#ZombieApocalypse #ZombieHunters #HorrorBooks The Earths Survivors series takes an apocalyptic look at a world in ruins. The governments are gone. The police, the military. The United States is no more. The dead are rising. Becoming smarter, learning from their mistakes. The Nation is the second book in the trilogy. In book two our survivors have left the ravaged city behind. They are on the road looking for the next safe place... A few weeks ago she had been... Been? But it did no good, she could not force the memory to come. A name came, Donita. She had been Donita; she knew that, but that was all she knew. And a name was not everything she had been. She had been something else... something more, but she could not get to whatever it was. Something that did not wander through the woods. Something that was not driven by all consuming passions that she could not understand. She turned her eyes up to the moon. It pulled at her. Something in it spoke directly to something inside of her., something deep, something she believed had always been there, but there had never been a need to address it because it lived under the surface, out of her line of thought, sight... below her emotions. Now it didnt. Now it ruled everything. It was all she could do not to rush from the trees, find the smell that tempted her and consume it. Eat it completely. Leave nothing at all. Oh to do it... To do it... Her eyes snapped back from the moon, and a low whine escaped her throat. The calf, sated, had wandered away from her mother. Behind her, the boy made a strangled noise in his throat. She turned, gnashed her teeth and growled. The thin, skeletal boy fell back, hungry but frightened. She could feel his fear. It fed her, tempted her to taste him, but he was no food for her. She knew that much. It was a sort of instinct... drive... something inside of her. The boy was not her food. The boy was not her sustenance. He was one of her own. Corrupted. And corrupted flesh could not feed and sustain itself on corrupted flesh. Fresh flesh was needed, live flesh. Fresh human flesh, she corrected. The boy trembled and grinned sickly, his one good eye rolling in his head. The other eye was a ruined mass of gray pulp sagging from the socket. A great flap of skin below that socket had curled and dried, hanging from the cheek. He felt at it now, carefully, with his shrunken fingers. She hissed at him and his hands fell away... amazon/Earths-Survivors-Book-Wendell-Sweet-ebook/dp/B00BDVU1B8
Posted on: Wed, 27 Aug 2014 16:51:00 +0000
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