The fourth installment in the Dark Journey’s Short Story Collection is here. Grab your crowbar and load up your shotgun because this week it’s a zombie doubleshot. Two stories for the price of one, now available on Smashwords.com, Amazon.com AND… a limited edition podcast version for EVERYONE who helps me promote the story by spreading the word on their blog. I am also offering the podcast version to everyone who purchases the story.
All you have to do is send me a screen capture of your purchase receipt, and I will email you back a special link and password so you can access the podcast. Send all emails to jennybeanses@gmail.com. When putting together your blog, be sure to include links to both versions of the story, the brief excerpt at the bottom of this blog, the cover art and word about how everyone can get a free version of the podcast version.
You guys have no idea how much all of your help and support means to me. Sales for the previous three Dark Journeys stories have been skyrocketing over the last week, and that means the stories are getting out there to more readers every day. It’s because of you, and I know this because I’m seeing on my stat reports how many people are coming into the site and outclicking to the stories from YOUR blogs. Thank you for believing in me, and for helping me get my work out there to as many readers as possible. This is what making history is all about, and I am so lucky to have such a great network of friends, both online and offline to share this experience with.
Treed
I know it’s stupid, but I wish I had a backpack full of brains instead of a week’s supply of granola and dried fruit. Unfortunately when you’re packing for a big hike, the last thing you really worry about is how you’re going to fend off the walking dead. I’m more or less convinced that a backpack full of brains would be a good distraction, allowing me to climb down from this tree while they were feasting and run away.
So far, the tree has been a pretty safe haven. The dead aren’t smart enough to climb trees; they’re clumsy. These last two hours though, their focus seems to have gotten sharper, and I know it’s because I’m the only meal within a ten mile radius. And that is where the brains would come in handy. I’d only need to throw one or two of them and then watch them all stumble after it like broken dogs fighting over a bone.
Instead of brains though, I have granola bars and banana chips and enough water to choke a horse in the desert. I don’t even have a gun, and even if I did, I wouldn’t know the first thing about how to use it. I’m just a girl, and before you say, “Well I guess that was your first mistake,” I’ll have you know that I survived the first attack. I swung my way through a wave of hungry, dead campers while my boyfriend Keith was overwhelmed and torn limb from limb like a Thanksgiving turkey at a homeless shelter.
The last thing I heard him say was, “Run, Laura! Run!” That second “run” was wet, and it gurgled in his throat like hair in a clogged drain.
I didn’t ask questions. With a heavy branch in my hand, I picked up my feet and booked outta there Olympic-gold-medal-track-runner-style.
Keith’s garbled screams echoed off the canyons, and I ran until I couldn’t hear them anymore. By the time I stopped to catch my breath and shed a couple of tears, I was lost.
When we were attacked, we had already hiked about two days from the state park parking lot. Silly me left Keith in charge of both the compass and the GPS, which meant I was more or less screwed, and I wasn’t going back for either one. I didn’t even realize just how badly I was screwed until I circled back around the same rock formation the fifth time, stifling my own screams of frustration.
That was then I saw them. There were five of them staggering toward me in dusty clothes, their gore-crusted mouths gaping, innards strewn like gutted trout. Three of them were pretty badly decomposed from the smell of them, and the other two looked more like recent victims. Possibly even victims of the rotting corpses leading the way.
For a second I was scared that Keith was right behind them, but so far there’s been no sign of him.
So, if you were hanging around over the weekend, you discovered that I finally finished podcasting Goblin Market Saturday night. Lament and woe, but have no fear. This is not the end of Goblin Market, for there will be more, exciting Goblin Markety goodness in the near future.
Whatchou Talkin’ Bout…