Kiera Zane's New Novel – The Zombie Shuffle: Quiver

In the not so distant future (like the day after tomorrow), Randi Andrews lives in a world inhabited by frozen zombies who come alive and kill without warning or provocation. There hasn’t been a full on zombie attack in years, but that could change at any moment, and people living in cities are acutely aware of the danger just like they know about hurricanes and earthquakes.

But, believe it or not, a zombie apocalypse is the least of Randi’s problems. She’s a genius numbers cruncher who’s being hired by Philadelphia’s ruthless mafia leader. She’s also being pursued by a mysterious man who she finds both attractive and menacing. He’s asking her to help him bring down her new boss, and her quandary is further complicated by zombies quivering.

It’s exciting stuff, and I thought I’d give you an excerpt of my latest creation, just to wet your appetite. Be sure and sign up to be informed when I release book one in the Zombie Shuffle series.

Here’s an excerpt from my latest novel, The Zombie Shuffle: Quiver

One day, after a long interview with a local bank, I walked down the street exhausted and frustrated. The interview had been a disaster with the bank president all but telling me to keep looking for another job in another bank, maybe in another city. What had started as a decent interview, quickly degenerated into a groping match in the president’s office. What a farce.

I was absorbed totally in replaying that crappy interview slash get-your-hands-off-my body session, so I didn’t notice right off that a car had slid to stop beside me and inched forward as I walked. I was startled out of my reverie by a man blocking my way as the car slid to a stop. It was black, long and shiny – the car, I mean, not the man. He wasn’t half bad to look at either save the long, ugly scar that ran the length of his left jaw just under the eye to the jawbone. He had bluish grey eyes, dirty blond hair and might be considered attractive if he smiled, but he didn’t smile. Opening the back door of the car, he motioned me to get in. Are you fucking kidding me? I looked at him, and he gave me the most serious of expressions. This was not a voluntary invitation.

I continued to gape at him forcing him finally to speak. “The boss wants to talk with you about a job.” The boss? Who, Bruce Springsteen? What the hell? The man let his coat fall open revealing a snub nosed revolver underneath. I looked around for help. The street was empty. Great. I’m standing on a street that nobody walks on after being accosted by a bank president in the middle of his office nobody enters. Could my day get any worse?

I guess it could get worse. The Boss, with his gun toting chauffeur, wanted to talk to me.  This had to be a dirty joke, reality television stunt. Some guy with a camera is going to leap out of the bushes and tell me surprise, I’ve been pranked. Nobody seriously does this. Scar man motions again with his head. This is like an excerpt from a cheesy mafia movie, not that I know all that much about the mob.

“I’m not getting in that car.” I continued to stand still until he reaches for my arm. He obviously was not taking “no” for an answer. I don’t know why – maybe because he was about to shove me – but I hesitantly lean into the vehicle. Scarface man pushes me, and I fall unceremoniously into the leather seat inside.

I know, I know. I should have screamed, and run screeching for a policeman, but I didn’t. I simply fell in face first, scrambling to a seated position, I knew that I was probably about to become another statistic on the evening news — unemployed woman disappears mysteriously after a less than stellar bank interview with groping bank president.

There would be vast speculation; my imagination flared. It has a habit of doing that. Did she commit suicide; had she run afoul of less than savory elements. . . Was she kidnapped for ransom? That last part was almost laughable. I had so little money, I didn’t know how I was going to make the rent this month, so what ransom? And, in reality, no one would ever miss me. I was forgettable, a cog in the mass of forty-seven percent people who worked hard and were invisible to most of society. And, commit suicide? That last part was also ridiculous. Who would care if I killed myself? Maybe, Mr. Whiskers, my cat, because he depended on me for food and water. But, who else?

My dad might file a missing persons report. Yeah right, my dad might notice the next time he needed money I didn’t have that I wasn’t around. He was too busy in Atlantic City to call on my birthday, which was three months ago. So, why would he suddenly notice if his invisible daughter disappeared?

 

Yep, it was the ol’ Lemony Snicket move – I had just plunged into this strange car, because there was nothing else for me to do. Scarface man had said the magic word – JOB! This was the most excitement I had experienced in the last three years since I’d broken up with my nerd boyfriend from college. And I might be able to pay my rent AND have food to eat next month.

In any case, it was a lot better than standing on the street in shoes that were too old, headed for a rust bucket of a car that might start or not, carrying a faux leather portfolio that held my worthless resumes heralding my few successes in the workforce. The invitation had come at gun point, and that, in some sick way, spelled adventure. I told you I wasn’t too bright.

The man seated next to me is someone I recognize from the evening news. He was always getting into hot water with the law and somehow getting off on a technicality – Philadelphia’s Teflon Don. My stomach knotted. What kind of job could he want me to do? And, would I live through my employment? Or would I get shot in the head, given cement overshoes and dumped in the Schuylkill River?

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