It is Bear and the Outrunners that will become the bridge between The Nation and its biggest rivals. It is also the Outrunners who will eventually unravel the mystery of how the Zombie Apocalypse came to be. They will protect The Nation, search out weapons and stockpiled foodstuffs, and they will fight the Zombie Plagues. Bear is the key to all of it. The one man who lives on the edge and likes the view there. With Beth he is the major force behind the Outrunners, who keep the Nation safe and allow the society there to live in relative peace in their valley. …
The battered chassis of the “Razorback,” Bear’s customized gas-guzzler, groaned under the strain. Dust devils, kicked up by their passage across the cracked asphalt, swirled around them like vengeful spirits. The midday sun beat down mercilessly on the wasteland, baking the already parched earth to a crisp. Behind them, the rusted skeletons of long-dead skyscrapers clawed at the sky, grim reminders of a world lost. This was their last run, a desperate gambit to reach Haven, a remote settlement clinging to life amidst the ruins.
A look at the town of Glennville. Bobby, Moon and Lois are the central points of this book, but they will also introduce you to their parents, the Sherif Kyle Stevens and some of the other town locals that make Glennville, Glennville. They are trying to spend the summer enjoying the beauty of the upstate New York town, camping, adventures, all the things three eleven year old kids could do for a summer in 1969. But Glennville is no ordinary town and there is always something else going on…
The Black River was more than just a geographical feature; it was a whispered legend in the hushed corners of Glennville, a dark, sinuous promise on the edge of their ordinary lives. For Lois, Bobby, and Moon, it represented the untamed, the exhilarating unknown that lay just beyond the familiar streets and the oppressive normalcy of their days. Summer had settled over Glennville like a thick, humid blanket, but beneath the languid heat, a different kind of energy was building – a shared hunger for adventure, a yearning to push the boundaries of their small-town existence. The river, with its murky depths and shadowed banks, beckoned with an irresistible allure.
It was a place where the predictable rhythm of Glennville seemed to break, where the rules that governed their lives felt distant and irrelevant. The hushed reverence with which the older kids spoke of its hidden coves and treacherous currents only fueled the younger ones’ fascination. They’d seen glimpses of it from the dusty backroads, a dark ribbon weaving through overgrown trees, hinting at secrets the town couldn’t contain. Lois, ever the observer, had always felt its pull. She’d imagine the smooth, cool water against her skin, the quiet murmur of its flow as a counterpoint to the constant hum of her mother’s worries or the distant roar of the mill. It was a space that felt entirely their own, a canvas for the adventures their limited world couldn’t otherwise provide.
Bobby, with his boundless optimism, was the first to voice the nascent plan. He’d arrived at Lois’s doorstep one sweltering afternoon, his face flushed with excitement, a hastily drawn map clutched in his hand. The map, sketched on the back of a discarded flyer for a long-forgotten town picnic, depicted a rough, ambitious route to the furthest reaches of the Black River accessible by foot. “Lois,” he’d panted, barely containing his enthusiasm, “We have to go. To the end of it. The real end.”
The email arrived on a Tuesday, nestled amongst press releases about a new city ordinance and a celebrity chef opening a pop-up restaurant. Its subject line, “Assignment: Blackwood Creek Disappearances,” was bland enough to be ignorable, but Clara’s editor, a man who subsisted on a diet of caffeine and sensationalism, had flagged it with a rare “URGENT” and a single, emphatic exclamation mark. Clara, a journalist whose reputation was built on dissecting hoaxes with the precision of a surgeon, initially scrolled past it. Blackwood Creek. The name itself conjured images of damp, forgotten corners of the country, places where old wives’ tales clung to the air like the ubiquitous mist described in local folklore. Another sensationalized story for the gullible masses, she’d assumed. Just another ghost story peddled by a town desperate for attention, or perhaps a clever cover for something far more mundane, yet equally grim, like serial killings or human trafficking. But her editor’s insistence gnawed at her. He was rarely wrong about a potential scoop, and the few cryptic lines in the email hinted at something more substantial than the usual small-town drama. “Multiple disappearances over the past decade,” it read. “Local authorities baffled. Persistent rumors point to a malevolent entity, ‘The Hollow Whisperer,’ as the cause. High degree of local fear and cooperation with external investigation minimal.” Clara’s fingers, usually flying across the keyboard with practiced ease, hesitated. The mention of an “entity” and a lack of cooperation from local authorities wasn’t just intriguing; it was a siren call to her deeply ingrained skepticism. Such things, in her experience, were invariably fabrications, elaborate smokescreens for human deceit. Yet, the sheer persistence of the rumors, the “local fear,” and the minimal cooperation piqued her professional curiosity. This wasn’t just another missing person case; it was a potential unraveling of a carefully constructed narrative, and Clara lived to pull at those threads.
The Streets By Wendell Sweet One evening, I found myself back at the scene of the car accident—the snow-covered road where my life nearly ended. The scars on my body served as tangible reminders of that brutal night; the emotional scars were far deeper. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional rustle of the wind. The cold night air, the harsh sounds of snow crunching under my boots; it all was reminiscent of the night that would nearly cost my life. Standing there, I felt a wave of sadness, a flicker of the old fear, but it quickly subsided. The trauma was still there, woven into the fabric of my being, but it no longer controlled me. I had faced it, processed it, and emerged stronger.#True #NonFiction #Crime #Memoir #Kindle #KU Kindle:
All gone. Hopes, dreams, tomorrows: All buried in desperate struggle to survive. The Earth’s Survivors Series follows survivors of a worldwide catastrophe. #Dystopian #ApocalypticFiction #Horror #ZombieFiction #Series
The Nation Collections contain four books in one volume. Follow the survivors as they struggle to survive in a vastly changed world, where the living are just as likely to kill you as the dead are. They navigated a maze of shattered streets, the buildings looming over them like skeletal giants. The air vibrated with a low, guttural hum… The initial reaction was instinctual – fear and suspicion. But as they crept closer, the fear began to give way to a cautious curiosity. The group in the cellar was clearly as desperate as they were, as weary and worn as they felt… #Horror #Series #Dystopian #Apocalyptic
A young man slowly spirals down into madness, but he takes his favorite book with him. The book about the end of the world…. The book he is obsessed with… He started to see things. Faces in the shadows, whispers in the wind, the ghostly echoes of his victims. He’d initially dismissed them as the effects of alcohol withdrawal, but they grew more vivid, more menacing. He was no longer alone in his self-imposed exile; he was surrounded by the ghosts of his past, his own personal hell. #Horror #Readers #Amazon #Kindle #KU #Thriller
