Ive Been Deader
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More importantly, do we want them to? Stick around, we'll have some fun. I was so excited when I did. Thank you so much for the opportunity to read this fantastic book Adam Sifre!!!
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I feel that some how I have a greater insight to a zombies life, and what they are and thus go thru in their life. How do you explain that you feel sad and bad for a zombie? Such a page turner. Independent Book Reviews. She laughed, an ugly laugh, and asked, "How old are you?
Her response? She snapped, "Nothing personal. I have other patients. At least I got a prescription for Vicodin out of it, with which, wearing a special truss designed just for laugh hernias, I've been able to continue reading I've Been Deader.
Clive on Hellraiser VII : Deader
Sure it hurts, at least three times on every page. Even if it hurts to laugh, you just might find it rather Labels: fiction , friday's forgotten books , humor , satire , zombies. An overly bright morning sun assaulted him as he stepped outside. Fred gave a mental wince, wishing again that he could blink. Sunlight had no adverse effect on the undead, but he had never been a morning person. Today he had to shamble over to Terminal C of Newark Airport, where eight breathers were making their last stand.
Zombies were lone hunters and rarely worked together.
I've Been Deader - Independent Book Reviews
Every so often, however, a kind of collective broadcast signal went out over the undead grapevine, announcing the newest brain buffet — in a shopping mall, a church, or an airport — with satisfyingly predictable results. Dozens were already making their way down the New Jersey turnpike. If Fred could breathe, he would have sighed. It looked like hundreds of zombies would be fighting over eight brains and assorted bits. With luck, however, he would still be the brainiac of the pack by the time he got there. Depending on the specific virus strain or whatever it was that put the mojo in their mortified flesh, some undead could reason and even remember who they were as breathers.
By mid-afternoon, he found himself actually enjoying his walk down the turnpike.
Most of the fires had burned themselves out and although the air still reeked of burning gasoline, the skies were relatively smoke-free. Even a walking corpse could appreciate a warm, spring day like this one.
Fred pulled his lips up in what should have been a grin. Death, ruin and destruction improved the New Jersey Turnpike. Most of the zombies were a few hundred yards down the road, but two lesser undead doggedly tagged alongside of Fred, putting a bit of a damper on things. The virus left them as nothing more than, well, nothing more than zombies.
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All in all, however, the day was turning out quite well. Sure, it was bad luck that he was 45 years old with a rather large potbelly when he had been bitten by that damned clerk. He was imagining wandering the earth in search of fresh brains as a slimmer, sleeker and younger Fred, when the head of the zombie on his left exploded.
Fred limped over to an abandoned Ford Explorer and crouched down, scanning the area for the source of the ambush. Fred felt a sense of relief when a bullet took the second one through its right eye. Those two had just about gotten on his last dead nerve. It looked like there was only the one. The lone gunman on the grassy shoal, Fred thought, mentally smiling.