concept I'll write. However, I'm still tweaking the final part of THE COALITION series that I started for Severed Press. The third chapter is overdue and I'm working to finish it. To that end, here is a brief excerpt from the third and final section of the three-part series:

THE COALTION

THE 2% SOLUTION (Part III)

by Robert Mathis Kurtz

On a Friday the biggest aircraft that Riggs had ever seen came roaring in over the city. Oliver, Jean and Ron all came spilling out of their rooftop aerie to see what was making the noise.

The sound had begun as a minor whine, so subtle that at first they didn’t pay it much mind. The family was making supper and the home was filled with the smells and sounds of the meal that was simmering in pots on the stovetop. Poke salad boiled, seasoned with venison. And a stew of that same meat swimming in broth with potatoes and carrots harvested from the sprawling gardens near the hospital added to the wonderful bouquet of food smells.

Thus, the three were moving about, talking about the supper and the day’s accomplishments instead of paying note to a faraway mumble that was growing into a gigantic, dish-rattling growl.

The first to race onto the rooftop was Ron and he was suddenly a sculpture frozen in place, his eyes to the heavens. Jean followed, only belatedly realizing that she’d emerged through the door gripping a pan she’d been about to store away. And Oliver popped free of the nest last, pointing and hopping about. His thin finger aimed toward the looming sight of the gigantic airframe that was tilted slightly to the left as the great thing banked, turning toward the airport.

“Look!” Oliver’s cracked, boy’s voice rose above the vibrations of the enormous engines that were shaking everything from hundreds of feet in the sky. “What is it? What is it, Ron?”

Feeling the boy beside him, Ron put his arm around the kid’s shoulders and pulled him close. “Biggest goddamned plane I’ve ever seen, son. It’s called a Galaxy C5A. When I was a kid, it was practically the biggest transport vehicle in the US Air Force.” He turned to track the thing across the blue sky. It seemed to lumber in the unpolluted Carolina cobalt blue. In truth, it was travelling very fast indeed, but because of the sheer mass of the thing, it only seemed to be creeping through the atmosphere.

“What’s it doing?” Jean asked. “I had no idea…” he voice trailed off.

“Well, the work crews have been working overtime to clear the airstrips at the old airport,” he reminded her. “They didn’t reopen the route from downtown to the old terminal for nothing. I figured something was going to happen, but I had no idea…” His own voice went to nothing as he thought about the implications.

“Who are they?” Oliver piped. “What’s going on? Won’t all that noise bring in the deaders from around the city? We’re going to be swamped with them,” he pointed out.

“Oliver’s right,” Jean agreed. She transferred the stainless steel pan to her left hand and put her fingers in the loops of Ron’s pants and tugged him toward her. “All of that noise and movement is going to draw the walking dead right out of the woods and into town. It’ll be like it was before. Maybe worse,” she added. “Goddamn it.”

By then, the ponderous thing was making its approach toward the airport. And it was only at that point that Ron noticed the lights glittering from formerly ruined and decrepit Charlotte-Douglas International Airport. And then it was his turn to point.

“Fuck if they don’t have the place powered up!” His voice rose as that of the growling jet retreated. “I didn’t notice it. But they’ve got the place lit.” Ron’s hand indicated the area to the east of the strip. “Damned if they don’t even have the radar working!”

As they watched, the C5A came in on its final approach and seemed to glide in almost gracefully to the tarmac. It appeared an impossible dance for such a gigantic and gravity-laden mass.

“If they don’t turn off those lights, the zombies are going to swarm that place like flies on shit,” Jean said. “As soon as it gets dark.” She tugged on Ron’s arm until she was able to peel his attention free of the transport as it taxied to a stop.

“Ron. What are we going to do? They’ll be back in the city again. It’ll be like before. Maybe worse! I don’t know if we have enough food socked away for a long siege.”

He peered into her eyes and could plainly see the worry that had been at rest come clawing back to the surface. Her heart-stopping perfect features were etched with the fear that had been held in check for so long. His arms went around her and he hugged her tightly.

“I’m not sure what they’re up to,” he admitted.  “But we all knew they weren’t clearing out the airport for nothing.  Dale told me that there were plans. But I figured a few small planes.” Riggs nodded toward the airport that was growing shadowed as the sun began to dip toward the horizon. “I didn’t reckon on a C5A to come in.”

“What kind of jet is it?” Oliver asked.

Ron released his grip on his wife and smiled at the boy. At least Oliver’s face wasn’t painted with fear. He was just curious.

“It was the biggest transport in the Air Force. At least it was when I was a kid. Now, I’m pretty sure it has to be the biggest aircraft on the planet. The thing can carry something like 270,000 pounds of cargo. Tanks. Helicopters. Even bridge sections.”

Together, they watched for a while until darkness began to overtake the scenery. Lights glittered at the airport. Control towers were revealed. They could see tiny forms—men scurrying around the monstrous aircraft and moving to and from a cleaned and refitted hangar. But soon the trio headed back to their shelter, remembering the meal that was waiting for them.

“What did they bring on that jet?” Oliver asked as they pulled the door closed behind them.

“Hell, son. I don’t know. But I’m sure we’ll find out. If I have to, I’ll go ask the Colonel what’s going on.” And, then, together, a sense of unease creeping into their home as they closed and locked the door, they went back to their meal.

Whatever was going on, Ron knew that soon he would know what it was. He could only hope that he would like the answers he’d find.

THE NEW ECOLOGY OF DEATH

The book is now available in ebook format. The paperback will follow soon for those of you who still like real books made of paper (as I do).

This is (not counting my undelivered third part of COALITION) my last zombie novel. I wanted to do something very different with the form. I (loosely) based it on a comic book story I wrote for Stephen Bissette's legendary TABOO anthology series. The story of the same name appeared in the last issue (#9) of TABOO. And now the novel.

Pick up your ebook version of THE NEW ECOLOGY OF DEATH.

During the zombie apocalypse civilization was on the brink of collapse. But it pulled through. Alex 

Wenzler, however, did not. He was a victim and became one of the walking dead.

Now, things have changed. Two years on, society is getting back to normal. The zombies are on the run. Life is close to being the way it was.

But Alex Wenzler suddenly wakes up, roused from the waking coma of the zombie un-life.

He is aware of what he was and what he is and what he is…becoming.

Now all he wants is to find his son, Mark.

He will have to run a gauntlet of violence and almost sure destruction to see his boy. Can he do it? And if he can, what will he do once his child is within reach?

There are two sides to every story. Even the undead have something to say.

THE NEW ECOLOGY OF DEATH

By James Robert Smith

Author of THE FLOCK, THE CLAN, and THE LIVING END.

From Severed Press.

THE NEW ECOLOGY OF DEATH.

BLOOD ON THE PLAINS

My old friend Roy Aiken's book is about to appear from Severed Press. I predict it's going to be a huge hit. If you like apocalyptic horror fiction then you'll enjoy this one. With the bonus that BLEEDING KANSAS is far more literary than your average zombie novel.

Keep your eyes peeled for the book at your favorite online bookseller!

Derek Grace is so far out on the edge of foreclosure and homelessness he can’t afford to kiss his wife goodbye. Too much is riding on this second interview in Kansas City. Yet every third person seems to have what Claire has, a nasty cold that gets nastier—and so widespread that services and infrastructure, including the airlines, are down shortly after Whitman’s arrival.

When that same pestilence reanimates the dead to seek living flesh Derek Grace is 600 miles from the last two people in the world he cares about, trapped in a city ruled by the hungry dead. All of Kansas stands between Derek Whitman and home.

Times like these a man can’t help but make a name for himself. Derek Grace loses a career and finds a calling in BLEEDING KANSAS.

Coming Soon from SEVERED PRESS.

Coming soon from Severed Press: BLEEDING KANSAS by Lawrence Roy Aiken.

THE NEW ECOLOGY OF DEATH (excerpt within an excerpt)

This is the last excerpt from THE NEW ECOLOGY OF DEATH that I'll be publishing for a while.

In this one, I deal with something that I've thought about before. In most zombie novels and zombie films, no one has ever heard of the humans mindlessly rising from the dead to eat the living. That's why, I always figured, the pandemic spreads so quickly. It's not something the ignorant can deal with.

However, if my new novel, George A. Romero exists, as do his films, and many other zombie films and books. So what the government does is bring Romero in and interrogate him. They don't waterboard him, but I did consider putting that in the manuscript.

Here then, are several characters (government and health department officials) discussing the day George A. Romero was hauled in for questioning. (And, yes, I have a rough script outline for that scene.)

Every zombie novelist is George A. Romero's mutant child.

THE NEW ECOLOGY OF DEATH, an excerpt

By James Robert Smith.

“We’re encountering the infected again.” Raines said.

Fear clutched as Cotter’s gut. Another outbreak would be…problematic. The government knew now how to handle such a thing, but the measures to control it again would be very harsh indeed. He didn’t like to even think about it happening again. Survival wasn’t the issue, but freedom was.

“Infected?” It came out as a whisper and his fear betrayed him. “Where is it happening?”

“No, no. Gosh, no, Davis.” The eruption of reassuring words from Rajh was almost comical. It was meant to placate him and dampen his fear, but that would have to wait for more information, more facts, something he could interpret as clinically as he did numbers and stats.

“Not an outbreak?”

“No. When I say that we’re encountering the infected I am referring to some of the people who died and were never accounted for. The missing walkers. The zombies,” he added. 

“Hell, I swear to God I hate that term. Zombies.” He seemed to spit it out.

Raines smiled then. “You know I was there when they brought in that director after the infection had gotten out of control and no one had quite figured out to get a handle on the situation.” He laughed. A good, healthy laugh. This did more to contain and dampen the tension in the room than had Patel’s clumsy attempt.

“I…uh…I heard about that.” A smile clawed its way up from the realm of nerves to Cotter’s face. “Romero, right?”

“Yeah. George A. Romero.” Raines’ gaze seemed to drift as he remembered. “Nice guy. Someone in the chain of command got the bright idea to find him and haul his ass in for questioning. The guy seemed almost to expect it, which made some people even more suspicious of him.” He cleared his throat. “Goddamn. It’s a good thing I was there. Someone with a sense of humor in that room.

“Hell! They were ready to throw his ass in Gitmo and hook electrodes to his balls to get answers.”

“Heard that, too” Davis said. “Of course only rumors.”

“He had a good sense of humor about it,” the Colonel said. “That’s what he meant when he said he’d expected to get hauled in. I mean…hell…he made movies about this shit decades before it actually happened. And those damned movies were so close to what was really going down that…well, of course there were people who were suspicious. He even made some jokes about being water boarded and I didn't have the heart to mention to him that it had been discussed.” 

Suddenly, and for no real reason beyond the sense of paranoia that sometimes had gripped him since the early days of the infection, Davis was suspicious. The Colonel had lulled him into a comfortable place and he would have to be careful not to say something that might get him into trouble with the brass. His life had been made exceptionally comfortable by his labor and the work ethic he devoted to it. For all he knew, they were probing him for weakness. He had always been suspicious of the kind of man who could make you laugh too easily.

“What did he have to say about the situation? Did he have any worthwhile insights? You never know where one can find useful information,” Dr. Patel said. He was genuine in his comments.

“No. It really was all just a crazy series of happenstance. He said the whole thing was a variation on a theme by another writer and it was just weird synchronicity.” Raines seemed to examine a spot on Cotter’s bare desk, his gaze piercing it to another time and another place. He chuckled, coming out of his near-trance. “He asked us if we were going to haul in any other horror movie directors and we told him he was the only one.” The man cleared his throat. “But I lied. Those crazy bastards upstairs did haul in a couple more of those fellows. That son of Mel Brooks who wrote that zombie novel best seller. But I didn’t get to debrief him. After Romero no one took that shit seriously.

“It was just a coincidence. For real.” And then his piercing gaze returned and he was all serious Defense Intelligence again. “Okay, Patel. Fill him in.” His eyes flicked from Rajh to Davis.

Patel leaned in, his forearms resting on Cotter’s desk. Most people asked him why his desktop was so clean and free of the debris of business, but so far that topic had been left out of the conversation. The Pakistani’s face was passive and there was nothing of the level of stress that Davis felt coursing through his own emotional state. “We’ve had some interesting things come up lately, Davis. Nothing huge. Just what have been some minor anomalies.”

“You mean anomalies when compared to my statistics and graphs.” He smiled lightly for both men, as if to let them know he was not concerned. But he was.

“Not per se,” Raines let him know. “But some things you’ll have to consider now that we can provide you with some real numbers.”

“Real numbers? I take it that this has to do with something that has been going on for a while?”

Patel sat back, removing his arms from Cotter’s desk and crossing them in his lap. He was wearing a pale gray suit and not his usual lab smock. For some reason, Davis had not noticed that Patel was in his civilian clothes, and for the first time he gave him a hard look. The man had obviously been going to the lab that morning, as usual. There were always specimen to examine and patients to see, even now, two years on when the plague had been placed well and under control. But here he was in civilian clothes instead of a lab smock.

“Yes, we noticed some things happening over the past couple of months.”

“New infections. You guys are talking about new infections.” Please, not that. Here it was again. Were they leading him on just to break the news to him gently. He had other sets of statistics and graphs that he had shown to no one. These graphs showed a precipitous and statistically solid chance that the human population of the planet would fall into the low millions if another pandemic of the infection hit them.