Reviews

A beautifully told story with colorful characters out of epic tradition, a tight and complex plot, and solid pacing. -- Booklist, starred review of On the Razor's Edge

Great writing, vivid scenarios, and thoughtful commentary ... the stories will linger after the last page is turned. -- Publisher's Weekly, on Captive Dreams

Friday, October 14, 2016

Laminated Moose Zombies

Woo, as they say, hoo. Received from Trevor at ANALOG:
"Yeah, I’m into “Laminated Moose Zombies,” and I think it’s conceptually fleshed-out (pun intended) and plausible enough to work in ANALOG, so I’m going to take it."

Son of TOF, a rabid fan
This is the story that TOF co-wrote with Dennis Flynn, a rising young writer who lives up in Alaska, who also happens to be Son of TOF.

Opening paragraph (which may have been posted previously)
Anchorage during Breakup is a halfway pleasant place. The weather warms nicely into the low to mid forties, the forget-me-nots prepare to blossom, and the zombies start to melt out of the ice.
That’s when Sergei and I swing into action, patrolling the roads along Muldoon between Tudor and JBER and keeping an eye peeled for the undead. It’s not hard work. They aren’t even the “walking” dead, let alone the zippy ones they tried to sell us in those movies a generation ago. They’re more like the “crawling dead,” or “slithering dead.” Technically, they aren’t even “dead,” since the fungus that moves them is very much alive. But try telling that to drivers when they see roadkill inching its way down Boniface or when some poor herbie working night shift in a mortuary finds a corpse swinging its arms or kicking its feet. Morticians have to wear brown pants these days.

5 comments:

  1. Aiyeeeeeeeee!

    The Bunny Rabbit Horror has engulfed the Son of TOF!

    https://youtu.be/gISEekxuEgk?t=29

    "Bunnies aren't just cute like everybody supposes..."

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  2. I live in Anchorage! I know those streets! I know....those zombies? Perhaps!

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  3. I assume cremation is more common in this universe.

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  4. Heh! I remember slithering down Boniface myself.

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  5. I'd always been given to understand that accompanying slithering was the inability to remember it the next day.

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