By Manuel Loureiro
An act of terrorism unleashed an unspeakable organic weapon...and hell in the world. yet because the lots felled through a hideous virus rose from the lifeless to prey at the residing, a small band of survivors defied demise and its ghastly spawn—determined to outrun the world’s finish and one way or the other start again.
But past the undead-besieged beaches of Europe lies anything toward damnation than salvation. Rescued from sure demise at sea, a tender Spanish legal professional, the attractive girl he loves, and his brash, battle-hardened most sensible friend—who have weathered the worst of the unnatural disaster—think they’re escaping to freedom yet are added right into a stronghold of hate. In a usa ravaged via a zombie plague and overrun by means of the undead, simply Gulfport, Mississippi, bargains sanctuary...for a cost: subservience to a fascist dictator and his brutal enforcers. yet their reign of terror will quickly be challenged—by rebels hungry for vengeance and invaders bent on conquest.
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Extra resources for Apocalypse Z: The Wrath of the Just (Apocalypse Z, Book 3)
He cut his finger on a porcelain shard. He squeezed the blood and wiped it across the oversized cotton blouse he wore to bed. He held the shard in his hand. There were times when even a saint held too much remembered pain within him. Desires, once acted upon in days of innocence and childhood, which now seemed dark and animal and howling. He brought the shard up to his lips, his cheek, pressing. In the reflecting glass of the window, a face he did not recognize, a hand he had not seen, scraping a broken piece of a pitcher up and down and up and down the way he had seen his father shaving himself when the saint was a little boy in Biloxi, the way he himself shaved, the way men could touch themselves with steel, leaning into mirrors to admire how close one could get to skin such as this.
I want you to keep this. I'm going to die someday soon. " "I couldn't," I said, shaking my head. " "No," he said, grinning madly, "it never was mine. " I shook my head. " "Seventeen. " "Ah, seventeen. A special time. " I shrugged. "Caring. Between people. " "Oh, no," his smile blossomed across his face, "it's not caring, boy, it's not caring. What it is, is opening your skin up to someone else, and opening theirs, too. Everything I told you is true, boy. I want you to take this dried flower--" I held it in my hand.
All of this for just a little information. It does seem daft, doesn't it? You holding up? " "No," Jim said, feeling more lost and yet extremely comfortable. " "Or lack thereof," Nora said. " She held the magazine up. It was the London TellTale magazine. "All these royals and celebs knocking each other up. " he asked. " Then, "What, dear? Town? " "I'm sorry, I'm not supposed to tell too much. You know that more than anyone, Mrs. " Jim felt a warm salty taste in the back of his throat. He glanced down at the hand that she had just finished patting.
Apocalypse Z: The Wrath of the Just (Apocalypse Z, Book 3) by Manuel Loureiro