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Chapter 1—Booker

A Werewolf Walks into an Occult Shop

Sometimes finding humans was too easy.

The werewolf looked across the street into the window of the shop where his quarry was working, squinting past the bright neon signs. Tarot. Psychic. Spells. Its owner had chosen to call it “Other Worlds Emporium,” which made him snort. It was as subtle as a frat bro doused in Axe body spray.

This woman had taken the Council eight years to find? It had only taken Booker and his team a month—but he’d worked his ass off in that span of time. Sure, she was now reading tarot in a New Age shop, like she had been before she disappeared, but she’d managed to stay elusive. She lived off the grid, working for cash, staying a short while in each place, never more than six months—but Booker had figured out her pattern, just in time to catch her here in Ste. Genevieve, Illinois. Another river town, just like all the others.

Most humans were just mobilized patterns, as far as he could see. This one was not an exception.

Josephine Ellen Murphy. Born in St. Louis, raised by her grandparents after her mother’s death, put into the foster system at age 16, finished high school while living in an undisclosed location. Held a few unassuming jobs, then became a practicing Wiccan reading tarot in shops and over the phone. No criminal record, no legal problems.

She would never have ended up on his radar—or the Council’s—if she hadn’t gotten mixed up with the Fenris.

Booker entered Other Worlds Emporium with a feigned nonchalance, but the clerk behind the counter still froze in place when she saw him. It was a hard sell, he knew—werewolves may look human sometimes, but they weren’t, even when they tried to act like it. He couldn’t help but sense the clerk’s unease, as he did any time he affected a human’s emotional state. The scent changed, or at least that’s how he interpreted it.

The clerk took a step backward when he moved toward her, but when he smiled at her, flashing what he knew was a matching set of dimples, she smiled back, the tension easing from her muscles and her scent.

“Hi, there!” she chirped. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“Yes,” he said, keeping his voice even and friendly. “I came in for a tarot reading. Josephine Murphy is here today, isn't she?”

“She is! She’s with a client, but she’ll be available in fifteen minutes if you don't mind waiting,” she said, seeming delighted with this idea.

Humans.

This one was harmless, though. He engaged in some mild flirting with the clerk, whose name was Sonja. Before the fifteen minutes were up, she had invited him out for a drink.

“I'd love to,” he said, making sure his voice expressed the right level of disappointment, “but I'm only here for a few hours to visit friends. I heard some great things about your tarot reader and figured I'd stop in before leaving town.”

Before Sonja could answer, a middle-aged blonde human came out from a back room, sniffling and dabbing her eyes with a tissue. She turned around to hug a petite woman with short, black hair in a pixie-style haircut, and every one of his senses zeroed in.

This was her. She’d changed, yes. A little. The hair was shorter and no longer the blood-red color from her pictures. Her face had more lines, but it was prettier in person, arresting in a way that wouldn’t make her stand out in a crowd unless you gave her a closer look. She wore jeans, black Chuck Taylors, and a T-shirt with a grinning cartoon witch giving a thumbs-up.

He tamped down the urge to laugh. She might be the least witchiest witch he’d ever seen, but she was the one he was sent to find.

She smelled like warm lavender and sympathy.

He inhaled her scent as deeply as he could without drawing attention to himself, then cleared his throat on a soft sound that only his team, listening from outside as they covered the building, would recognize. Eyes on the prize.

Booker watched as Josephine Murphy patted the blonde woman on the back and gave her a gentle smile. “Don't worry—everything will work out,” she said, her voice a soothing contralto. He was discovering all kinds of things about his quarry in these endless moments, and both he and his wolf were growing impatient to engage. “I promise.”

The blonde nodded, still sniffling, and shuffled past him on her way out of the store. When the door closed behind the blond woman, Josephine Murphy looked up at him for the first time. Her clear blue eyes held a look of friendly curiosity that darkened within the second. He had to hand it to her—she didn't let it show on her face, but it was the smell, every time. Her sympathy, her focus on helping her client, had turned to fear.

She knew what he was.

So, his quarry was as smart as she was pretty. Booker didn’t linger over those thoughts too much, or worry too much over her fear of him. It didn't matter. The exits were covered, and the Council had given them each a small red-flannel mojo bag that was supposed to prevent anyone in a certain radius from transporting themselves. Some of the supernatural creatures he had dealt with could blip away on a mere thought, so there was every chance that a witch could do the same. It made them a bitch to catch, unless you were prepared.

His team was prepared. She wasn't going anywhere.

Josephine Murphy smiled at the clerk, but stayed rooted to her spot on the floor. Booker kept his eyes on her.

“Sonja, do I have another client?”

Sonja nodded, turning to him. “This is Jo. She’ll be reading for you in the back room.”

Jo. He liked that. It suited her. She smiled at Sonja. “Sweetie, why don’t you go on home? I’ll lock up after we’re done here.”

The witch wanted to get her coworker out of the shop, away from him. He could respect that, but he wasn’t here for the clerk.

Sonja lit up with surprised pleasure. “Thanks, Jo!” She gathered up her purse and sent him a regretful wave. “Nice to meet you. If you’re in town again, come back and see us.”

He gave her a brief tight-lipped smile and a nod, unable to spare her much attention. Not when his quarry was finally right before him.

Once Sonja walked out of the store, Jo Murphy turned back to him with an expression of weary resignation that she tried to mask with a forced smile. Her fear-smell grew with every second, spoiling the scent of lavender, and her heart had begun to race in her chest—he could almost feel it beating. She gave no outward sign of the inner turmoil. She simply said, “Follow me,” and went into the back room.

The store wasn't a large one, so in three strides, he reached the door to the reading room. The small, incense-flavored room held a card table covered with a cheerful blue cloth, two chairs, a large floor-length mirror, and nothing else.

She was gone. He couldn’t even smell her anymore.

He muttered a filthy curse and clicked a button on his radio, asking if Nick or Max had eyes on the witch.

They didn't.

Okay, so maybe this was why the Council had taken so long to find her. He gritted his teeth, casting one last searing gaze around the reading room.

Thank you for reading!

She heard the cries and rushed to find the source. She found him on the side of a mountain. Who leaves a child on a mountain? Fury filled her as it so often did when she found the people this world threw away. She refused to let the child die - who cares if he only had one eye? She'd give him second sight and he'd never be blind.

She wrapped the child in her saffron colored robes, and crooned to him. Her hounds took up the song, howling joyfully into the night. They knew the child would soon be a new playmate - kids always gave them the food they were eating, so they were huge fans. As she crooned she thought of names for the child.

Into her underworld home she took him, to join her family.

The world said she was fearsome. The world said she was the mother of monsters and she supposed it was true. This child the world deemed a monster she would raise and she'd love him and bless him and gift him with the powers he'd need. And if ever he wanted to seek revenge on those who left him on a mountaintop, she'd help achieve that, too.

She didn't have a horde, she had a family. Of course they would follow her into battle, family always had your back. If others saw them as a fearsome horde, so much the better.

Fear often did what compassion could not.

She continued to croon to the child. She would keep this cyclops with her, close to her bosom, so that he wouldn't be slain by a whore of a man who couldn't find his way home without killing everyone he met along the way. She knew Athena like the sailor, but never understood the appeal.

Her hounds rushed through the doors ahead of her, announcing that they'd come home. They had different barks and howls for various moods and this time they were calling to everyone to come and see.

Dogs could share joyful excitement better than most beasts. It made her smile.

Her family, full of misfits and outcasts, those deemed unacceptable, crowded around her to meet their new sibling. Joy roared through her home as word spread that a newcomer had arrived. Her sorrow at the child being cast out was chased completely away by his joyous welcome. It didn't make what happened to him right, but it did make her feel that he was exactly where he belonged.

The offering was simple - smoke, flame, and bread, but the ancestors came readily, happily, to see the descendant that called to them.  Offerings were always a welcome gift, but connection was even better.

“I know my home is cluttered and messy, but we are doing the best we can, please come and be welcome,” the descendant said.  The ancestors looked around and did not see the “clutter” but instead saw books.  There were so many books that most of the surfaces were covered with them.

A sage!

A scholar! 

“For the horde!” the cry that only gets louder, gets stronger. 

“For the horde!” awakening the giants from their slumber.

“For the horde!” they cried, making Hekate smile with glee and purpose.  The cry invigorated and pleased her.  After all, there was no horde without her.

She enjoyed the liminal space of the internet greatly.  Many had made shrines to her, blogs in Her name, but this game somehow enlivened her spirit in a way that allowed for one of Her great evolutions in form.

Chapter 1 

Dead Weight

By

Phoebe Walker

The truck was parked at the bottom of a steep hill.  With nothing but forests on both sides of the road for as far as the eye could see a woman stepped out of the truck with a rifle, honked the truck horn loudly twice.  She opened the passenger door and walked back to the driver’s side of the vehicle.  She gently rested the rifle on the truck bed.

Looking through the scope she could clearly see the man running towards her truck.  He was running full out with eyes wide from panic as the zombies behind him stayed in close pursuit.  While fast zombies tended to be only the newly turned and quite rare, this man had three somehow gaining on him.

She aimed carefully.  She’d practiced for hours but this was the very first time she’d tested out the rifle.  She was confident she would miss the man but still took her time to aim as carefully as possible.  She’d become much more proficient with guns since the zombie outbreak turned into the zombie apocalypse but it was still nerve wracking to shoot this close to a human.  If her aim was off by a little this wouldn’t be a rescue mission but an execution.

She mentally thanked God for a windless day.

Remembering that this man would definitely die without her intervention she comforted her nerves by saying that if she missed and hit him at least he wouldn’t have to worry about death via zombie.  She wouldn’t be making the situation worse.  Humans tired, but fast z’s didn’t.  They’d eventually get him.  Relaxing her shoulders she took in a long deep breath as she aimed and squeezed the trigger.  The zombie’s head exploded with a satisfying crack from her rifle.

She wanted to jump and dance around in joy, so relieved that she hadn’t hit him, but there were still two more zombies.  Distracted by her joy the second shot missed the zombie’s head and hit him in the shoulder.  The third shot took him out of commision.

The third fast zombie was much further behind the man, so she didn’t bother trying to kill it and instead hopped back into the truck.  The man was running quickly and moving ahead of the third zombie and she thought it looked like he was running faster than before.  Sometimes all you needed was a little bit of hope for that second wind.  The truck was still running and she put it gear and waited for the man.

The man didn’t slow down as he reached the truck and she’d just finished clicking her seat belt into place when he launched himself into the passenger seat.  She slammed her foot on the gas as he was slamming the door.

She’d known where to find him, her gift had told her that but her gift also told her just how large this horde of zombies happened to be.  They had to beat feet if they were going to out run it.  She used to think the newly turned were the worst zombies because of their speed but experience taught her the giant hordes were worse.  Any large grouping of zombies scared her witless.  That said, the fast ones were a bitch and a half.  There just was no good zombie.

Rescuing him was risky but she needed someone to travel with.  Her last attempt to travel with someone had ended with her drugged, dumped in a truck, with all her supplies taken.  She hadn’t sought out company since.

That had been a year ago.

The horde was large, by miles, and they had a limited amount of time to get out of the zombies’ path.  The truck was practically flying down the road heading south while the zombie horde was traveling east.  Zombies attracted zombies and turned everyone in their path so hordes grew with depressing speed.  The hordes picked up more zombies along the way turning dozens into hundreds into thousands.  Her brain wouldn’t let her think of them in terms of millions. 

Five z’s were too many in her opinion.

She handed her passenger the backpack next to her.  “Water, food, and some other stuff.  Help yourself.”

The best way to make friends in the zombocalypse world was food and water.  She expected some suspicion and was prepared to make a show of taking a drink or eating some of the food but instead he just took the bag and opened it.  The water shook a bit in his hand as he was still breathing heavily from fleeing zombies but he managed a few gulps of water in between his gulps for air.  He opened the jerky once his breathing stabilized.

The old truck wasn’t happy about the speed she was pushing it to go but she didn’t have a choice.  The road they were on didn’t have a viable path out of the horde.  There were plenty of little roads to towns or neighborhoods but nothing that would allow them to get out of the way of the horde.  

Even if she could manage to speed them along enough to get out of the way the problem was that hordes would change directions seemingly at random.  Right now the horde was heading east and gaining on them.  She felt the horde getting closer.  Large groups of zombies made her skin crawl and the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

Panic tried to set in as it always did with hordes but the human next to her was alive and she intended on keeping it that way.

Her main worry was getting to the turn off that would lead them away from the horde.  If the horde, even a small part of it saw them, they might change direction to follow.  Too many z’s shifting their focus meant all of them would shift.  Zombies were very definitely pack animals.

He was finishing the last of the jerky when she finally slowed the truck down to a sane speed.  They’d managed to travel far enough away from the horde without it noticing.  She turned on a road that she knew was clear for the next several miles.  Going a sane speed limit helped her panic

 ebb and her pulse slow to normal.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Allison, but everyone calls me Allie, “ she paused, momentarily caught by her own phrasing.  “I guess I should say everyone used to call me Allie.”

“Back when there was an everyone?  I’m Cameron but you can call me Cam.”

“You’re the first human I’ve seen in a year,” she said, trying to keep her eyes on the road.

“Really?  They’ve been fewer and further between but it seems like I’m always running into someone,” he motioned to her and the truck by way of example.

“I lucked out.  I’ve been hiding out in an old prepper shelter.  It was made pre-Z but the preppers in question never seemed to use it.  I stayed there over a year, but since it was hidden no real way of people stumbling across me.  I eventually left due to supplies running low and a need to see another human.  Hello, other human.”

“Cam,” he reminded her.

“Hello, Cam,” she said and smiled at him.  Her smile was a little timid but somehow joyous enough he smiled along with her.

“A whole year?  Jesus, that’d be rough.  I went a few months once.  I was talking to air by the time I was done.  Oh, wait, did you go crazy?  Are you rescuing me to sacrifice to Lucifer?”

First new blog post!  I'm very excited to announce a new project.  In conjunction with some author friends I've decided to write romance novels and short stories set in the zombie apocalypse.  We are calling this zombie universe Zombie Apocalypse Romance or ZA Romance for short.

I've long been obsessed with zombies and have been rewatching both old zombie and new zombie stories.  I'm really impressed with Train to Busan and Kingdom both from South Korea.  I very much recommend #Alone as well.

What has struck me the most about these tough Covid times is how much we miss our people, our loved ones.  How sometimes we feel almost desperate for human affection.  How would this translate to a large amount of the population wiped out due to a zombie apocalypse?

I've seen a lot of the movies and television shows on offer in the zombie oeuvre, but by no means all, and one of the themes is often that people tend to suck and sell each other out.  I think that while people might do just about anything for survival, we would also rebuild, form new relationships, marry, have children, etc.  People don't stop being people just because the world is ending.  

One of the universal experiences is love.  People in a zombie apocalypse would still find the time to love and be loved.  Both romantically and in various other ways that humans love and take care of each other.  

I know the point of zombies isn't to be hopeful but too bad.  :)  I'm going to write some really scary romance stories for this setting.  I'm going to try to give them a hopefulness despite the desperation of the various situations.