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Guest Rustic Monk

Zombie

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Guest Rustic Monk

So, this is an excerpt from what I call "ZOMBIE".

It's a working title.

This is version 4.1.

Currently the entire document is 49 pages.

I've tried to split this whole project into three acts, covering about six chapters. I've completed the first part and have the the other two figured out. I'm not quite sure about how to go about posting an excerpt so I've decided to post the prologue first as I can't really decide how to cut the main body without giving too much away. Plus I'm still adding more stuff to the first part. Well, yeah... I'm adding a lot to the first part. So, be patient with that. I hope this is enough to chew on.

Seriously, though, I'm even adding more to the Prologue, too. So, already, what I've posted here isn't what I have right now. Umm . . . I don't really know what specifically . . . . just condensed some prolixities.

SYNOPSIS: On the night the first AIDS cures were administered to the patients of the Francis E. Seymour Children's Research Hospital, people begin to get sick. At first it looks like food poisoning, but when the first victim dies and comes back . . . only to eat the nurses and doctors trying to help him . . . . The situation gets seriously out of control.

Kenny and his Dad (along with other families) were invited to stay the weekend in the beautiful Mendocino Forest. It was supposed to be a celebration. But soon the party comes to an end as his little brother, Clive, gets sick and must be re-hospitalized. When Kenny wakes up in the middle of the night and can't contain the feeling that something is wrong, he decides to go in and find out what's happened to his brother. But what he finds is something completely unexpected.

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Guest Rustic Monk

ZOMBIE

Working Title

Version 4.1

By: Gabriel Duncan

Prologue

It was November nineteenth, two-thousand and ten.

My dad and I were in some place about forty minutes north-east of Enterprise, California; inside the Mendocino Forest. We’d driven nearly three and half hours up the 101 from Treasure Island, where we lived. Then we turned onto some poorly paved road and went further on. The road led us over some hills and past Lake Pillsbury. There were some shops when the road opened up, and followed the lake north. One had a giant, steaming mug of coffee. Against the woods there was a gas station. None of them looked open as we passed. Then there was the gravel airport, which didn’t look well kept. Then more dirt road.

One time we went too fast and almost lost control; our truck veering to the right while it felt like the weight was fishtailing off to the left. My dad let out a nervous chuckle and grinned at me. Point taken, it seemed to say. Although I hadn’t said anything; I’d watched quietly from the passenger seat, staring out at the mountains in the distance, and the never-ending horizon.

Being from the Bay Area, I’d gotten used to artificial horizons. But this, this was awesome. I rolled the window down to feel the air. A hot, dry gust of wind shot in. It must be close to a hundred degrees, I thought. I could smell the pine trees and something else, something sweeter I couldn’t place. I stuck my hand out the window.

“What’s that smell,” I asked him.

“You mean the trees?” He said.

“No, the other one,” I told him, “The sweet one.”

My dad pointed his nose in the air and took a whiff. “I don’t know,” He said. “Do you know how far the hospital is from here?”

I pulled the nav. device out of the backpack between my legs and turned it on. I’d put it away for a while because it said we were supposed to go in a straight line until we got there. I didn’t remember how far it said we should go, but what appeared as a little line on the map felt like hours. The machine in my hands lit up and I watched as it loaded our trip.

.

The Francis E. Seymour Children's Research Hospital was one of California’s leading research facilities. That's where my brother was being treated; and he was the whole reason we were there.

We were supposed to be celebrating the end of AIDS. The cure, as far as we knew, was a copy of the HIV virus, rebuilt to destroy the real virus and replicate healthy T-Cells that were specifically designed to repair the damaged DNA in cells already affected by HIV using pure code from stem cells. A man, a doctor named Henry Robertson made this breakthrough; and the FDA rushed to allow him to administer his cure to all of his patients.

This wasn’t entirely experimental now these days. Scientists were beginning to make designer hearts and lungs for patients a little more frequently. But it was still rare. The cost of such an endeavor was extraordinary, and most of these cases were research-related success stories. Doctor Robertson’s research was the single most important advance against the HIV pandemic. And my brother was being treated by him.

We were invited to participate in their special ceremonies the next day, tomorrow. The governor had become intimately involved in all of the happenings around the first injections and probably took this as a great photo-op. Since the official announcement of the cure, the hospital had been swamped with reporters. We'd even gotten a few calls.

My dad didn't want to talk to the reporters; and he forbade me to as well. He said our business was our business. He wouldn't even let Clive be filmed getting the injection. I tried to talk him into at least interviewing. But he would have none of it. So I resigned myself to waiting for the day I'd see my brother again.

.

My brother, Clive, was born with HIV because my mother used intravenous drugs. She died giving birth to him. This was back in the day when doctor's thought most babies born with HIV were doomed to live life in the hours. But Clive was a fighter. In any normal circumstance, I could have blamed Clive for killing my mom on the way out. But this was something she did to herself, to all of us. I still missed her. Even though I had more pictures than memories.

I ran my fingers in the wind, tracing the outlines of all the hills I could see. All the while I was thinking of how life would be with the new Clive. As long as I could remember, Clive was sick. The last year and half was the worst, though. We didn't think he was going to make it. The doctors in Oakland didn't have the expertise to handle him. They kept calling Dr. Robertson for advice. So dad eventually decided to put him in The Francis E. Seymour, where he could receive his specialized care and expensive advice personally.

They had to airlift him in because the campus was so remote. When I asked why it so far out here, my Dad told me it was therapeutic. He’d only been there for a few months and he was already making history.

The governor had agreed to give half a million vaccines and a million cures to Africa.

“With our tax dollars,” Dad noted.

And they’d scheduled the ceremony for the day after the cures were administered. That meant tomorrow. We were invited to stay and participate in the ceremony, but dad and I weren’t trying to get on any evening news reports. We just wanted to get Clive back.

Dad said the whole thing was covered in subterfuge. …My dad believed in aliens and ghosts and pretty much applied to any of those whacked out theories he could put some evidence behind. Even Bigfoot. When I asked him about Africa's vaccines, he snorted.

“Diplomatic positioning,” My dad called it.

This whole event was staged, he told me. Doctor Robertson signed with a major pharmaceutical producer shortly before they announced the cure publicly. Of course, we had known long before then. It was a coincidence that Drug Corp. International already had other DNA treatments ready to be released in combination with a drug like this. Dad stressed the word coincidence. They offered Dr. Robertson an untold sum for the patent. Rumor was the amount was in the billions. But the doctor didn't seem any different than when we first met him. He did look happier.

When we pulled up to the hospital, the first thing I noticed was the red ground. Even below the grass in the huge clearing surrounding the hospital it was blood red. When I looked back at the navigation system, there was a tag that read “Blood Rock”, right next to the location marker I was surprised the system could even find. Great, I thought. The hospital was on top of a hill, smack-dab in the middle of no where. But that might be underestimating it. We could have been on the edge of nothing. Or, perhaps we were no where.

The Francis E. Seymour was a large, imposing building made of smooth, red brick. On all four sides was a perforated metal fa?ade that curved outwards at the tops and bottoms, with larger square-shaped holes cut into for windows, and a larger, rectangular incision made for the cafeteria and it’s second-to-ground floor ramp. The entranceway was encased by a large quarter-arch that split at the bottom like a snake’s tongue, with a staircase that led out to the main parking lot. It looked like some modern art monstrosity.

Even though the fa?ade covered most of the roof, I could see the blades of a helicopter peeking out over the edge, and what looked a little like the folded blades of another. These guys were definitely making use of their funding, I thought.

.

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An intriguing premise! Is it a case of the cure being worse than the disease? :smile: I guess we'll have to read more to find out.

It looks great, Gabe!

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It is not fair to just not say anything. I've read it, and it scares me. I cannot read any more. Sorry.

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I agree with the others, but I would change the title. "Zombie" is too obvious. I would go with something more oblique, more subtle. But you've definitely got me wanting to read more, which is a good thing.

You know, I had an idea for a vampire/AIDS story some years ago. I wondered, if vampires exist on victim's blood, what if the blood was contaminated? What if the illness could carry on in a vampire? The idea never got further than that, but it's something that I still mull over.

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You know, I had an idea for a vampire/AIDS story some years ago. I wondered, if vampires exist on victim's blood, what if the blood was contaminated? What if the illness could carry on in a vampire? The idea never got further than that, but it's something that I still mull over.

I don't want to hijack Gabe's thread, but a couple of decades ago, one of Australia's QC's (QC = Queens Counsel = an overpriced lawyer) had a TV show called Geoffrey Robertson's Hypotheticals. It would have a panel of experts, and he would present a series of hypothetical cases for comment and debate. It was quite entertaining. One of them was titled Does Dracula have AIDS?

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It's a good premise, Gabe.

Like the others, I want to read more. I also agree with The Pecman's comments on the title. 'Zombie' is too obvious. Oblique and subtle would be better.

Camy

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I agree with the others, but I would change the title. "Zombie" is too obvious. I would go with something more oblique, more subtle. But you've definitely got me wanting to read more, which is a good thing.

I agree. There are a zillion zombie stories out there and just as many video games. You need a title that seperates you from the pack.

If you want to stick with a one word title, consider something like: Pathogen or Contagion. In this case the Pathogen/Contagion is greed.

A phrase give you more options:

On the Eighth Day ==> man plays God

Best of Intentions ==> what the road to hell are paved with

I'm from the Government and I'm here to Help ==> the purest damnation available

I'm looking forward to it Gabe.

:flasher[1]::smile::shock::shock::shock:

James (geek w/4 cats)

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Guest Rustic Monk

The Last Supper?

How long of an excerpt can I post?

Personally I think words like Pathogen and Contagion are a little bland. Plus I swear there are already books out there with that name. And movies.

How about "The Incident at Bloody Rock"

And, yeah. I know this has been done before. I know it's been done a lot. And I've done a lot of research. (Books, Movies, Interviews)

If anyone knows where to get charts and graphs of the spread of infectious diseases like Influenze, Bird Fly and Syphilis, let me know. FYI: I'm not looking for tips like, "Try the CDC website," I want to know if you know a place for sure. I've been having a hell of a time finding this stuff. Or if you know of some incidents were small outbreaks occurred. Like Chernobyl, you know?

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Read Stephen King's The Stand. Abouy 98% of everybody on Earth dies of what is essentially a "Super Flu." Lotta statistics in there, if I remember correctly.

But it's the characters and emotions that will make or break your story. The stats just give if a little verisimilitude.

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Guest Rustic Monk

So now it's three full chapters, 57 pages and the second part (starting at the fourth chapter) is going. After a lot of re-writing, I decided to put in a snippet of the good stuff. Here are eight pages from chapter two.

ZOMBIE

(Working Title)

Version 4.2

By: Gabriel Duncan

Excerpt from Chapter 2

(Pages 16-24)

When I walked in, the lobby was empty. It was a lot warmer than outside, almost uncomfortable. The banquet hall was still lit . . . kinda. It didn?t look like they had finished cleaning. In the center of a room, there was a lone chair, overturned. I walked past, to the elevators. The second floor cafeteria was dark, as the elevator went past. But I could see a few people rummaging around in the fruit bin. The laboratory looked like a mess. As I ascended, I became aware of the racket coming from my brother?s floor.

At first it was a faint whisper. But as I got closer I could make out the electronic tones. The chimes and bells I?d heard coming from my brothers monitors were loud. What?s more, I could here the lonely tone of EKG?s stuck on flat-line.

No on was around when the elevator jolted to a stop on Clive?s floor. Something about the situation made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Despite the noise, I couldn?t hear anything else. I walked a few steps down the hall, and turned in to the AIDS wing. It was the smell that made me stop dead in my tracks. It was like rotting pumpkin. But there was something else, something acrid.

I was stood at the end of the hall, maybe three feet from the corner of the nurses? station and took it in. The place was a mess. I mean, it looked like someone robbed them. A few of the curtains were pulled back. I could see bedpans scattered around the floor; and blood on the sheets. There was a pile of puke orange-red puke on the floor next to one of the beds.

I felt the overwhelming sensation of d?j? vu, as I called out, ?Hello??

I stepped in farther, and almost slipped on a popped bag of saline solution.

?Hello?!? I called again.

No answer. It occurred to me that I couldn?t hear any talking.

The alarms were so loud I couldn?t think. The buzzing was permeating my skull. I wanted to go in and shut them off, but I was gripped by fear. I was alone. And I could tell, without even going farther in, that something very bad happened. This was more than food poisoning.

But it doesn?t make sense. I saw people in here from our tent. Where is everyone? What happened? I hadn?t seen anyone in the building; no patients, no bodies, no nurses! Being immersed in the horrible smell, I couldn?t think about the word ?vomit? without suppressing a retch that, very soon, I wouldn?t be able to suppress anymore.

So I snuck into the room, crouching and being quieter than the alarms. No one was in the storage hallway that connected both entrances. But it looked like everything inside the storage bins had been emptied.

I eased up the wall next to the nurses? station and peeked around the corner, super fast. No one. I took another quick look and ducked into the nurses? station, staying low. It wasn?t as quiet as I wanted. My knee caught a clipboard and I slid and bashed it into a rolling computer chair. I cursed myself quietly, looking over my shoulder, and straining to hear any sign of life. The whole wing was deserted.

I don?t know what I was expecting to find. Clive, maybe? A fucking person? Charts were strewn all over. The phones were off the hooks. There was blood on them. Maybe someone had come and killed them all. I quickly dismissed the idea as paranoid bullshit. There had to be a reasonable explanation.

I crawled out of the nurses? station and looked around the corner. I had to be careful not to touch any of the crap on the ground. (It could be dangerous.) I could see down the hall and into the west wing. The automated doors, which were usually only opened for visitors, were propped open by an overturned wheelchair. Beyond that, I could see it was the same as this one. I stood up, now that I knew no one was around, and shut off all the monitors. Next, I looked on the floor for Clive?s file, but I couldn?t find it.

I was about to walk back to the elevators and tell Dad what I found when I heard something move inside the storage area. I became terrified when I realized I walked right past it without seeing anything. I stopped breathing as all the things it could be ran through my head.

Even though every self-protective fiber in my body was screaming at me not to call out, I knew that I should; in the end, this could turn out to be something completely different. But if this really was something like terrorism or a mob hit, or some kind of international spy thing, then maybe it was a survivor? or something?hopefully someone who can explain all this. And, if it were something else, like a rat, then I could chuckle to myself before I left to safety; and tell Dad to call the fucking cops.

When I looked in the storage area, I didn?t see anything out of the ordinary. I mean, yeah, it was trashed; yeah, there was blood; yeah, it was fucking creepy and I wanted to leave. But I had to at least look. There were tons of trays from the shelving units strewn across the floor, but all of the gates around the shelves were closed. The gates were solid metal, all the way up to my stomach; from there it was covered with metal mesh. Someone was hiding here.

?Hello?? I whispered.

I heard a choked, ?Kenny?? from a unit right in the middle. It sounded like Clive. I pulled at the handle, but it was locked.

?Clive?? I watched my voice.

?Kenny!? It was him, ?Hurry! Let me out!?

?I can?t,? I said, ?It?s locked. Do you know the combination??

?No,? He said, his voice was panicked. ?Get me out!?

I shoved my fingers in-between the door and the frame and pulled as hard as I could. I pulled so hard that the corner of the door bent outwards, but it wasn?t any closer to opening.

?Hold on,? I said.

I crouched down and used all my strength to pull the door up and off the hinges from the bottom. There he was, curled in the shelf, shivering. I pulled him out of the bin and he gave me a big hug.

?I thought you were never going to come!? He said.

Clive was covered with blood. I couldn?t tell if it were his own, or someone else?s.

?Clive, what happened to you?!? I hissed.

Clive shoved his hand over my mouth. I was repulsed by its smell; his hand was clammy. His eyes were full of fear, and the bags under them were almost as big as Dad?s.

?Be quiet, Kenny!? He hissed, ?We need to get Avery!?

?Where is he?? I asked.

?He?s upstairs, in the cancer ward.? He pulled my hand and we trotted back to the elevator.

As we waited for it to arrive, Clive was looking around wildly, as if something were going to pop out any second. I kept asking him what was wrong, what happened; but he was too focused on finding Avery.

When we stepped out onto the sixth floor, I noticed there were bloody foot prints and smears everywhere. Clive signaled to be quiet and tip-toed over to the big double doors of the cancer ward. Clive pushed on them, but they bumped against something and didn?t open. I gave it the shoulder and the doors slid open enough for me to squeeze through.

It was dim inside. Most of the standing lights had been broken, as well as some of the overheads, most of which flickered. Bodies littered the ground. Some of them had scalpels in them. I stepped back, towards the door, glass crunched below my feet. I turned around and saw a nurse, slumped against the door. Her head was broken, her skull crushed like a shell around a boiled egg. I could see her brain underneath the ragged remainder of her scalp, which hung lazily over the hole.

There was a monitor stuck in the wall behind and at angle from her head. It was one of those metal ones the doctors use for EKG machines. The wall was splattered with blood and I could make out something that I told myself wasn?t an ear. There a huge wound in her arm, about the size of my fist, like a gouge. I couldn?t see it very well. There was something else about her. About the way she was laying . . . .

It occurred to me that whoever had killed her could still be in the room, as the double doors were the only way out.

?Can you see him?? Clive whispered.

I freaked and jumped back through the door.

?I don?t think he?s in there.? I told him.

His eyes fell on the puddle of blood that seeped out from under the slightly opened door.

?He has to be in there.? Clive said, ?I know he is.?

?Clive,? I told him, ?Everyone?s dead in there.?

He made for the door. But I grabbed him and pulled him away. ?Clive, I think whoever killed them might be in there. Don?t go!?

Clive broke free of my grip and went inside. I followed him quickly, hoping to change his mind before we were caught. Most of the dead were kids, mostly with shaved heads, and they all seemed to be piled around the nurse?s station. They all seemed to have head trauma. We walked around the room, looking them in the face, trying to find Avery.

?Hey guys,? A voice said, suddenly, out of the shadows.

?Rodney?? Clive asked.

I could barely make him out, slumped in a corner, in the shadows. He was holding Avery. We stepped towards him, being careful not to walk on anyone. Once we got closer, I was able to see Avery was dead. There was a scalpel sticking out of his forehead. It seemed so unreal. The blood running from it had already clotted, the place the scalpel protruded from had become a pussy, yellow mess, god it looked like cottage cheese.

?What happened, Rodney?? I asked.

He pulled Avery?s arms into a folded position, across his chest. ?They went mad.?

?Who did?? I asked.

Rodney set Avery down on the ground, beside him, and stood up. ?All of us.?

Clive stepped back then, and pulled my hand. ?Kenny . . . .?

?They wanted to kill him. The nurses?. They said he was going to kill us. But they were killing each other. I could hear them screaming from the fifth floor. They were killing all the kids.? Rodney stopped and held his stomach. I could see a little blood seep through his shirt; it looked black in the dim light.

?But then he turned on me.?

?What do you mean?? I asked him.

?Kenny!? Clive hissed.

?What?? I turned to look at him.

Clive was staring over my shoulder. His face was filled with terror. I looked to my side when I heard a bedpan clatter on the floor. An orderly, about six foot three, stood up. In the dim light, I could see a bundle of syringes sticking out of his cheek, and more in his body. The orderly?s hand was split wide open, crushed almost, and I could see his bones and tendons as he reached towards us. His neck was leaking blood, from what I could tell was a bite wound. His eyes were yellow.

?Oh my god,? I gasped.

I could only watch as the orderly came toward us. He was moving slowly. Blood trickled down his arm; leaving spatters on the floor. I was too shocked to do anything. I could already feel the pain.

But Rodney was there. He lunged forward and kicked the orderly down. With a grunt, Rodney picked up a monitor and smashed the orderly?s skull in one blow. It was done so fast, I wasn?t sure if it really happened. The sound of crushing bone and tissue sickened me. I watched as Rodney stood over the body, panting.

?They come back,? Rodney said.

I looked around me, at all the bodies, and wondered if they, too, would come back.

?We should get out of here,? I said.

But Rodney didn?t move.

?I can?t,? He said. ?When they find out what I am, they?ll kill me, too.?

?What do you mean?? I asked him.

Rodney walked into the light from the hallway and showed himself to us. Clive shrieked a little. His eyes were glassy, and his pupils were crimson. His face and body were covered with deep scratches. Then there were the bites, fist-size gouges in his sides. At the bottom of every wound were purple, empty looking pits that pus seeped out from. He smelled like? like a rotting corpse.

?Are you going to kill me?? It was the only thing I could ask. I felt nauseous.

?I don?t think so.? Rodney replied. He was eyeing the open door. ?You know, I was doing okay when the door was closed.?

Clive ran over and pushed the door closed.

?Are you a zombie??

?I don?t know,? He said, ?Maybe.?

Then he added, ?You have to die first.?

?What do you mean?? I asked.

Clive walked over to a window and looked down, seeming not to care if he turned his back on Rodney. I, only the other hand, could not look away from this . . . macabre predicament. I was sure that, for all intents and purposes, Rodney should be dead by now?or at least screaming in pain. But he was neither.

?All the other people died before they became... They bled to death, and they came back. Or they died like Avery; and just woke up. I didn?t do either. At least, I don?t think I did.? He looked at us seriously then, ?Do you think I would??

?I don?t know.? I noticed Clive looking at me out of the corner of his eye. Did he remember dying? I had the eerie feeling that I had just walked into a trap.

?But I don?t understand. If I?m a zombie, I would know, right? I mean, all these people got bit. And they turned into zombies. And look at me! Do you know how long I?ve been in here? Four hours? Four fucking hours! I should be dead.?

?Yeah,? I said.

?Do you feel like eating anyone?? Clive asked.

?Not particularly.? Rodney said lightly.

I watched Rodney in the reflection of the window as I looked out. The moon was setting, but we still had more than two hours of night left. Six stories down was the tent I slept in. I could see the coffee pot steaming on the camp stove from up here. I studied Clive. He looked calm. Through the dried blood caked to his skin, I could see he was unharmed. I wondered if Rodney would try to eat me. I wondered if Clive was one of them, too. I wondered if zombies could use an elevator. I walked over to the phone and picked it up; playing on the off-chance the phones would work. No dial tone. I lit a cigarette and gave up for the moment, since we seemed safe enough.

?So what the fuck is going on?? I looked at Rodney, ?What happened??

?Do you want the long story?? He asked, ?Or just the short one??

?Just tell me what happened.? I told him.

?I went in at about midnight,? He said, ?I couldn?t sleep. I?d already found out that people were dying. So I had to go see if Avery was okay. But when I got there, he was in a bed with the curtains drawn. They told me he was sick, like, almost dead sick. The doctors said he wouldn?t last the night. So I sat by him, you know. They told me everything was going wrong with him, his blood was poisoned. His organs were shutting down. That fucking cure wasn?t a fucking cure. It killed him. I mean, he looked worse than anything I could ever imagine.

?His skin was white, he was oozing blood from his eyes and his ears and I could just see it creeping out from under the sheet. It was horrible. All the other kids were flipping out, even though the curtains were pulled, they could tell something was going on. They were giving him morphine. Avery was talking all kinds of crazy shit. I could tell he was hallucinating. I sat there with him until they said he was going. I watched him close his eyes and take his last breath.?

Rodney wiped his eyes and sniffed. His face screwed up in grief.

?I watched as they checked his pulse and responses. It was twelve-thirty-three, I remember that. Then the doctor left. Outside the doors, there was lots of yelling and screaming. I figured it was just a bunch of people screaming and crying over their kids. I know I was angry, sitting next to my dead brother. But if I?d known then what was going on, I would have run for my life.

?I would have left then, too. But when I turned to say goodbye to Avery, he opened his eyes. At first, I thought it was some kind of dead thing. You know how you hear about people getting rigor mortis, losing control of their functions and twitching and stuff? Well, I thought it was that. But it wasn?t. It was scary. Avery looked at us, at all of us. The doctors were really freaking out, then. All of the monitors and stuff were still attached him, you know? There was no pulse, he wasn?t breathing. But there he was.

?All of a sudden he sat up and looked at one of the doctors. You could tell he was confused. Like he didn?t know how he got there. Then he asked, ?Am I dead?? It was the trippiest thing, man. All the other kids were screaming, ?Zombie! Zombie!? I mean, they were practically tripping over each other to get to the door.

?When one of the kids opened the doors, we could hear people screaming from all over. Another kid, from one of the other wings ran over to ours. As I stood over Avery, I could hear him asking for help. He said there were zombies. Then there was screaming. Lots of ?What the hell is that?? kind of stuff. I turned and looked. The doors were wide open and these two little gremlin looking kids, covered in blood, were screaming and hauling ass towards us. The kid we?d just let in shoved the doors closed and we all jumped in to help.

?They were strong.? He motioned over to the orderly he killed in front of us, ?Chad let the first one in without knowing because the little fucker said he wanted us to protect him. He looked normal enough. But when Chad picked him up, the kid bit him, ripped his throat clean out. We all forgot about the door, when the little kid came at a nurse. I tried to grab him, but he was biting. So I held him by the face, like a dog, to keep his mouth away. I threw him around a couple of times but he wouldn?t listen. He was snarling. That?s when I noticed his eyes didn?t look right. I was pretty sure he was gonna try and kill me, too. So I picked him up, put him in a neck lock, and snapped it.

?As I let the kid fall out of my arms, I saw Chad stand and charge the nurses and patients gathered around the doors. He was in a frenzy. It was hard to tell what was happening, because Chad would just grab someone and bite them, taking big pieces out of them, and they would fall, but, like, a minute or two later, they would get back up and start biting, too. Everyone scattered out and started hitting him with everything they could; it was a melee. That?s when Avery got into it. I tried to stay out of the way. He had been watching the whole time. But once he started, he was like a rabid animal. He killed them all. Then he turned to the only nurse that hadn?t been bitten yet? and he ate her.

?I wouldn?t let him near me. But he was talking to me like normal?. So I let my guard down. He said he was sorry, he got kinda out of control. Everything would be okay. He hugged me and told me he loved me. But then, he bit me.? Rodney was quiet for minute, then. ?And he wouldn?t stop. I didn?t want to kill him. But I had to. So I killed him, and then I killed the nurse before she could turn, too. Then I hid.?

?Where are the others?? I asked.

All of a sudden, we could hear running outside, along the hall.

?Hide!? Rodney whispered.

We ducked into the nurses? station. Clive crawled under an over-turned computer chair. Rodney and I hid behind two filing cabinets. I could only see a little of the room between the cabinet and the wall.

Standing next to Rodney, I became very aware of the way he smelled. I could feel his blood seeping through my pants. It was cool to the touch, and matted my pants to my thigh in a way I thought was more than a little uncomfortable. I tried to push him away a little, but he said to be quiet. The door slammed open.

I could see three or four people slowly walk into the room. I was scared. Then they stood in the center of the room. They weren?t moving. I held my breath. They stood there for what seemed like hours. Until my leg began to cramp. And the smell from Rodney was becoming unbearable. I felt claustrophobic. When they turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of a badge on one of them. I whispered to Rodney it looked like a security guard. But they heard me, too. All of a sudden, they were screaming; and running towards us. I pushed the file cabinets on top of two of them and ran, punching the other two to the ground as I passed.

?Clive!? I yelled.

He threw the chair away and followed us as we ran out into the hall, to the elevator. I jammed the button so hard I almost broke it. I shoved the button back into place and held it while the security guard came running out of the ward.

?Kenny!? Clive screamed.

I didn?t have anything to defend myself with. But I could see the guard still had everything on his utility belt. If I could somehow incapacitate the guard and take his weapons, then I?d have something use when we were leaving. Rodney was on it. He body slammed into the security guard and gouged at his eyes. I could see the guard was scratching Rodney, but he didn?t seem to care. I watched as he popped the guard?s eyeballs and shoved them home, into the guy?s brain. Rodney picked him up by the skull and shook him out like a sheet. The sound of the man?s spine cracking told me he wasn?t going to get up.

I was in awe. Even though I was horrified, I couldn?t help but empathize a little with the guard.

I heard the elevator open behind me. ?C?mon,? Clive said.

?Hold it!? I told him.

?What are you doing?? Rodney asked me, as I dashed over to the dead guard and took his flashlight, nightstick, mace and handcuffs.

?We?ll need these.? I told Rodney. I let out a shriek when I realized his eyes had gone yellow. ?Your eyes,? I gasped.

?I know,? He said, ?But don?t worry.?

He smiled, and I could see the blood on his teeth.

?Kenny!? Clive yelled.

.

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I rather like it to. It's an interesting concept and it does make you want to read more, as long as you have the stomach for it.l

I did feel like it was more clinical then anything. It did make me want a bit more detail with teh transitional parts, but it's still very good and has some great potential.

That's my thoughts though.

Good luck with your writing.

Rose :hug:

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Wow!

I just read the latest (12th March) snippet, and was sorry I couldn't read on.

There are a lot of bits I liked, This just one:

?Do you feel like eating anyone?? Clive asked.

?Not particularly.? Rodney said lightly.

More!

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Guest Rustic Monk

thanks for your feedback, guys.

camy: what other parts did you like? FYI: I've reworked that scene a couple of times by now. That line you quoted is still in there.

rose: clincial . . . what did you mean? there's not enough emotion? or I spent too much time on glomerular filtration rates? ...and the transitional parts. what did you mean by that, too?

on a side note (kind of): talked to someone else who'd read the excerpt and she needed some info to clarify some questions. so, in an attempt to help you out, here's a list of charecters.

Kenny: 18, older brother of Clive, NARRATOR

Clive: 13, Kenny's younger brother

Dad: Age Undetermined, father of Kenny and Clive

George: Age Undetermined, father of Avery and Rodney

Avery: Approximately 13, Younger brother of Rodney

Rodney: Approximately 18, Avery's older brother

Dr. Robertson: 40-something, Medical Doctor, Scientist responsible for creating the "cure" for HIV/AIDS

maybe after the whole thing's done I'll tell you what happened to Rodney and why he's different than everyone else. I think you can figure it out, though. but for now, "loose lips sink ships"

umm . . . right now i'm working on the part directly after the escape from Bloody Rock. I was going down the conspiracy route. But I don't think that's such a great idea anymore. And I already have plans for one of the charecters. I'm kinda stuck on that part. But I think the end of this story is very much in sight.

Here's my idea: Clive, Kenny and Dad survive the hospital. They escape and, after running into some spooks, they decide not to talk about it with anyone. When they get back to Treasure Island, the news breaks that there was a terrorist attack on the children's hospital. a botched assassination attempt or something. bombs that were meant to go off later that night destroyed the entire hospital 12 hours early.

This is not exactly the conspiracy route. I understand that governments would try to keep these things quiet. the law enforcement officials I've interviewed petty much led me to believe that the air force would be there as soon as the cops realized they were in over their heads. (it helps that the hospital is in the middle of the Maxwell MOA [military operations area]) that's how the hopsital was destroyed. but it's so much easier to blame the whole thing on terrorists and never mention the flesh-hungry monsters that were silently pouring into the woods. (what's worse is that the hospital is in the woods, between two main highways in california.)

Of course, no amount of military force would be able to clean the area 100%. Especially if the things are given a few hours head start.

As the pages close to an end, there's also the final showdown between Clive and Kenny.

That's where this part ends, maybe. But I may make it excruciatingly longer, like the Palpatine Heart. oh yeah, that marks the end of part two. part three is going to take a while to formulate.

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rose: clincial . . . what did you mean? there's not enough emotion? or I spent too much time on glomerular filtration rates? ...and the transitional parts. what did you mean by that, too?

on a side note (kind of): talked to someone else who'd read the excerpt and she needed some info to clarify some questions. so, in an attempt to help you out, here's a list of charecters.

Kenny: 18, older brother of Clive, NARRATOR

Clive: 13, Kenny's younger brother

Dad: Age Undetermined, father of Kenny and Clive

George: Age Undetermined, father of Avery and Rodney

Avery: Approximately 13, Younger brother of Rodney

Rodney: Approximately 18, Avery's older brother

Dr. Robertson: 40-something, Medical Doctor, Scientist responsible for creating the "cure" for HIV/AIDS

maybe after the whole thing's done I'll tell you what happened to Rodney and why he's different than everyone else. I think you can figure it out, though. but for now, "loose lips sink ships"

I suppose I confused you huh? To be quite honest, I confused myself with that post. Sorry.

Okay, let's see if I can't get this right now, shall we?

When I talk transitional, I mean the parts that lead up to the parts of the story that ends with the climax. To be precise, the parts that you read that tells the reader what is around them, the time, the area around the character, ect.

It's clinical. It reads like a monotone to me. I'm not sure about the others, but I have this habit of wanting to see emotion.

I suppose I should explain what emotion means to me when it comes to a story. Emotion to me is the detail work and the way it's written. I've read many, many, many stories, thousands in fact, but only really read a few great stories in my life time. The difference between the great stories and the good stories, is the way the writer describes something.

Let's see. Take this part:

It didn?t look like they had finished cleaning. In the center of a room, there was a lone chair, overturned. I walked past, to the elevators. The second floor cafeteria was dark, as the elevator went past. But I could see a few people rummaging around in the fruit bin. The laboratory looked like a mess.

I can see it, but I can't feel it, like I can feel the rest of the story. This is a transitional scene. You are taking your character from one part to another. Add a bit more meat otherwise it sounds like the character is bored and not scared that something might just jump out and rip his head off. It's like it's a skeleton or something I would write out in an outline.

The entire paragraph leaves me with questions like 'How dark or dim is it?', 'What does the chair look like?', 'Are there tables or trash on the floor?', ect.

I'm not saying overload it with details, just add a bit more detail. Just my thoughts.

I hope that you really don't feel insulted or anything. I don't want to insult you or make you mad.

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Guest Rustic Monk

Alright. I showed Rose that paragraph as it stands right now, in version 4.3. And she says it looks good. I wasn't going to complete it until ROSE thought that paragraph was okay. We fought a little over it. She gave me a black eye, I spilled my drink on her. We ended up on the floor, in some broken glass, drinking out of the bottles we broke against each other's heads and deciding . . . Well. I can't remember. I was drunk. But when I woke up, she wasn't there.

My heart still aches.....

------------------------------

Seriously, though:

I wanted to tell you version 4 is double-dead ("super dead" in zombie-ease.) Version 5 is here and I've completed the story.

That's right! It's fucking done. AHAHAHA!! Cue the victory music. [Elvis Presley, "A Little Less Conversation" (JXL Radio Edit)]

:: does the "fucking done" dance ::

Now I'm really looking for beta readers and editors.

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Alright. I showed Rose that paragraph as it stands right now, in version 4.3. And she says it looks good. I wasn't going to complete it until ROSE thought that paragraph was okay. We fought a little over it. She gave me a black eye, I spilled my drink on her. We ended up on the floor, in some broken glass, drinking out of the bottles we broke against each other's heads and deciding . . . Well. I can't remember. I was drunk. But when I woke up, she wasn't there.

My heart still aches.....

------------------------------

Seriously, though:

I wanted to tell you version 4 is double-dead ("super dead" in zombie-ease.) Version 5 is here and I've completed the story.

That's right! It's fucking done. AHAHAHA!! Cue the victory music. [Elvis Presley, "A Little Less Conversation" (JXL Radio Edit)]

:: does the "fucking done" dance ::

Now I'm really looking for beta readers and editors.

*falls to floor and laughs hysterically* *gets up* *wipes tear from eyes* *brushes off clothes*

Okay, now that's done...*fixes shirt* He does need someone who is willing to wrestle this out of his hands now. He's good alone. He'll be better with a good beta and editor. I would do it, but I don't have many people on my resume right now. That and I'm still slightly hungover from the fight... :wink:

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It didn't take much to wrestle it away from him, Rose. I've got it and I'm about ready to hand it back to him. I've gone thru it with my editors pen and read thru it in stages. Now I want to read thru all 67 pages uninterrupted. It's an interesting story. I've never seen zombie's portrayed quite like this.

I'll shut up now. I don't want to spoil anything. :smile:

Jan

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It didn't take much to wrestle it away from him, Rose. I've got it and I'm about ready to hand it back to him. I've gone thru it with my editors pen and read thru it in stages. Now I want to read thru all 67 pages uninterrupted. It's an interesting story. I've never seen zombie's portrayed quite like this.

I'll shut up now. I don't want to spoil anything. :lipssealed:

Jan

Yeah! Don't give away how the people become...I'll just shut up now....

Though I'm going through it like the psycho beta I am. I'm pointing out where there are weak spots mostly. Though I am enjoying the read.

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