I got this a while ago but have been on a bit of a beach holiday so here it is in delayed action.
My release date for Lust plague is the 27th of March. And here, to celebrate, is a snippet. For the zombie lovers.
* * * * *
The steam cycle grumbled slowly down the street, weaving in a wide arc around the zombie, who tangled his feet and fell.
A dead donkey lay on its side with a small cart still strapped to it by a harness. They swerved left at the end of the street and into a narrower one. A swarm of zombies hobbled toward them -- footpath to footpath, an almost unbroken line.
“Hang on!” Sten accelerated, the front wheel lifted, then thumped down, stirring up swirling dust. Engine screaming they headed for the far right of the zombie pack. With Sten's arms either side, Kaysana could only grip a fistful of the trouser fabric over his thighs and do exactly what he'd said -- hang on tight.
A gun would be nice. Shooting something would be even better.
Arms, black fingers, stretched toward them, heads turned, the growling and moans penetrated the cycle's glass and metal. Dead eyes swiveled and tracked them. Nothing seemed to register to the zombies except them -- pumping, breathing, living bodies. The gap ahead narrowed between footpath and a brown building wall. With a teeth-cracking thud the cycle mounted the footpath. A zombie appeared, clawed at the glass, went under the wheel, shrieking.
Oh, hell!
The cycle bumped, slewed and tilted, then rumbled over the top. Blackened blood splatted the windscreen, lower left. They zoomed through the thinning crowd of undead. The street ahead was bare. The cries dissipated. The blood dribbled down, tendrils spreading sideways with the buffeting of air like a spider web spun of darkness.
My release date for Lust plague is the 27th of March. And here, to celebrate, is a snippet. For the zombie lovers.
* * * * *
The steam cycle grumbled slowly down the street, weaving in a wide arc around the zombie, who tangled his feet and fell.
A dead donkey lay on its side with a small cart still strapped to it by a harness. They swerved left at the end of the street and into a narrower one. A swarm of zombies hobbled toward them -- footpath to footpath, an almost unbroken line.
“Hang on!” Sten accelerated, the front wheel lifted, then thumped down, stirring up swirling dust. Engine screaming they headed for the far right of the zombie pack. With Sten's arms either side, Kaysana could only grip a fistful of the trouser fabric over his thighs and do exactly what he'd said -- hang on tight.
A gun would be nice. Shooting something would be even better.
Arms, black fingers, stretched toward them, heads turned, the growling and moans penetrated the cycle's glass and metal. Dead eyes swiveled and tracked them. Nothing seemed to register to the zombies except them -- pumping, breathing, living bodies. The gap ahead narrowed between footpath and a brown building wall. With a teeth-cracking thud the cycle mounted the footpath. A zombie appeared, clawed at the glass, went under the wheel, shrieking.
Oh, hell!
The cycle bumped, slewed and tilted, then rumbled over the top. Blackened blood splatted the windscreen, lower left. They zoomed through the thinning crowd of undead. The street ahead was bare. The cries dissipated. The blood dribbled down, tendrils spreading sideways with the buffeting of air like a spider web spun of darkness.
