Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Zombified (Episode 2: Yankee Heights) by Matt Di Spirito

Zombified (Episode 2: Yankee Heights)Kindle Price: 
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Welcome to Yankee Heights.

Matty is on the way to Colonial University when the first harrowing
events in a night of terror unfold. He can't even enjoy the carnal
pleasures of a frat party without the undead showing up. Zombies swarm
into the upscale city, overrunning the dormitories, university campus,
and suburban sprawl. Matty is determined to survive.

The deaths pile up. Classmates and love interests aren't safe from the
flesh-eating monsters. Matty faces a string of decisions where he is
forced to choose between saving another and saving himself. His plan is
simple: meet up with his lifelong friend, Joey, in Wooneyville. A city
of zombies stands in the way.


Matt Di Spirito is an independent author of e-book and paperback
novellas and short stories. His previous work includes "Myrmidya:
Warding the Magic", a fantasy novella, "Ramblesense", a collection of
stories and poetry, and "Zombified, Episode 1: Wooneyville", a tale of
undead survival horror. All of Matt's work can be found on his Amazon
Author Page, Smashwords Page, or through his home site, www.myrmidya.net.

What will readers like about your book?

The story runs at a frantic pace. Zombie survival horror isn't the place
for fillers, fluffy phrases, or long, meditative prose; it needs to move
quickly and avoid letting the reader "settle in". Those elements are
central to the "Zombified" series, and if readers like fast-paced tales
with plenty of action, gore, and brushes with death (and zombies, of
course), then this novella might be a good match.

Why did you self publish?

This is the fourth piece of writing that I've self-published, so at this
point it's becoming habit. One of the great things about being an indie
author is I don't have to wait on an editor to make a decision, and I
don't have to wait for a publishing schedule to come out. Sure, I don't
have the marketing budget or resources to put my name in lights, but my
work is out there... that's good enough for right now.

What is your writing process?

A patented process I call "seat of my pants". I jot down a few ideas--no
more than a handful of sentences--and then write until the story stops.
For every ten projects I start, two or three will get finished and the
rest get tossed in the digital trash can. It's a process of discovery
for me, which makes writing much more enjoyable.

How long does it take you to write your first draft?

If I'm on a roll, I can finish a hundred pages in seven or eight days;
since I tend to write novellas or short story collections, one hundred
pages is the sweet spot.

What inspired you to write this particular story?

It's a continuation of "Zombified, Episode 1: Wooneyville". The desire
to finish a series is inspiration enough. I have to find out what
happens to the characters, too! I really don't know how it will end.


"I'm gonna aim for a thin spot and try to ram through. I don't see any
other option!" Matty gritted his teeth, hands in white-knuckle grip on
the wheel. He punched the gas and the rusty truck lurched forward,
rattling and roaring.
A sprinting muncher crashed into the passenger side door, bouncing off
and leaving a splash of foamy red slime on the window. Mike slept on.
When the truck hit the first line of bodies, its momentum carried it up
and over the pile of crushed and mangled corpses. The hood and
windshield were washed in dark blood, entrails, teeth, and a few
dislodged eyeballs.
I just drove into Hell's carwash, Matty thought.
Zombies swarmed around them, banging and clawing and gnashing their
teeth; the truck climbed up the growing mound of smashed undead, losing
speed and traction with every second.
Matty knew it: we're gonna get stuck. He tried to cut the wheel and pull
the truck off the flesh-heap, but the front tires dipped down, spinning
on bloody slicks; ribbons of shredded flesh, torn from the compressed
bodies beneath the truck, shot out and flew into the air. A constant
spray of blood fanned out from the wheels, like mud in an off-road
There was nothing left except desperation: he crushed the pedal down and
screamed—it was a maniacal, almost suicidal, sound. Dan pounded on the
rear window, his eyes wide and face pale. He was yelling something, but
Matty's war cry, along with the revving engine, zombie growling and
pounding, and grinding of skin and bone, swallowed up Dan's voice.
A legion of undead, drawn to the chaos in the intersection, erupted from
the shopping center. Women in dresses, businessmen in suit coats and
slobs in their favorite athlete's shirt, girls with pigtails and boys in
muscle tops were coming for them. It was a cross-section of Yankee
Heights, torn from the screen of a horror movie.
Flailing and gibbering, the ones capable of running hit the truck at
full speed; they slammed into the sides, the tailgate, and the front.
Slapping and digging with fleshless fingers, they provided the means of
escape. The truck rocked and then a tire grabbed hold of something—maybe
a compact mass of bone—and shot suddenly down the pile, crashing to the
road. Metal crunched and pieces of the gore-covered grill broke off and
clattered on the pavement.
An ocean of zombie bodily fluids stretched out around the mound and the
truck swerved, spinning sideways. Matty steered out of it and got the
vehicle pointed straight. He eased the gas and started off; an ominous
clunk-clunk-clunk sound came from the front end.

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