Albert Camus

Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend.

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

a race against the clock… - Live (NOLA Zombie #3) by Gillian Zane

LIVE | The Third and Final Book in the best-selling NOLA Zombie series by Gillian Zane. 
Alexis, Blake and Zach survived the zombie apocalypse but found a new enemy to fight. 


Release Date: October 13th, 2015

LIVE | The Third and Final Book in the best-selling NOLA Zombie series by Gillian Zane. 
Alexis, Blake and Zach survived the zombie apocalypse but found a new enemy to fight. 

Alexis has been taken and Zach and Blake are desperate to find her. The men are pretty certain they know who took Alexis, but finding them will be a daunting task. There are millions of places to hide in the swamps of Southern Louisiana but Zach and Blake will not stop until they’ve searched every one of them. Alexis will be returned to them if it’s the last thing they do. Falling back on their military training, the men have no choice but to succeed, or risk losing Alexis forever. 

It’s a race against the clock… 

The problem is that the group that took Alexis didn’t keep her. They sold her. She’s now the property of the Southern Clan, a fate worse than death. The undead still roam the streets of New Orleans. S-Island mourns the loss of one of its own and the NOLA Zombie series comes to a stunning conclusion. You don’t want to miss a second of this action-packed series ender… 

Be warned, there will be monsters, living and dead, there will be very intense sex scenes, between two men and one woman, and there will be violence galore. 



Bright light shot across my vision. 
Sharp pain brought me to consciousness. 
The smell of body odor and piss had me coughing and jerking away from the sharp sting across my face. I tried to push my body away, but I was held in place, my body heavy, my arms forced to my sides, my back rigid. 

I couldn’t move. My back was up against a wall or the back of a chair and I was being held tightly in place. I tried to move my hands, but they were bound. The pain flaring from my wrists clued me in that they were bound too tight. Pins and needles popped up all over my body and I sucked in a large breath of air as if I had been under water. It was hard to take a deep breath and when I pushed my chest forward I felt tight restraints across me. 

The pain came again, hard against my cheek. Words followed, but they were muffled. I could barely make them out. My ears buzzed and my brain was foggy, slow to function. 

I blinked, my eyes fluttering, trying to make out the blurry shapes in front of me. Wherever I was, it was dim. I could smell the acrid scent of wood smoke and candle wicks, and a rank smell underneath it of dirty humans. 

“The bitch is finally awake,” a gruff voice said. This time I could make out the words. 

My eyes focused on a shape in front of me. It was a man. He was much older than me and I thought he looked familiar. The man from the truck we ran off. My brain finally connected the shapes and faces with the memory. 

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, smiling and revealing rotten, yellow teeth. I had seen better grills on a zombie. 


I couldn’t sit still, my fucking hillbilly armor itched and I was about to go out of my ever-loving mind if something didn’t happen soon. I had been able to sit for days in the sandbox when I was in the shit, and even after James and I had gone PMC, intel gathering was always a breeze. We were always in pursuit of info, which usually required large amounts of time waiting and watching. Fifteen hours of eyes on doors for one hour of actual door kicking. At the time I used it as a meditation period, the quiet before the storm. Those were moments when I was able to get my thoughts together and process the things to come. 

I wasn’t up for it right now though. My hands were shaking and the adrenaline coursing through my body was causing my heart to beat a mile a minute. This didn’t bode well for my aim. I wanted to show up and kick ass; I didn’t want to hole up in some tree and wait for some dumb redneck to maybe show their ugly mug. 

It was creeping up on almost twelve hours since Alexis went missing. A lot could happen in twelve hours. I had seen a lot of shit in my lifetime, shit you can’t unsee. I had witnessed firsthand what happens to women when men lose all respect for the fairer sex and have no fear of recriminations. There are animals out there, too many to sleep comfortably at night, and they are always looking for their next prey. I always believed there was a special place in hell reserved for men that take advantage of women and children, especially in wartime. 

I heard the crunch of a twig and swung around. Three Z’s were coming in from the east. Their uneven gait was almost comical, straight out of a horror movie, step, drag, moan, step, drag, moan. 

“Boss One, I got Z movement, three dead fuckers,” I whispered into my com. 

“Copy that. You want to wait for backup?” 

“I’m all good,” I replied. 

“Out of sight, keep it quiet,” Zach said. Like I didn’t fucking know that. I still bristled at his call sign, I hated calling him Boss One, felt like some inmate or criminal, boss, Stupid. 

“Oohrah,” I replied, even though I would have loved to tell him to fuck off. It was three fucking Z’s, I could do this in my sleep. 

I slipped out of my tree and pulled the fixed blade dagger out from its sheath at my waist. I stalked around the dead trio until I was behind the straggler. I reached and grabbed it by its shirt and with one precise motion inserted the dagger in the back of its skull as it stumbled back, clean, quick, precise. The commotion alerted the other two though and they swung around to face me, their nasty mouths hissing as they sighted a meal. 

I moved quickly and sidestepped their shambling advances. I kicked out and knocked the first one off of its feet. As it lay on the group, I slammed the dagger into its skull. The second one was reaching for me, its dirty, blood-caked fingers scratching at my make-shift armor. I pushed at it and it stumbled back. I moved forward and held it in place so I could plant the dagger in just the right spot. 

“Tangos down,” I hissed into the com. 

“Copy. Back in position,” Zach said. 

“Roger.” Back up the tree like a fucking monkey. Killing the Z’s felt good, but I needed to get my hands on something living or I was going to flip my shit. 

I punched the windshield, a large crack spider webbing across its face. My knuckles stung, and when I glanced down at them, I saw that they were bleeding. I gripped the steering wheel tightly. The pain felt good. 

“Can you see through that?” Blake asked calmly. I don’t know how he could deal with this shit. He was acting all laid back, like this was just some normal night, some normal patrol. He had broken down after I had called out Clara and threatened her life. Yeah, that got him all hot in the ass, but now he was all cool and calm…and he claimed he loved Lex, fucking bastard. 

I picked up the shotgun next to me and smashed the rest of the windshield out. The destruction and the sound of breaking glass felt good. 

“Now I can.” I put the SUV into gear and did a quick turn heading back to the compound. 

About the author:
Gillian Zane is the author of the NOLA Zombie series. Zane is the pen name of a prominent blogger in the publishing industry, which will remain a mystery unless you Google it. Since she can remember her goal has been to become Master of the Universe and has decided to focus first on the literary world. Things are progressing nicely. 

Zane has been a freelance writer for the last ten years and has published a few non-fiction works, none of which was very exciting. Zombies are much more exciting and a way for her to combine her two current obsessions, hot boys with guns and Doomsday Prepping. When she isn't stockpiling MREs (Meal's Ready to Eat) or researching how to build a cistern on a budget, she's taking care of her little family and exploring the city that she loves, New Orleans. 

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