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Summer of Zombie Blog Tour 2014: Alex Laybourne

6/21/2014

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The stench of rotting flesh is in the air! Welcome to the Summer of Zombie Blog Tour 2014, with 33 of the best zombie authors spreading the disease in the month of June. 
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As the Blog Tour moves into its 21st day, I'd like to welcome my guest, Alex Laybourne, who is promoting his survival horror novel, Diaries of the Damned.


About the Novel:

The dead have risen and a desperate struggle for power has begun. The military are evacuating all survivors in passenger planes. With their destination unknown, one group of survivors, led by a journalist named Paul Larkin, decide to share their experiences with the hope that when combined, their stories will reveal some answers that the government had not been willing to give themselves. Nine survivors have banded together, determined to tell their tale of survival. None of them realized that as they stood to tell their tales that they stood on the brink of discovering a conspiracy the likes of which the world has never seen.


Excerpt:

Chapter 1 - Boarding

Paul Larkin sat in his seat and fastened his seatbelt. His body was caked with sweat and dry blood. His ears rang from the gunshots, and his ankle swelling again, remnants of an injury he acquired jumping from the first floor window of his suburban home; at least, it used to be suburbia, before everything went to shit. 

He sat back and let out a long, deep breath. Shock threatened to take hold of him, and so he closed his eyes and waited. The plane filled up, and the cries of those refused admittance echoed down the walkway, swiftly followed by the sound of their execution. 


Paul spared but the most fleeting of moments thinking about it. He found it strange how killing and death had become such a large part of his life. 


“Excuse me,” A fragile sounding voice stirred Paul from the calm place he had just started to settle into. “I believe this is my seat.” An elderly woman, late seventies at best stood before him, her face was smeared with blood, while one eye had been covered by a filthy rag that had been hastily secured to her face with what looked like Duct Tape. 


“I’m sorry…” Paul asked, confused. 


“Seat 17b, this is my seat.” The woman waved the ticket in Paul’s face. 


Paul said nothing, but gave the woman a look which screamed, ‘the world as we knew it has ended, are you seriously going to complain that I’m in your seat’. If she could read his expression, she showed no signs of it, and so with another heavy sigh, this one of frustration, Paul undid his belt and scooted one seat over. 

“Thank you. I don’t mean to be rude, but after all that has happened, I feel the need to remain proper about some things.” She said as she sat down. There was an odor to her person that Paul found distinctly repelling, but still, she had clearly gotten through the scanners at the gate. 

“It’s fine.” He answered her, closing his eyes once more. 

The seat he had taken was a window seat, just before the wings of the Boeing 737 that the military had been using as an emergency evacuation vehicle for the past two weeks. Looking out across the tarmac, Paul saw the army standing guard at the perimeter of the small airfield. The sun had begun to disappear beneath the horizon, and in the dull afterglow of yet another survived day, Paul found himself staring at the firework like bursts of gunfire and wondering how it could have all gone so wrong, so quickly. 

He tried to stop himself, but before he knew it, his mind was cast back. He saw his wife, Julia and their two children, Doug and Maddy. They were outside, Paul was stood behind the barbeque, and Julia busied herself by setting the table, while their kids played in the garden, enjoying the summer weather. He blinked, trying to force the image away. It worked, but was replaced by the memory of his wife’s battered, bloody corpse lying on the floor in their living room. Her face blackened and swollen by the sickness, her body broken from the repeated strikes he had delivered with his son’s baseball bat. Her blood dotted his clothes, his face, everything. 
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“Daddy, I don’t feel well,” his daughter called. Paul had turned around just in time to see the blood flow from her mouth like vomit. She collapsed to the floor, the convulsions already upon her. His son followed suit within the hour; their small bodies were an easy target for the virus. 

“I love you,” Paul had whispered as he hugged them both tightly, and then pushed their heads beneath the surface of the water. They struggled of course, but their bodies were too weak from the disease to provide much resistance. His daughter fought the longest. “You’re with the angels now” Paul whispered to them as he dried their faces, dressed them in clean clothes and laid them in their beds. 

The sound of an explosion within the terminal rocked the plane and pulled Paul from the nightmare. The sun had fallen behind the trees, yet the plane did not seem anywhere near full.

“Close those doors.” The lone flight attendant called out, running down the aisle, pushing passengers out of their way without a second thought. “Close them now,” She screamed again just as the roar of machine gun fire reached them.

The screams of those still in the walkway cut out as the doors were closed and the engines roared into life. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen please take your seats, we are making an immediate departure.” The now out of breath young women spoke into the intercom. “God help us all,” she added. 

The plane shuddered into life and rolled away from the gate. The coupling that connected it to the terminal was still filled with bodies. Paul watched them cascade to the floor like lemmings; a human waterfall. “Lucky bastards,” he whispered as he stared at their still, lifeless forms. 

The plane rolled onto the runway, and stopped. They sat there for ten minutes, and then, just as people started to get nervous, three armored Jeeps came to a screeching halt either side of the aircraft, the machine guns mounted on the top of each firing into the unseen enemy. 

“Oh God, they got past the perimeter fences.” A voice cried out. This was accompanied by a wave of panic that saw people leap from their seats. Paul however, sat still; shock and weariness had overcome him. As a result, he saw the guns cease firing, and the gunner of the car nearest his window waved his hands in a signal which even Paul understood meant “Get going, NOW!”

Paul opened his mouth to warn the panicked mob, but he was too late. The engines roared and the plane sped down the runway. Bodies were thrown to the floor and into their seats as the plane gathered momentum. Through his window Paul watched as the bodies of those that had caused the delay were mown down by the speeding jet. Even that wouldn’t be enough to kill them all, but what did it matter now; they were airborne and the legions of the undead were behind them. 

Looking back, Paul was just in time to see the main concourse explode in a ball of flame. The mushrooming ball of fire looked, for a few seconds at least, as though it would engulf the plane too, but their ascent was steep; too steep to be safe. They avoided the blast, but the resultant shock wave shook them enough to dislodge an extra round of screams from his fellow passengers. 

Once they leveled out, and everybody had pulled themselves to their feet, an eerie hush fell over the cabin. Nobody moved nobody spoke. They had all lost people to the disease, they had all killed as a result of it, and while they were alive, the world beneath them was locked in a bitter fight for survival. The city burned around them, the air dark with ash and soot. The military presence was immense, tanks, aircraft, and platoons of men, armed to the nines with every weapon that could be issued. They had a lot to mourn, and a lot to be thankful for. 

Of course, Paul had seen firsthand how the creatures… infected - it was all too easy to forget that they had been human beings but two weeks ago - had eaten bullets and kept on walking, so what use the military presence would serve in the long run was beyond him.

Beside him, the old woman began to weep, and within a few seconds the whole plane echoed with the sound of tears being shed; the conflicting of emotions too over whelming. As a collective they had stayed strong, but now, like a house of cards, when one fell, the rest would never be far behind. Apart from Paul that was. He didn’t cry he felt nothing; his entire body was numb. He was not an emotional man, that is to say, he was a man that had learned to deal with the dark tide of his emotions internally. He didn’t keep it bottled up in an attempt to look tough, for at five feet eight and seventy kilos, a tough guy he was not; not under the traditional definition. He did it because he didn’t know how to let it out. Instead, he watched, and listened as those around him gave voice to their pain.

The sobs died down and the gentle thrum of the engines seemed to ease the entire group into a semi doze. Even Paul found himself struggling to hold his eyes open. Climbing over the snoring elderly woman beside him, Paul made his way to the back of the plane. The bathroom stall was unlocked, but when he opened the door, he let out a cry of alarm when he saw the young air hostess, the one who had run down the plane and closed to door when things got too heavy, sitting slumped over the toilet seat. She was covered in blood, which spilled from the two slashes she had made in her wrists. The mirror above the sink had been smashed, and in her left hand she held a bloodied shard. She clutched it like a knife; even as Paul reached over the spreading pool of blood on the floor to check her pulse, she managed to lash our feebly.

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About the Author:

Given he was born and raised in the coastal English town Lowestoft, it should come as no surprise (to those that have the misfortune of knowing this place) that Alex became a horror writer.

He has been a writer "as long as [he] can remember" and has always had a vivid imagination. To this day, he finds it all too easy to just drift away into his own mind and explore the worlds he creates--where the conditions always seem to be just perfect for the cultivation of ideas, plots, scenes, characters and lines of dialogue.



For more information about Alex Laybourne and his books, visit his Amazon author page. You can purchase Diaries of the Damned through Barnes and Noble.

Stop by the Summer of Zombie Blog Tour event page on Facebook so you don't miss an interview, guest post or teaser… and pick up some great swag as well! Stop by for giveaways galore from most of the authors as well as interaction with them! #SummerZombie

AND so you don't miss any of the posts in June, here's the complete list, updated daily.


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New Novella Series: JANE THE HIPPIE VAMPIRE

6/16/2014

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I'm happy to announce the first installment of my urban fantasy horror novella series, Jane the Hippie Vampire. Jane's a little different than much of my other writing, which tends to be more literary and sociological. She's a bit more down to earth--at least as down to earth as a burned out hippie can be. Thematically, she's a cross between the '90s Canadian cult series Forever Knight and the '70s hit television show Kung Fu.  While Jane's no Nick Knight or Kwai Chank Caine, her quest is reminiscent of both.

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About Jane the Hippie Vampire: Love Beads

She's broke and homeless. She's a vegetarian. She's undead. 

Jane has had one hell of a time ever since she bumped into the wrong guy during the Summer of Love, but she's taken it all in stride. Wandering from town to town, she seeks out the needy and the broken in hopes of breaking the curse that's left her bloodthirsty and forever seventeen. 

In Love Beads, Jane crosses paths with a middle-aged man who's encountered her kind before--but he seems happy just to have the company. Of course, appearances can be deceiving, and his secret might just prove to be the end of her.


Right now, you can get this first episode for .99 on Kindle.

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New Release: TERROR TRAIN

6/14/2014

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Published through James Ward Kirk Publishing: Terror Train, edited by A. Henry Keene and Krista Clark Grabowski. Check out my creepy reprint, "Enter the Corruption," along with forty-one other horror shorts.

About Terror Train:

The Terror Train rides, from city to city, from village to village, through states, across rivers and mountains. If only it could tell its tales of grisly murder, of demonic pacts, black holes into different dimensions and portals to other realms where the ghosts of train robbers hunt in perpetuity for that elusive bullion filled carriage that cost them their immortal souls. Behold the terrors the train has witnessed, see firsthand the horrors it has lived through and when you get on board, pray, pray you've entered the right one, on the right track, the one that does not lead to oblivion... 

Terror Train contains stories by new and established authors, with a guest story by William F. Nolan. All aboard!


Now available on Kindle. Coming to paperback soon!
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Here's the lineup:

Roger Cowin: "Departure"
Charie D. La Marr: "Shuffling Off to Nowhere"
Roger Cowin: "Midnight at the Train Station"
Michael Thomas-Knight: "Steel Deliverance"
Roger Cowin: "Ghost Train"
Mark Rigney" "Customs"
Stephen Alexander: "Night Train"
Mike Jansen: "Right On Track"
Justin Hunter: "The Willing"
Mary Genevieve Fortier: "Midnight Train"
Jeremy Mays: "Midnight Rendezvous"
Murphy Edwards Strunke: "City Derail"
Dennis Banning: "The Devil's Chariot"
Brigitte Kephart: "Summer Train"
Brian Barnett: "Haikus"
Mathias Jansson: "Last Train from Hamlet"
Abdul-Qaadir Taariq Bakari-Muhammad: "The Ordeal of Mary Rogers"
Aaron Besson: "The Gloaming Sisters"
Stephen Alexander: "Piano Music Flicker Show"
Jim Goforth: "Training the Unfortunate"
Dona Fox: "The Morpheus Special"
Tony Bowman: "Night Train"
Rie Sheridan Rose: "The Night Train"
Dale Hollin Bells: "Over Red River"
David S. Pointer: "River Run: Katy Trail Missouri"
Stuart Keane: "Fool Aboard"
William Cook: "One Way Ticket"
Shenoa Carroll-Bradd: "Live Tracks"
Stephen Alexander & Roger Cowin: "Circus Train"
A. P. Gilbert: "The Meat Wagon"
Shane Koch: "The Velvety Tones of Colobo Neema"
Roger Cowin: "Psycho Train"
William F. Nolan: "Lonely Train A'Comin'"
Teri Skultety: "The Juliet Express"
E.S. Wynn: "Through The Land Of Shadows"
Lori R. Lopez: "Death's Viper"
Dona Fox: "Daddy's Train"
Thomas M. Malafarina: "This Train"
Roger Cowin: "Hell Train"
Leigh M. Lane: "Enter the Corruption"
Lori R. Lopez: "Fate"
Alex S. Johnson: "Futurail"
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Book Blast: R.S. Novelle's CALCULATED

6/12/2014

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Renee will be awarding a $10 Amazon gift card to two randomly drawn commenter. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

An investigative journalist gets an unlikely tip from a mysterious informant. Dismissing it as impossible, she disregards the information and drops the story. Until the informant turns up dead, as predicted.

Plunged into the murky waters of a seedy underground prostitution ring, this psychological thriller provides twist upon dark twist in a story that would ultimately pin the church and several government officials in the largest murder cover-up the city has ever witnessed.

But is it true, or has the journalist merely been used as a pawn in a greater scheme? And how many people is she willing to sacrifice trying to figure it out?

Enjoy an excerpt:

When she arrived at the little facility her building provided, a quick look around confirmed she was the only one there. Just as she’d hoped, and exactly how she liked it to be. Smiling in satisfaction, she flipped on the television that was perched on the wall, and turned up the music on her iPod as loud as she could handle it. The multiple distractions would help her get through the extra mile she was planning to conquer. With chilled water bottle in place, she cranked up the treadmill to a nice brisk pace.

As her breathing picked up speed and her muscles began to warm, Ana’s eye caught a red flash along the bottom of the screen. Breaking News filled the bar, and the too-chipper-for-their-own-good reporters were suddenly getting serious. Since the volume was still muted, Ana couldn’t understand exactly what was going on, only that they were showing the wide stretch of river that ran along the outskirts of the city. She wiped the first beads of sweat from her brow, and used the remote to turn the volume of the television higher while simultaneously adjusting her music.

As the reporters spoke, home-video footage of something floating in the water rolled before her eyes. The camera zoomed in, the frame ever so shaky, and it became clearly apparent that the “something” was a person - face down with long brown hair spread out like a Catholic halo. It appeared another victim had been pulled out of the water; the count was quickly tallying up. A young woman this time, and possibly one who had gone missing the night before.

Ana’s pulse skipped a few beats as they replayed the video over and over. There was something familiar about the long, lean body. Slowing the treadmill to a stop, she ripped the ear buds from her head to give the segment her entire attention.

...it appears at first glance that the victim suffered from a deep cut to the throat, and received multiple stab wounds to the chest...

The beads of accumulated sweat turned cold on Ana’s brow. She immediately reached for her phone and dialed Kylie’s number.

“What the hell, Ana?” Came her friend’s groggy voice.

“Turn your TV on. Channel four. Hurry.” Ana said, eyes transfixed to the screen in front of her. “Recognize that face?”

...It’s thought the victim may be one of the young girls recently reported missing. The screen flashed candids of three possible women. All brunettes. All tall and thin. All roughly the same age. Among them was a photo of Mara, just as Ana had expected there would be.

But the body was too bloated and disfigured to be absolutely certain, and an autopsy would be needed.

... The body will be taken in for processing where officials hope to shed more light on the case in the near future. In the mean time, they’re cautioning residents to avoid....

“Did you see that?” Ana’s voice escaped in more of a demand than a question. “Please tell me I’m seeing things.”

“Oh my god...” Kylie whispered into the receiver, confirming the dread that was building in Ana’s stomach. “Do you really think it’s her?”

“I know for a fact it is.” Ana declared, the pull in her gut getting stronger by the minute. “The autopsy will confirm it.”

“So, what does this mean exactly now?”

“That maybe I should have been listening a little closer when I was talking to Mara.” She said with regret as she swiped her forehead with the back of her hand. “And maybe I should have asked more questions. There’s a story here, I’m sure of it now.”

“What are you going to do?” Kylie’s voice was decidedly more alert now.

Ana shook her head. “I have no idea.”

Though if she were to be truthful with herself in that moment, she’d already made up her mind. Ana flipped off the television, and left the little gym to get started.

About the Author:
Formerly a freelance journalist, Novelle has found placement of her pieces in both online and print publications since 2008. Additionally, she has written multiple screenplays, and contributed her writing to many non-profit and for profit organizations. She has launched several blogs over the years, which garnered international attention.

In 2013, Novelle returned to her first love – fiction. Writing under the names Renee Novelle and R.S. Novelle, she has a publication schedule that includes Psychological Thrillers, Suspense, Paranormal Fiction, Contemporary Women’s fiction, Chick Lit, and New Adult.

Though she received her Bachelor’s of Science in Communication, summa cum laude, she considers herself a constant student of the written word. She’s an avid reader, an enthusiastic quote poster, and rarely takes “no” as a final answer. She has an unhealthy obsession for theater, dance, music and art, and strongly believes that wine is simultaneously the beginning of, and resolution to, all of life’s problems. She believes in following dreams, and that in the end, you always end up where you’re meant to be.

You can find out more about her books and connect with her here:

Website: www.RSNovelle.com
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/RSNovelle
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ReneeNovelle
Twitter: https://twitter.com/RS_Novelle

Buy the book at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iTunes, or Smashwords.

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