Protect the Food Supply: a vampire silver hunter series book

By Lizz Dimercurio

This book is about a zombie outbreak in Tucson, Arizona. It has adult only content, there is a semi-graphic rape scene, although it is not graphic enough to warrant not selling to anyone under 18. The topic is just a little grave...please contact me if you have any questions or concerns.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lizz Dimercurio
• Release date: Jun 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301303908

Lizz Dimercurio

Lizz wrote her first book when she was six. It was about aliens. She currently lives in Tucson, Arizona and is working on completing her current writing projects while having 3 dogs, 2 cats, and a 6 year old boy bounce around the house.

Book preview

Protect the Food Supply

A Vampire Silver Hunter Series book

By Lizz Dimercurio

Text copyright © 2012 Lizz Dimercurio

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Prologue

Jerry Smith sat in his 1982 Datsun pickup truck that no longer ran. It didn’t matter to him; he had nowhere to go and was using it as a place to sleep more than anything. He had parked it behind the laundry mat next to Circle K when it had given him its last mile. It still made people smile as they drove by, with all the bumper stickers plastered all over the back tailgate and window. It’s Not Going to Suck Itself or Boobies Make me Smile, were always good for a laugh. The political ones, like If you don’t like it, LEAVE would get a honk or two in agreement, and some frowns. In any case, people noticed the truck, but not Jerry. The truck had personality. Jerry didn’t.

The convenience store and the laundromat were both open 24 hours, and as long as he kept to himself, no one called the cops on him. He mostly sat in his truck and didn’t bother anyone. He had a lot of thinking to do. He sat and held the dog tags he carried on the thick silver chain his mom had given him. The tags said, Patrick S. O’Neal…the name he had used for over four decades. He was fucking tired. He was sick of being someone else; he was tired of hiding, and tired of living. He thought about the metal vial in his glove box. The one he had been instructed to drink by his squad leader. The seal was still unbroken. Every other member of his squad had drunk it. They had fought and died. It hadn’t been the fighting that killed them. It was the shit in the vial. Jerry remembered the night clearly. It was a like a movie clip that looped continuously in his mind for the last forty years.

Jerry was eighteen. He was frightened. The night was as black as the devil’s heart, and the humid air of the jungle was so thick he felt like he was breathing water. He was hunkered down under foliage…listening. There was not a sound, not even a buzz of a bug. He waited. Shivered in spite of the head. He waited. Worried about the enemy finding him. Worried his own squad finding him. Either would kill him.

He heard shuffling and saw a pair of US Army issue boots standing two feet in front of him. He was afraid to move or look up to see who it was. An unnatural croaking grunt echoed around the jungle. As if by magic, another pair of boots appeared in front of him. There was a ripping sound, and thick blood dropped in chunks around the US issue boots. The boots fell backward, away from where Jerry was hiding. He still didn’t see who it was. The second pair of boots stood silently. A Vietnamese soldier collapsed in front of him. There was blood pouring out of his eyes and nose, but he stared straight at Jerry. He saw the enemy’s eyes turn yellow, and the arms began to reach out to him. Jerry bolted backwards, and like a frightened rabbit he ran. And ran. And ran. He fell, and heard a loud crack and passed out.

When Jerry came to it was morning. He was in a clearing. There were five or six dead soldiers around him, an entire squad, but not his. The pain in his left leg made him look down at it; a bone was sticking out of his pant leg. He looked up and saw he had fallen fifteen feet. He heard the chopping sound in the air of a helicopter. He stared at one body, and before he could ask himself why, he crawled over and traded dog tags with the other soldier. He rolled on his back and heard the medivac runners coming toward the clearing. We got a live one! He heard one shout. He passed out again.

Jerry had spent six months in a hospital ward, because his leg kept getting infected. They almost amputated twice, but it finally healed. He had a permanent limp, but the war was over and he was sent home.

Home turned out to be nowhere. Jerry spent years wandering the country, taking odd jobs here and there. Never having much money. Never having a woman who loved him. Never having a life. But he always had the vial. He had almost taken it a few times, then changed his mind and instead would hit the road. Now the road was no longer an option. Jerry was old, worn out, and tired. He opened the glove box and took out the vial. He broke the seal. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror, holding the chain from his mother that had someone else’s dog tags on it, and he drank. Just before the contents hit his stomach, he opened the door to his truck. His last coherent thought being that he didn’t want to stink up the truck before someone found him. A minute later, his whole world changed. He didn’t care about anything but food. He stumbled out of the truck and headed to the convenience store.

Chapter One: Nick

Nick Harris pretended he didn’t hear the front door close, in spite of the fact that Lily slammed it loud enough that the neighbors must have heard it. Instead, he stood at the sink with his back to the door, washing the dishes from his solitary meal and whistling casually to himself. Instead of the classic stomping sound of Lily going down the hallway, he heard a shuffle and a chair pull out from the dining room table. There was an unsatisfying plop as the antique chair protested the abuse. Neil frowned to himself and turned around. Lily sat still in her work clothes, a black pencil thin skirt, 4 inch black heels, and beautiful silk button up blouse. She stared into space, her mascara smudged down her cheeks.

What happened to you? all his gearing up for a fight drained out quickly, he could see that something was wrong. He sat gingerly down in a chair across from her, not wanting to start her up on him if the antique wood so much as sighed because of his weight.

She looked up at him, noticing him in the chair.