Mark Tufo: A Plague Upon Your Family

I swear I did not write this review myself but I definitely approve of the message!!!

Zombie Fallout 2 "A Plague Upon Your Family" not only picks up where the first book left off, it pretty much picks up the whole zombie fiction genre then drops it on its collective ass. I don't know which has more twists, the storyline or Mike Talbot's psyche. I read this book in one day, not because I had nothing better to do, but because once I started reading it, I felt like I was betraying every character in the book if I didn't stick it out with them for the duration. Mark Tufo's raw and real writing style makes you feel less like a reader of a story and more a participant who is being brought up to speed as to what they missed while out looking for Pop Tarts. The strangest things creep into your mind during stressful times and Mark's exploration of these seemingly absurd things make me chuckle with "OK, maybe I'm not the only guy that thinks about sex, sex, food, sex and sex" running through my frontal lobe. A damn good story from the most natural storyteller I have ever read.

Rich Baker – Zombie Fan Extraordinaire

Zombie Fallout 2 A Plague Upon Your Family

Mark Tufo

Electronic Edition

Copyright 2010 Mark Tufo

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Cover Art by Sylwia Serwinska (she rocks!)

DEDICATION(S)

First off I would like to dedicate this book to my wife and not merely because that seems the most prudent thing to do. She has spent countless hours listening to me ramble on about this story line or that character and how maybe I should have this happen instead of that. Her constant belief that I would stay sane long enough to pen this novel was of great inspiration for me. Thank you, my love.

Secondly, my brother Ron who, devoted an endless amount of time reading and re-reading this book in an attempt to make it as sound as possible, both story wise and grammatically. THANK YOU! He has also told me numerous times of how proud of me he is, and coming from a big brother that means a lot.

Thirdly is the Tufo clan, for truly, how far can an errant nut fall from the tree. If not for their constant influence I might have actually written a love story.

Fourthly (but by no means lastly) are you my fans. I still cannot for the life of me get over the fact that I have fans. I so want to individually name each and every one of you but I am so fearful that I will leave someone out. But you know who you are, we have had dialog, we are friends on Facebook you have been so kind as to share your thoughts and opinions and countless ways in which I could improve this second book. THANK YOU, you are the driving force that keeps me typing. Henry’s tail wags in your general direction!

STOP!

This is Michael Talbot’s second journal. If you have not already read his first journal

Zombie Fallout

you may be able to pick it up at amazon.com!

It started with a flu shot, there is no end in sight. At least not one that ends well.

Eliza’s Origin – Prologue One

The earth was dank, dark, deep and sweet. Its embrace was as comforting as a small child’s blanket. Eliza was hungry, so, so hungry. But something was not quite right. She had fed, deeply, less than 24 hours ago. She should be sated for at least another 3 days. The need within her grew by the moment. The huntress arose out of her earthen bed.

Eliza grew up in a time when being a child was not a protected status. Children were more of a disposable asset to be used and abused as their masters saw fit. As a child of a dirt farmer she was the lowest of the low in early 1550’s Germany. As the winds of war tore across the ravaged countryside she was swept along like so much chaff. She was no more than a slave to one master after another. It was in this harsh reality that her steel temperament was honed. On her 19 thbirthday she was finally able to remove the shackles that had her bound for the better part of 10 years. It was a dark stranger that had approached her and offered her the opportunity of freedom. She had not blanched in the least as he had laid out what the future would hold for her. Her black mind was completely clouded with the thoughts of reeking revenge on all of those that had wronged her. The list was long and she knew exactly where she was going to start.

The pain was sharp as the stranger dragged his teeth across her dirty neck. She could not help but smell the scent of the man as he bit deeply into her carotid artery. The odor was all too familiar. Death clung to him, like a newborn to its mother, waiting for his next offerings. The man was a harvester of misery and despair. What he saw in Eliza, she wasn’t sure. Maybe he realized that death to her would be a release, a freedom from the horrors of a war torn world. He didn’t want to do her any favors. He wanted to drag her along into this new and unchartered realm of purgatory. She had survived the worst of what the world could offer. To turn her was to unleash a new hell upon the land.

For forty years she had suffered under the severe tutelage of her new master. His cruelty, degenerative behavior and propensity for violence had far surpassed even the worst of her previous masters. So when she had finally severed his corrupted skull from his depraved body it was more of a new beginning than an end. She was truly FREE. She was powerful and she was pissed off. Although most of those who had wronged her were dead and buried, no one was safe. She slid along the countryside, always in the shadows, always in the peripheral. Death didn’t just cling to her. It hung around expectantly. Why go out and reap the dying when it had a diligent purveyor that handed it out indiscriminately. Tremors of fear washed across those she passed by. Feelings of dread were quickly replaced by euphoria when a potential victim felt the talons of a gruesome demise pass on to another.

For close to five hundred years she had gone on like this, occasionally turning a companion to share in her vengeance. But she remembered all too well the elation when she had liberated herself and would never let any of her fledgling offspring live more than a decade or two. The frozen etch of betrayal on their faces as she killed them never ceased to amaze or humor her.

Eliza, like many great predators, is nomadic. She moves to where the prey is. As whispers of demons and monsters passed throughout the villages and towns she preyed upon, food became scarce. Townsfolk were less and less likely to go out into the hidden evils of the night. She did not fear retribution. She feared the gnawing hunger that tore at her soul. The hunger to rip, rend, to destroy and to tear asunder all that the world had taken from her. So when she finally made it to the ‘New World’ in the early 18 thcentury, Eliza knew that she had found home. The wide open sparsely populated country helped foster her legend. The Native Americans mistakenly labeled her as the Wendigo, mountain men and some of the smaller towns were quick to dismiss the Indians accounts of a dark stranger that bled the soul dry. As more of their own began to disappear, it seemed more than just chance happenstance. Her legend grew, and to Eliza’s surprise so did her ego. Before that, she couldn’t even begin to remember the last time that she had anything akin to a human emotion.

Love was not an emotion she had ever harbored, even as a child. Love was extravagant, a waste of time. Survival, now there was something you could hang on to. Eliza, did not feel pity, or remorse, she did not possess the capacity for mercy. She had needs. She had hunger. Everything she did in her life was to try and sate those two insatiable attributes.