After: The Phoenix Curse, #1

The Phoenix Curse

Preface

2013

I would like to think this is the beginning of a wondrous journey. Not only a journey for Ali and Joss, but a new chapter in my life. I am happy to have each and every one of you with me as I set out on my new endeavors.

This is the story of how the first book, After of The Phoenix Curse trilogy, came to be.

I was a bit of a book nerd back in high school. Always reading. Always writing. I even had unsupported dreams of becoming a writer someday. Here and there I would jot something down, mostly a little bit of prose or poetry, nothing substantial. When the attack in Florida happened, my friends all joked about zombies. That night, I was lying in bed unable to sleep, and I hopped out of bed to write down what eventually became the intro to the trilogy.

Then, last year about mid-October, I stumbled on to something called National November Writing Month (NaNoWriMo for short). For those of you who have never heard of it, it is a challenge to write 50,000 words during the month of November. There are only a few stipulations. One, the book has to be a work of fiction, and two, it has to be a brand-new book.

I had never written anything this big before, but just recently, my daughter had started writing on her own. She asked me for my ideas on her stories, and I started editing her work. While doing that, my passion for writing that I thought long dead rose again to the surface.

I decided to try the NaNoWriMo challenge.

I have many books that I have started, maybe gotten as much as 10,000 to 20,000 words into them over the course of many years, but I needed something fresh. Without having any outline at all for what I was about to start, I fell back to the little blurb I had written over the summer. As I started writing, the characters blossomed, and the story started writing itself.

I succeeded in winning the NaNoWriMo challenge with five days left to spare, and I kept going. On March 25, 2013, I finished the first draft of my first book at a little over 130,000 words. The feeling of accomplishment was indescribable. Not only did I complete the NaNoWriMo challenge, but I finally crossed the finish line in a life goal that I thought I would never achieve.

And I kept going.

Book 2, Dreamland, has already been started, and I am well underway into that story line as well as continuing to edit the other 2 parts of After. I cannot promise a timeline at the moment, although I wish I could. I still put in forty hours a week at my day job, and add in the unpredictability of life in general, any timeline I give truly is a shot in the dark.

But now that I know that I can do it, I will keep going.

I have to thank my beautiful, inspirational daughter. I don’t think that I ever would have lifted the metaphorical pen again if it had not been for her. Her spirit is indomitable, and despite any setback she’s ever come across, she has faced it and charged right through it. I cherish her as my daughter and as my friend. It was from her strength that I drew the courage to try again.

My husband’s role in this was no small part, either. He tolerated my midnight ravings, and always listened as I bounced ideas off him. He was my beta reader, editor and, most importantly, he supported me. This book would not be what it is now without him.

Now, I’d like to invite you all to join me on my blog for all the latest updates on The Phoenix Curse as well as my new projects I have lined up on the horizon.

http://www.writingroses.com

http://www.thephoenixcurse.com

If you enjoy the book, please remember to stop by Amazon and leave a review.

Thank you all!

Prologue

It's after...

I can’t give you an exact date, but I know I'm heading into the fifth winter since the world tumbled into chaos. I was only eighteen when it started. Young. Irresponsible. Selfish. The traits every child had by right as they floundered into adulthood. At least until everything was stripped away.

I can still remember what started it all. It was a hot summer morning when an article popped up on my news feed that piqued my interest.

Zombie Attack in Florida!

Who could resist clicking that link? Not to mention, it was from the Washington Post, a news source that even I recognized as creditable.

After quickly scanning the article and finding out the attack was drug induced, my curiosity died, but the details of the attack were still chilling. The 'zombie' had been high on a new drug called bath salts and apparently decided he was hungry enough to chow down on the most convenient meal he could get his hands on. That just so happened to be the face of the nearest homeless man.

Drugs are bad, mkay?

As disturbing as that image is, that wasn't the most bizarre thing I read in that article. To me, the worst part was reading how the cop tried to stop the face-eater. I imagine he started off by saying something along these lines;

Excuse me, good sir. Could you refrain from eating this gentleman's face?

Or maybe he went with something a bit more commonplace and just yelled 'FREEZE!' The details on that weren't very clear. What was clear was the fact that he shot the guy and only got growled at for his trouble. Then our zombie went right back to munchin'. A bullet in his stomach barely fazed him! The second bullet the cop put in his head certainly proved more of an inconvenience. He may not have felt pain, but that killed him. He was for real dead after that. None of that undead bullshit.

The article was just a flash in the pan that quickly faded away.

Then came that fateful December and the doomsayers were saying what they will. Surprisingly enough, the Mayans had it right, but the world didn't end in volcanoes and earthquakes and hurricanes.

No. It turned out to be us all along. We wanted so badly to believe in something that we ended up pulling the trigger on ourselves.

It started with more face-eaters popping up around Christmas, and the media informed us it was all linked to the bath salts drug again. Only it wasn't bath salts. Maybe it was a virus, or an outbreak of some kind, but those first face-eaters were our warning before everything went to hell. Most of us weren't even paying attention to the beginning of the end.

By New Year, there was no recovering from the infestation. Before the news stations went down, they'd finally decided to stop feeding us the bath salt bullshit. They told us to stay in our houses. Lock the doors. Load the guns.

Five years ago, the end of days arrived.

Ali

The Last bullet

My heart thundered in my chest, racing so fast I thought it might explode. I gasped for breath to quench my aching lungs as they burned for air. The deprivation a result of panicked flight.

How did they get in?

My limbs felt numb and disjointed, like I was trying to control hands that weren't mine.

Go! I yelled. Tears ran unheeded down my cheeks. My father was standing there in the dark hallway, a forlorn look on his face, refusing to leave with the rest of the group. Get them safe!

Nowhere is safe.

He yelled something back, but I couldn't make it out over the growls and screams of the diseased. Smoke and steam obscured my vision, and by the time it cleared, he was gone.

I wiped the tears and sweat from my face as I pulled out what was left of my bullets.

Thirteen.

The last time I was able to get a good visual, there were easily twenty of those things out there. That number could have grown since then.

You're mine, I said solemnly as I pulled one bullet out and dropped it in my pocket.

I loaded my father's revolver, a beautiful piece of workmanship that would soon be entombed with me. I sniffed but held back my sobs. I had a job to keep me focused, and damn me if I didn't give them enough time to get away.

Dodging another burst of steam from the broken water pipe, I ran to the door my father had been standing at. The hallway on the other side was empty.

Good.

I closed the door and pushed the old oak desk in front of it. It was heavy and took longer than I would have liked, but I could feel my strength dwindling. Already, the sweat was drying on me as the fever set in.

Turning to the door on the other side of the small room, I could see the barricade was holding... barely.

The door rattled and shook and the wood started to splinter at the handle. They pressed against the glass panel that ran halfway down the side of the door. By some miracle, the glass was holding, but I was about to change that.

The balding freak at the front was getting crushed by those behind him, but that didn't stop him from hissing and clawing at the glass. It looked like his nose had been busted up pretty bad judging by the amount of blood that gushed from it. It splattered everywhere, and through the red smears, his eyes fixed on me as I moved in front of the window.

He raged and screamed, clawing at the glass to get to me. He hated me, and nothing short of death would stop him.

I leveled the revolver between his unnatural red eyes and ended his frenzy.

The glass shattered in a rain of shards, and the freak's body was pushed forward by the press behind him. I didn't think it would fit through the window frame, but I heard bones cracking as they gave way. I watched the macabre scene as the torso flopped lifelessly into my half of the room, dangling at an awkward angle as the bottom half remained trapped on the other side.

Now that the barrier was gone, their bloodlust renewed. I cringed as their screams of rage assaulted me, no longer muted by the glass.

Stepping closer, my boots crunched on fragile shards, and I took aim again. Two fell in quick succession.

I had to wait for the rest to push the bodies out of the way and find their way to the window. It wasn't worth risking a bullet if I wasn't positive it would be a kill shot. I didn’t have to wait long.

I emptied the gun, and found my hands shaking terribly when I reloaded. Frowning at the wound on my arm, I saw the red welts had spread considerably. The bite was getting worse very quickly. I wasn’t sure how much time I had left, but I had the feeling it wasn’t much. My fingers felt numb and fuzzy. Two bullets fell and rolled across the floor, only to fall down the drain in the middle of the room.

Dammit!

I ground my teeth together as I took aim again, the last four shots going fast. The deadbolt no longer held the door closed against the pressure behind it. The only thing holding the door was my hastily made barricade. There was a groan as the metal locker started to give way, and I knew it wouldn't be long.

I retreated to the supply closet, pulling the door closed behind me. The darkness made me shiver. They would never be able to figure out how to open the door, but they'd never leave either. Given enough time, they'd eventually break through.

No way out.

Didn't matter, I was dead already. I pulled out the last bullet and clenched it tightly in my palm.

One way out.

From beyond the closet door, there was a loud crack, followed by a crash as the barricade gave way. Despite knowing it would happen, I couldn't suppress the scream I let out as beating hands fell against the door, scratching and clawing at it to get to me.

I broke down, unable to hold onto my composure any longer. The fever dragged my weakened body to the floor. The sound only seemed to incite them more, but at least it was keeping them here instead of going after my father and the others.

There was a small stream of light coming in from the bottom of the door. It was just enough to see by so I could finish my last task.

I sat up and fought a wave of dizziness. Leaning against the metal shelving, I waited for it to pass, but my strength didn’t return. It was never going too. I pulled the revolver into my lap.

It’s so heavy now.

My fingers were useless as I tried to dump the empty casings, and everything clattered to the floor. Even over the cacophony of moans on the other side of the door, I heard the cylinder land and roll away into the darkness.

I groaned, laying down against the concrete floor and reached into the void to find the lost cylinder while my other hand still clutched the last bullet.

The void swallowed me.

Alone in Dallas

I gasped awake, covered in a film of sweat. The cool morning air was chilling as it dried the sheen.

It was just a dream of a memory. A memory turned into a nightmare. Moaning slightly, I covered my head with the blankets and burrowed into the bed, still shivering.

Closing my eyes again, I invoked the good memories to combat the bad. I recalled my father's laughter and my mother's singing, thinking back to a time we were all together and happy. A time before the divorce ripped us a country apart. The old times, before the world turned.

I wondered again, for the thousandth time, if my father had made it out of that school. Those thoughts