Last Fight of the Valkyries (37 page)

One other reviewer mentioned religion in the negative, and
suggested that there was no way Liam would have tried to grab a Bible
for Victoria while under threat of the zombie horde. Everyone is
entitled to their opinions, but I have to ask what fifteen-year-old
boy DOESN'T do stupid stuff to catch the eye of a girl he fancies? I
did plenty of doozies in my day, mostly while cruising the town in
fast cars. I saw nothing in that act tied to religion. He did it to
impress a girl, which is pretty much the most important reason to do
anything as a teen boy! He even says as much later in the story. He'd
been looking for that Bible since they'd met. It's one of my favorite
scenes, and I'm quite happy with how it's written.

To counter the above, many reviewers appreciated the religious
element present throughout the books. In fact, the great majority of
my readers seem to appreciate the inclusion of religion, not as a
central theme to the story (e.g., this isn't Christian Fiction) but
as something that would naturally happen if the world suddenly found
itself overwhelmed by zombies. To ignore religion—any religion,
it just so happens this character is a devout Christian—would
be a gross oversight. Liam is less of a believer, at least at first,
but his struggle to understand what's happening with the world would
be, I think, what most normal human beings would experience. If there
were no religion at all, I happen to believe things would devolve to
a Mad Max level of barbarism much faster. That isn't to say it
couldn't happen otherwise.

There are many details of the reviews that I found
thought-provoking.

One reviewer took offense to the fact Liam was an asocial gamer
who lived in his parent's basement. I don't see Liam that way at all.
In fact, he normally plays his games with his four or five friends at
one of their houses, but since he was spending the summer with his
great-grandma, and since he had no choice but to live in her basement
and hang out at the library, he ended up appearing as the “typical
asocial teen gamer.” Also, I should point out I was a somewhat
asocial gamer in my younger years, and I did spend some time living
in my parents' basement. Funny how life experiences can make it into
a book!

Bollocks! That's a word Liam uses at one point, and a reviewer
found that to be unnatural for an American teen. Again, this is a
life experience thing. I grew up watching Benny Hill, Blakes 7, and
Doctor Who. I was enamoured with all things British. Today's teens
(and I know a few) are also hooked on British television, including
the new version of Doctor Who. They also enjoy the British teen story
about the boy called Harry Potter, though I don't recall if anyone
said bollocks in those books. In short, I don't think it's a stretch
that Liam would use that word. We could argue whether the “average”
American teen would use that word.

Other reviewers have described Liam both as too smart for being
fifteen and too dumb for being fifteen. I tried to balance his youth
with his deep understanding of the zombie plague itself. When I was
fifteen, I could have recited useless stats from
Dungeons and
Dragons
manuals. I read and studied those books all the time (to
the detriment of school). I could tell you how to fight hundreds of
different monsters—their strengths, weaknesses, etc. I'd like
to think if I ever came across a gelatinous cube in a dark alley, I'd
know the secret to defeating it: step out of its way. Thus, I felt
Liam would understand the global ramifications of the zombie
apocalypse, even if he didn't really know how to properly use a
radio. In the end, I'm glad there are complaints of both as it
suggests the truth is somewhere in the middle.

I believe Liam would also have advantages over adults in some
situations because he'd read about similar things in his zombie
books. I'm fascinated by zombies in our culture. For one thing, we've
all agreed that zombies are killed by hitting them in the head. But
if zombies actually stumbled their way into reality today, how many
people still wouldn't know how to kill them? It seems incredible,
especially for people who regularly read and watch entertainment
about zombies, but most people probably don't have that deep
background in zombies. In that light, Liam could appear to know more
than his years suggest when he is helping with zombie-related lore.
This would include the basics—arm up, aim for the head, find
and secure shelter.

There are lots of other little things that have been mentioned in
the 80+ reviews for book 1 that I could discuss at length, but I'll
just breeze over them to wrap this up. There are some complaints
about not enough cussing in the zombie apocalypse. Personally, I
don't mind cussing in books, but when I wrote this, I didn't feel any
need to overdo it. Call it a residual effect of using my grandma as
an archetype for Marty. She wouldn't want needless cussing in “her”
story. My grandma never used a harsh word in my presence, much less
cuss words. I generally don't talk that way around my family, though
I have plenty of friends who do. I'm ambivalent on the issue, but for
my book I did what I felt was true to the story. Of course, many
others responded that they appreciated the story was on the clean
side, and in fact I let my ten year old read the first book.

Someone mentioned the one-dimensional racial makeup of the story.
I have to wonder if that person even read the book though, as one of
the central characters (Officer Jones) is clearly described as a big
black man. As you readers know, book 4 has three major characters of
“color.” Also, though I don't make a big deal out of it,
Phil's last name is Ramos, suggesting he is Hispanic. I honestly
don't know that it does anything to advance the story besides give
him some depth beyond what I've written. I think my characters are
concerned with larger issues. When my wife first read book 1, she
imagined Victoria was also Hispanic, even though I don't recall any
indication of race. Go figure.

Well, that's all the highlights of the reviews for this edition of
my ramblings. If you care to add creative reviews to any of my books
you've read, I'll mention them in the notes of my next book! Thank
you, truly, for being a reader!

E.E. Isherwood, April 17, 2016

I am pleased to introduce a book sample from fellow author Boyd Craven III. Some of you will undoubtedly already know him from his prolific works in the post-apocalyptic genre. I know him from the author side--he helps new authors with advice, feedback, and support. I couldn't think of a better way to say thanks than to include a sample of his work and recommend you check him out while you are waiting for my fifth zombie book to release this June.

Copyright
© 2015 Boyd Craven III

The
World Burns

By
Boyd Craven

All
rights reserved.

Sample
of
The
World Burns
provided to E E Isherwood by Boyd Craven III

Blake
never had much money, but living frugally was second nature to the
guy who did odd jobs for everyone in town and wrote a blog about
living off the grid. Most of the work he did was handyman work. None
of it was licensed or inspected, but it was good work that would
pass. The folks who paid him didn’t care about a piece of paper
and knew quality when they saw it. Blake loved spending all his free
time blogging or outdoors. He spent most of his time in the
bottomlands of Kentucky where he lived. Fishing, hunting, and growing
a big vegetable garden made for a quiet and solitary lifestyle, and
he didn’t need much in the way of income.

He’d
inherited ten acres from his grandpa that had an old barn full of one
hundred years of assorted junk. That was where he built his small
homestead. At first he had a camper trailer on site, but as money
came in little by little, he started to build a simple home for
himself. Being a jack of all trades and master of none, he was easily
able to purchase the materials he needed and the equipment necessary
to dig and hand-pour a basement. He then spent the next two years
building the house. He’d worked as many jobs as he could find,
including a paper route, to get all the materials he needed
purchased. He finally finished the house of his dreams.

There
never was a missus out there; not many ladies would like to live so
far away from town, and the only electricity he had was from the
twenty-four-volt Uni-Solar roofing he’d bought on the cheap. He
used it to power his well and two small chest freezers. One of the
freezers was actually converted into a small fridge, and took a lot
less energy. He’d found the conversion kit on Amazon of all
places for around fifty dollars, made by Johnson Controls. He put
those in another portion of the basement where it was cooler, hoping
that it would take less energy that way. The Internet was taken care
of by a wireless air card and his laptop, or his cell phone. The most
expensive part of his house was the big deep-cycle batteries. Blake
kept them and the charge controller stored in a special room in the
basement so they’d never freeze or get stolen.

The
day he moved out of his camper and into the house was a joyous day,
and although Blake could have used the propane wall heater in the
camper, he instead installed a little potbellied stove for heating
and cooking. With two years living through the mild Kentucky winters
in a camper, he was more than ready for a little bit of comfort, and
he set about finding furniture to fit the house. Wondering where to
look first, he was startled by his cell phone breaking the silence.

“Hello?
Blake’s Handyman Service,” he said, not recognizing the
number.

“Hi
Blake, this is Pastor Duncan. We have a leaky pipe here at the
church, and I can’t figure things out.”

“Ah,
hi Pastor. I’ll be right over.”

“Thanks
Blake,” he said and hung up the phone. Furniture shopping would
have to wait.

Getting
into his almost used up 70s Dodge D truck, he prayed the old beast
would turn over. The old diesel engine needed some serious work, and
he hadn’t had the time to do it, as it’d all gone into
finishing the house. After a couple tries, the truck belched a dark
cloud and rumbled as it idled.

“I
should have all the tools already,” Blake mumbled to himself.

He
headed into town, not knowing how his life was about to change.

“Okay
Pastor Duncan, I got it all squared away,” he told the portly
man.

“How
much do I owe you?” The pastor had a checkbook out and a pen
poised to the paper.

“Well,
it’s two hours and…” his voice trailed off into
nothing as a slender woman came walking in, her dark brown hair cut
short, almost in a spike. Most ladies that turned his head had long,
flowing hair, but this one was different. She had a presence that
made him notice. She had freckles spread across her cheeks and dark
green eyes that hinted at the fun and excitement she’d seen in
her life.

“Hello,
I’m Blake,” he held his hand out as she stopped next to
the pastor and gave him a quick one-armed hug.

“Oh,
sorry, how rude of me. Blake, this is my daughter, Sandra. Sandra,
this is Blake.”

“Pleasure,”
she said with a smile, showing her teeth. His heart felt like it was
laboring to start again, and he couldn’t quit staring.

“So
Blake…?”

“Huh?”
He looked at the priest again.

“How
much do I owe you?”

“Well,
this is the only church in town and all. How about we call this tithe
for this week?”

“Nonsense.
What’s your usual rate?”

“Thirty-five
an hour,” he admitted after a pause. “But it was a simple
fix. I spent more time showing you how to fix it next time it
happens. How about we call it oh…twenty-five dollars, and the
rest is tithe?”

“Why
twenty-five?” Sandra asked him.

“It’s
how much a fuel pump costs.”

“Is
that your truck out front?”

“The
one with the tools?” He was glad to have a chance to get the
younger lady talking to him. She was an adult, but almost too pretty
to look at for long without getting caught staring.

“Yeah,
must be. You know how to put one in?”

“A
fuel pump? Sort of. I work on just about anything, but it’ll be
a first with that old beast.”

“Here
you go,” Pastor Duncan smiled as he pushed a check into Blake’s
breast pocket and left the room unnoticed.

“If
you want a hand, I know that truck like the back of my hand.”

“How?”
He knew it was dumb to ask, and it probably broke some sort of ethics
thing, but a lady, a pretty lady, who knew mechanics?

“Well,
the army unit I was stationed with had a ton of them. You get the
parts, they run forever. Especially the diesels like you got.”

“You
were in the army?” Surprise after surprise floored the
thirty-year-old man. “You look like you just graduated high
school.” He winced when he realized how insulting that must
have sounded.

“It’s
okay, you don’t have to pull your foot out of your mouth. I get
that a lot. I’m actually twenty-eight, and the motor pool was
my life until about two months ago.”

“Thanks.”
He laughed in relief at not getting called out for his careless
tongue. “Tell you what, I’ll be in town again on Friday
to pick up an order I have coming in. Maybe we can borrow Pete’s
Garage, and later on, I’ll take you out for something to eat?”

Blake
realized not once had he checked out her finger to make sure she was
available. He was about to apologize when she smiled and nodded.

“That
sounds wonderful actually.” She took his hand and gave it a
squeeze and wrote her number for him.