Friday, February 12, 2010

Human Echoes: The Exerpt

So, many of you have probably heard that I have been writing a book entitled Human Echoes. Besides the first excerpt I posted months ago, most of you have only heard word count updates. I decided that I would post an excerpt here. I tried to find a point with as few spoilers as possible, and I hope you all like it. Also keep in mind that this is still very early, and with the sheer amount of editing needed to finish, very little will stay the same. Feedback is very welcome, just try to be constructive if you don’t like it.

On another note, if you haven’t been paying attention, this is a zombie novel set in southwest Colorado, and the gun he is firing is a fairly standard M4. If I posted the entire chapter that gave these details, it would have revealed more than I want any of you to know at this point. Here we go.

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Taking a quick sigh, Carl took slow aim on his old friend, and put a round between his eyes. The animated bodies fell upon him harder, seeking the flesh that no longer resisted their teeth. The felled corpse drew more zombies than Carl could clear, as the clamoring undead turned into a ravenous scrum, all seeking the flesh at the bottom.

The still rumbling motorcycle lay crashed against the curb, grumbling in low tones as the undead attacked it. The bike’s only sin was breaking the silence, and to zombies, that was a most terrible offense. From his view from on top of the Hummer, Carl could see they swept too close to the horde, which drew their own fair number of undead. With greed in their bloodshot and rotting eyes, they lumbered after the vehicle with relentless determination. The freshest ones sprinted with a deceptive haste, uncaring about the deep wounds and bite marks that perforated their flesh.

Carl reloaded, and sprayed rounds into his pursuers with deadly marksmanship. This was his trade, and as a gunner, he wouldn’t disappoint his enemies or his comrades. The mechanic efficiency of his rifle shot in constant rhythm, and tried to keep pace with his pounding heart. Grunts and spittle shot out of his mouth as he laid in to the undead.

Every other enemy Carl had ever faced knew fear. He felt that when he levied that righteous weapon in their direction, he was in complete and uncaring control of their fate. The sound alone was deterrence for even the most hardened martyr or would be soldier. Their resolve would flounder in the face of their friends and brothers at arms falling to the pavement, life torn out of them by the will of smoldering lead.

This wasn’t his normal foe.

This mass of human refuse, the waste product of good men and women, stampeded after him, crushing the bodies of their own, growling, snarling, and snapping in pursuit. Their hands drew outward like an unholy Oliver Twist’s begging for more. Their resolve was no longer human and no longer logical. It was solely the specific and instinctual craving, the hunger. Their will was of a harder caliber than his rounds, and would only be broken through the outright decimation of the brain.

He was more than happy to oblige.

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