Eat Prey Decay: 7 Tales of the Apocalypse (Zombie Dark Fantasy Dystopian Horror & Post-Apocalyptic Boxed Set)
Eat, Prey, Decay
Melanie Karsak
Claire C. Riley
Angelique Archer
Pauline Creeden
Eli Constant and B. V. Barr
S. K. Gregory
Clockpunk Press
Eat, Prey, Decay: 7 Tales of the Apocalypse
Copyright © 2016 Clockpunk Press
All rights reserved. No part of this anthology may be used or reproduced without permission from the publisher and/or author(s). The author of each work is solely responsible for the content of that work. These are works of fiction. All characters and events portrayed are fictional. Any resemblances to the living or the dead are purely coincidental.
Published by Clockpunk Press
Cover Art by Contagious Covers
Summary of Books
The Harvesting by Melanie Karsak
It’s all fun and games until someone ends up undead
"The world, it seemed, had gone silent. It was something we knew but did not talk about. We were alone."
While Layla Petrovich returns home to rural Hamletville after a desperate call from her psychic grandmother, she never could have anticipated the horror of what Grandma Petrovich has foreseen. The residents of Hamletville will need Layla's cool head, fast blade and itchy trigger finger to survive the undead apocalypse that's upon them. But even that may not be enough. With mankind silenced, it soon becomes apparent that we were never alone. As the beings living on the fringe seek power, Layla must find a way to protect the ones she loves or all humanity may be lost.
Join Layla as she fights for survival in the first book of this unique zombie apocalypse tale.
Odium: The Dead Saga by Claire C. Riley
It's better to die by the gun than die by the dead.
Nina’s life was irrevocably changed when humanity’s dead began to rise.
Now, she lives behind the walls.
The barricaded cities, erected by the government to protect the remnants of civilization, have become a brutal dictatorship- causing the inhabitants within to starve, steal and claw for survival. Life behind the walls has become as terrifying as roaming the zombie-ridden landscape beyond.
Citizens trade what they can to gain food, water, and shelter. Nina has only one currency—her body and she is tired of submitting herself to the greedy hands of the self-proclaimed leaders.
An opportunity to escape presents itself in the fate of a young girl named Emily-Rose. For the price of a stale piece of bread, she is set for banishment from the city, and most likely a horrific death at the hands of the deaders. Nina tells herself that it is sympathy and not self-preservation that makes her follow the young girl out of the walled metropolis, and into the overgrown world beyond.
Unused to fighting the deaders, Nina tries to scrounge for her survival and against her better judgment, begins to care for Emily-Rose. However, when you have a bread-stealing liability providing your only back up, survival seems even tougher. Nina is forced to fight for their lives, and with every zombie slain, she becomes fiercer, faster – a grim reaper with her not-so-sharp butcher’s knife.
Along the path to a safe-haven that might not exist, Nina and Emily-Rose meet Mikey who introduces them to a new life they could not imagine, a life above the ground. However, this new world brings new dangers, and darker shadows than she knew.
Nina finds out that the deaders aren’t the only thing to fear beyond the wall.
And that fear will not be ignored, or Forgotten.
The Good, the Dead, and the Lawless: The Undoing by Angelique Archer
Haven Janero is twenty-five years-old and has a bright future of becoming an FBI agent when a widespread infection sweeps the nation, reanimating victims into walking corpses with an insatiable hunger for human flesh. Her dreams crushed and her world forever changed, she struggles to keep her loved ones safe and come up with a plan of long-term survival.
Colin MacConnell, a kilt-wearing, bagpipes-playing, sword-wielding Scotsman in his early thirties, is visiting his father in the States, but quickly realizes that he may never see his homeland again when he is forced to go up against the undead. As society around them crumbles and lawlessness and chaos take over, they must fight hordes of ravenous zombies… and a dangerous enemy from the past who is hell-bent on seeking twisted vengeance.
Sanctuary by Pauline Creeden
First Place Winner of 2014 Gold Award Readers Favorite YA Horror
First Place Winner of 2013 Dante Rosetti Award in YA Fiction
What if the Biblical End Times unfolded in a way no one told you about and the rapture didn't happen before the tribulation began...
"Makes you afraid of the end times again.” D. M. Dutcher for Sword Cross Rocket
"Sanctuary crosses boundaries and borders and incorporates elements of all kinds of action and intrigue, from thriller-like adventure to a post-apocalyptic tale of life after aliens invade. Thus it will delight readers seeking something truly different, while disappointing those who anticipated a shallow, one-dimensional subject and story line." Midwest Book Review
Left Behind for the Hunger Games generation
In a heart-racing thriller described as Falling Skies meet The Walking Dead, Jennie struggles to find a safe place for what’s left of her family. But it seems as though there is no place sacred, no place secure. First the aliens attacked the sun, making it dimmer, weaker, and half what it used to be. Then they attacked the water supply, killing one-third of Earth’s population with a bitter contaminate. And when they unleash a new terror on humankind, the victims will wish for death, but will not find it.
When the world shatters to pieces around her, will Jennie find the strength she needs to keep going?
Z Children: Awakening by Eli Constant and B. V. Barr
Our kids are no longer our future… They’re our demise.
Humanity’s advancements in medicine, meant to eliminate disease and extend life, have led to a macabre reality of childhood vaccinations gone terribly wrong.
Kids have transformed, changed into ravenous beasts that are nightmarishly quick, disproportionally strong, and void of empathy.
No amount of planning or preparation could have saved the human race against this unexpected attack, centralized in the heart of every human home, and the U.S. is quickly thrown into a chaos of Z Children. By the end of the first day, the entire world is jolted into a veritable hell on earth.
Yet, there are survivors- individuals who, by luck, skill, or circumstance, lived through the initial wave of destruction. These ‘lucky’ ones will join together, bonded in their quest for survival. They will try to maintain their humanity in a world where children have graduated from bubble baths to blood baths.
And they will try to find an answer to the only question that matters: What will tomorrow bring?
Indeadpendance Day by S. K. Gregory
July 4th
The infection begins
Rachel and her family end up in a small town when it is over run by zombies. The infection spreads quickly and Rachel fights to keep herself and her little cousin alive.
Teaming up with two soldiers, Gabe and Adam, they must try and escape the town before it is blown off the map.
But will it be enough to stop the zombies?
BONUS READ: Midway by Melanie Karsak, The Harvesting Series Book 2
Step right up, ladies and gentlemen, for the beginning of the
end.
Carnie. Ride jockey. Roustabout. White trash. Tilt girl. Gypsy. Cricket has been called a lot of things, but she never thought survivor of the zombie apocalypse would be one of them. One day she’s barking on the midway, and the next day, the world is eating itself alive.
Cricket, along with Vella, a tarot reader, and Puck, Cricket’s mangy mutt, find themselves running for their lives, but where can you hide when mankind has fallen? Cricket will need help if she hopes to survive.
Luckily for her, we were never really alone, and apparently, magical forces want to keep this tilt girl alive.
Table of Contents
Eat, Prey, Decay
Summary of Books
Table of Contents
The Harvesting
Odium
The Undoing: The Good, The Dead, and The Lawless
Sanctuary
Z Children: Awakening
Indeadpendence Day
Midway
Thank You
The Harvesting
The Harvesting Series, Book 1, Melanie Karsak
It’s all fun and games until someone ends up undead
"The world, it seemed, had gone silent. It was something we knew but did not talk about. We were alone."
While Layla Petrovich returns home to rural Hamletville after a desperate call from her psychic grandmother, she never could have anticipated the horror of what Grandma Petrovich has foreseen. The residents of Hamletville will need Layla's cool head, fast blade and itchy trigger finger to survive the undead apocalypse that's upon them. But even that may not be enough. With mankind silenced, it soon becomes apparent that we were never alone. As the beings living on the fringe seek power, Layla must find a way to protect the ones she loves or all humanity may be lost.
Join Layla as she fights for survival in the first book of this unique zombie apocalypse tale.
Chapter 1
“If you ever need to slice someone’s head off, this is the blade you want,” I said as I lifted a curved sword off the table in front of me. “We’ve been practicing épée and foil so far, but tonight I want to introduce you to the sabre.” The practice sabre’s curved blade reflected the orange streetlight shining in through the window. A grant from the Smithsonian where I worked allowed me to teach my two passions: ancient weapons and their arts. “The sabre is a slashing weapon,” I continued and then lunged, showing the wide-eyed and excited students a few moves. “And in general, it’s my favorite,” I admitted with a grin.
The students laughed.
“Is that why you have it tattooed on your arm?” Tyler, one of my best fencers, asked.
My hand went unconsciously toward the tattoo. The ink was a sword interlaced with other once-meaningful symbols. “That’s not just any sabre,” I said, mildly embarrassed. “Here, let me show you. I brought something special tonight.” Setting the training sabre down, I lifted a rolled bundle. I laid it down on the table and unrolled it to reveal weapons in various elaborate scabbards.
“Some are épée, foils—you can tell by the hilt—a broadsword, a claymore, a katana, a scimitar, throwing daggers,” I said, pointing, “but this, this is a Russian shashka.” I pulled the shashka from the bundle. “It’s like a traditional sabre, but has no guard. She’s light, single-edged, wielded with one hand, and good for stabbing or slashing. Not awkward in close quarters like a Scottish claymore, but it will kill you just as dead,” I said with a smile. I unsheathed the weapon and gave it an under-and over-hand spin around my head, shoulders, and back.
The students grinned from ear to ear.
I put it back in its scabbard and handed the shashka to them. “Pass it around, but keep in mind it is sharp enough to cut a blade of hair in half.” I then turned my attention to Tyler. “Now, since you’re so interested, let’s see how you do with the sabre.” I tossed one of the training swords to him.
Tyler, already in his gear, jumped up and lowered his fencing mask. “But you’re not in gear,” he said.
I shrugged. “Hit me, if you can.”
We stood at the ready, made the ceremonial bow, and began. Tyler was not overly aggressive, which is partially why he was so successful. He waited for me, moving slowly. He was smart, quick, and often tried to over-tire his opponent.
I waited, dropped my sword a bit, and let him make the lunge. He took the bait.
The swords clanged together, and we clashed back and forth across the strip. He lunged and slashed while I dodged and blocked. He was fast. I was faster. When he lunged again, I ducked. With an upward movement, I went in.
“A hit,” Kasey called.
They clapped.
“Man, that’s what you get for taking on a former state champ—and the teacher,” Trey told Tyler with a laugh.
Tyler pulled off the mask and smiled at me.
Just then, my cell rang. I would usually ignore it, but something told me to answer.
“Everyone pair up and start working with the training sabers,” I said and pointed to the sword rack. I went to my bag and grabbed my cell.
Before I could say hello, she spoke.
“Layla, Grandma needs you to come home,” my grandmother’s voice, thick with Russian accent, came across through static. I was silent for a moment. My grandmother lived 500 miles away, and she never used her telephone. With the exception of her T.V., she hated technology. She’d cried and begged me to take away the microwave I’d purchased for her one Mother’s Day.
“Grandma? What’s wrong?”
“Come home now. Be here tomorrow,” she said. She hung up.
I lowered my cell and stared at it. Confused and worried, I dialed her back. The phone rang, but she did not answer. I had obligations: practice, bills to pay, groceries to buy, tons of work to do, and a date for god-sakes. But my grandmother was the only one I had left in the world.
“Sorry, guys. Emergency,” I called to my students.
Disappointed, they groaned.
“Sorry. Let’s pack it up for the night.” My hands shaking, I slid the shashka back into the bundle and rolled up the weapons. What had happened? Maybe Grandma was sick. Maybe she had some problem. Or maybe she had seen something.
The monuments on the Mall faded into the distance behind me as I made my way to my Georgetown apartment. It was Friday night. Wisconsin Avenue was packed. The upscale shops and restaurants teemed with people. In the crowd you could see the mix of international tourists, Georgetown students, and designer-dressed hotties headed to clubs. I sighed. For the last month I’d turned myself inside out trying to get the attention of Lars Burmeister, the German specialist the Smithsonian had brought in to consult on our new medieval poleaxe exhibit. He had finally asked me to dinner; we were going to meet at Levantes, a Turkish restaurant near DuPont Circle, at nine that night. I had dreamed of authentic dolma and a chance to sit across from Lars somewhere other than a museum. I had even bought a new dress: black, strapless, come-hither.
I circled my block three times before I finally found a parking space. Regardless, I loved Georgetown. It was early fall. The mature trees had turned shades of deep red and orange and were losing their leaves. The air was filled with an interesting mixture of smells: the natural decay of autumn, dusty heat from the old cobblestone streets, and the mildly rancid odor of too many people. In my 4th floor attic apartment of an old Brownstone, I could occasionally catch the sweet scent of the Potomac River. It reminded me just enough of home.
The apartment was ghastly hot. The small, one bedroom place had been closed up all day. I lifted the window and let the noise of the city fill the room. The street lamps cast twinkling light across my apartment. The weapons I had mounted on the wall, swords, shields, axes and the like, glimmered. I peeled off my sweaty practice clothes. Pulling a bag from the closet, I threw in several changes of clothes and a few other supplies. On my coffee table, my laptop light blinked glaringly. An overflowing email inbox, an article on bucklers that needed editing for a peer-reviewed journal, and a PowerPoint on Medieval Rus
sian swords for a presentation for next week’s symposium all called me. My coffee table was stacked with paper. I was flooded with work; half my department was out on sick leave. There was a bad flu was going around. Thankfully, I had not yet gotten sick.
I pulled my cell out of my bag. I stared at the phone for a moment; Grandma’s call was still displayed on the screen. I dialed Lars’ number. My stomach shook when he answered.
“Guten abend, Lars. It’s Layla.”
“Ahh, Layla, good evening,” he replied.
I loved his German accent. He’d learned English from a British teacher; he said arse with a German lilt. It made me smile. I could tell by his tone he was trying to hide his excitement. I didn’t let him get far. I told him I had been called away for an emergency. I could sense his disappointment.
“I’ll be back by Monday. Let me make it up to you. Dinner at my place Monday night?”
He agreed.
“Gute nacht,” I said as sweetly as possible, hoping I had not pissed him off, and stuffed my phone into my bag. I stared out the window taking in the view. I didn’t want to go back, not even for a weekend. I loved my life. Hamletville was an old, ghost-filled place: too many memories, too much heartache. Yet I knew my grandmother. If she said I needed to come home, then I needed to come home.
I closed the windows, slid on a pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, boots, and a light vest. I looked again at the display on the wall. At the center I had crossed two Russian poyasni or boot-daggers. One dagger had the head of a wolf on the hilt. The other had the head of a doe. I grabbed them and tossed them in my bag. I then headed back downstairs and into the night. It was the last time I would lay eyes on Washington.