Floyd & Mikki: Zombie Hunters

By Joseph Tatner

5 Stars! Floyd and Mikki save the day!
Reviewed By Anne-Marie Reynolds for Readers’ Favorite:

"Floyd and Mikki: Zombie Hunters" by Joseph Tatner is a zombie book with a difference. For two years, Floyd has been travelling alone, trying to survive in a world inhabited by zombies as he makes his way towards New California Haven - the last safe haven on Earth. On his journey, he spots a light in a town and, against his better judgment, stops to investigate. There he finds Mikki, a young woman who is the sole survivor of the town. They join forces and make their way towards New California Haven, blasting zombies at every turn. Along the way, they meet up with other pockets of survivors, some genuinely looking to survive, others called Raiders who will kill anything that stands in their way - undead or living. Mikki rescues a zombie kitten for a pet. Laugh out loud at every turn as Mikki and Floyd discover each other and a passion for survival.

"Floyd and Mikki: Zombie Hunters" is an amazingly funny book, a zombie book that is so totally different from every other one on the market. I couldn't help but laugh out loud at their antics. Joseph Tatner has a brilliant turn of phrase, a fantastic aptitude for telling a story and is very funny with it. Amazing story, great characters and a really good plot all combine to make this an explosive and hilarious novel. Despite all of the zombie movies out there, this is one I would love to see on the big screen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph Tatner
• Release date: Oct 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9780990864615

Joseph Tatner

Munched Kitty Publications is a publishing house dedicated to producing the highest quality books at affordable prices.

Book preview

Love should be explosive!

by Joseph Tatner

Copyright 2013 by Joseph Tatner

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EXPLOSIVE REVIEW:

Floyd and Mikki: Zombie Hunters is an amazingly funny book, a zombie book that is so totally different from every other one on the market. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud at their antics. Joseph Tatner has a brilliant turn of phrase, a fantastic aptitude for telling a story and is very funny with it. Amazing story, great characters and a really good plot all combine to make this an explosive and hilarious novel. Despite all of the zombie movies out there, this is one I would love to see on the big screen.

~ Review by Anne-Marie Reynolds for Readers’ Favorite

P.O. Box 3115

Coeur d’Alene, ID 83814

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First edition, September 2014

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without written permission.

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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s own warped imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons (whether living, dead, or undead) is purely coincidental. Nothing in this book is intended to disrespect or disparage any person, place or thing. Knowledge of military hardware and development is based on open source material and this book reveals no known state secrets. Any similarity of the events in this book to an actual zombie apocalypse, present or future, would really suck.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Start

Review

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight

Chapter Forty-Nine

Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty-One

Chapter Fifty-Two

Chapter Fifty-Three

Chapter Fifty-Four

Chapter Fifty-Five

Chapter Fifty-Six

Chapter Fifty-Seven

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Chapter Fifty-Nine

Chapter Sixty

Join the Floyd & Mikki Army!

Dedication

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Chapter One

All the world was silent. There was no wind. No chirping birds. No barking dogs. No meowing cats. No crickets, no frogs, no fleas. No horny insects rubbing legs together to attract a mate. Not a whisper of sound from a rustling leaf or any sign of nature at play. The food chain was all screwed up.

Mother Nature had proven herself very resilient throughout the millennia. She had adapted to drastic changes in temperatures in the Jurassic period, the Ice Age, a meteor strike that supposedly killed the dinosaurs, and God knows what else. Mother Earth had survived Humanity’s fears of a new Ice Age, then fears of Global Warming, then fears of Global Cooling. Yet, nobody saw the real danger coming. Nobody. And by the time they did see it, it was too late.

Yes, the Earth had survived as the multitude of species that crawled across her surface or swam through her oceans came and went. Humans, however, were not so lucky. The Arrogance of Man. Humans had tried to save every endangered species on the planet, but we couldn’t even save ourselves. For all our brainpower and ability to manipulate our environment, in many ways we remained the most vulnerable creatures on earth.

Cockroaches were laughing their asses off at us.

As the sun dipped low enough to barely touch the horizon, a faint noise fluttered through the warm, dead air. A soft murmur, growing slowly but steadily in intensity. Actually it was two sounds blended together. The whine of tires on asphalt and the thunder of a roaring engine peaked as the supercharged pickup perched itself at the top of the hill and stopped.

The driver carefully scanned the tiny gas station and surrounding area below through a pair of high-powered binoculars. The pickup was originally a Ford F-175, but it had been so heavily modified, it was doubtful that any engineer from the company would have recognized it. Several stickers portraying the American flag had been slapped onto the outside of the truck, with a rather large one on top of the roof and a big bumper sticker on the rear that said, Don’t mess with Texas!

The space within the cab and covered bed been modified by the driver, as well. Every space had a purpose and every purpose fit within a well-orchestrated plan. The bed had a hard-top lid covering more than 20 assorted fuel cans. A few could hold only one or two gallons. Most held five to 10 gallons, while some held 20. Two could hold 50 gallons each, but of these, only one was about half full. The rest were all empty. So were most of the gallon-sized plastic water bottles stacked precisely behind the seats in the cab.

The dashboard was covered with a carefully arranged assortment of folded road maps and Thomas Brothers guide books for different states and counties. Local area maps were closest, on top of the others and within arm’s reach, while maps from outlying regions were arranged alphabetically at the other end of the cab. An orderly batch of handguns and ammunition clips rode on top of the maps, everything held in place by a long wooden plank, duct tape and brackets screwed into the dash. Floyd wasn’t the handiest of handymen, but he knew his way around a wrench, lathe and other assorted power tools. He had been a mechanic working for a national chain of automotive stores back in his home state of Texas only two years ago, but that was now a distant memory. It seemed like decades, long gone by.

Large capacity magazines had been outlawed by the government, but even in normal times, Floyd didn’t much care for anyone telling him how to live his life, especially the Feds. He had been a proud American when there was an America, and he valued his freedom more than anything (which is why he had affectionately named his truck, Freedom). He would be damned if he was gonna allow the same government that was supposed to protect his freedom to take it away from him, piece by piece. One idiot politician had once proclaimed, You don’t need 10 bullets to kill a deer! Of course not, but nobody was talking about killing a deer, and you needed a helluva lot more bullets than that to protect yourself once the world fell all to hell.

Floyd had scavenged only the best firearms and the highest capacity magazines. Revolvers were theoretically more reliable because they never jammed, but he couldn’t afford to be limited to six or seven bullets. Weight and space each had their price, as well, and he needed the most bang for his buck, so to speak. The pride of his arsenal sat on the seat beside him, tucked between a couple of boxes.

Ol’ Faithful was originally manufactured as a Browning Maxus Millennium version, single-barreled, autoloading, semi-automatic shotgun. Floyd had added a magazine extender to increase the capacity to nine 2.25" shells (one in the chamber and eight in the mag) and had sawed off half the barrel to make it even with the magazine. The shotgun didn’t take the largest shells, but it was devastatingly effective at short range and could be used in all but the tightest of spaces. Floyd had cut out the middle of the stock and glued the end back on so he could shoulder the weapon if necessary, but he preferred to grip it tight with both hands.

A hunting rifle with a high-powered scope and sling sat in its mounting bracket on the inside of the passenger-side door. He didn’t use it often, but like Ol’ Faithful, it had never failed him when he needed it. That was a major reason why he was still alive.

Bitchin, Floyd said to himself, lowering the binoculars and shifting back into drive.

He had timed it perfectly, carefully calculating his fuel consumption to make it back here with a little more than a tank of gas to spare. Everything seemed exactly as he had left it a month ago, but Floyd took nothing for granted. He had endured more than his share of unpleasant surprises and was not about to get sloppy now.

Catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror, Floyd couldn’t help noticing that the lines around his eyes had deepened. His dark reddish beard and moustache seriously needed a trim, as did the hair under his weather-beaten Bear Auto Parts baseball cap. He hadn’t had a bath in a month, but he did try to wash his hair at least once a week or so and brushed his teeth after every meal. These last couple of weeks had been especially hard on him, however, and he was glad to be back at what he considered to be his home base.

Slowly heading down the road, Floyd followed the standard routine that had helped keep him alive these past years with expert precision. The little gas station was just off the highway, and the flat desert landscape extended for miles around. Floyd gunned the engine, making as much noise as possible as he made wide circles around the tiny building, hoping to draw anything that might respond to the noise out into the open. There, he would have an easy target.

Floyd drew nearer to the building in ever-tightening circles. Most of the asphalt had long since disappeared from the parking lot, but the huge tires on Floyd’s truck laughed at the plethora of potholes and gaps in the pavement. Floyd noted that none of the building’s large windows in front were broken, and as he stopped next to the side door, he saw the lock was still on the deadbolt.

Here we go again, Floyd muttered to himself.

With two pistols in his front waistband and two in the back, Floyd grabbed Ol’ Faithful and opened the driver-side door. He sniffed the air for anything out of the ordinary, then quietly stepped down from the cab.

He didn’t head for the door of the building right away. Instead, he headed for the pumps. There had been no electricity for more than a year, rendering the pumps useless, but there was still gasoline in the underground tanks. At least, there should be, unless someone else had found this place during Floyd’s absence. That wasn’t terribly likely, as Floyd hadn’t seen another living soul in nearly 12 months.

Prying up the lid of the tank, Floyd dropped a nearby pebble inside. He smiled as he soon heard the welcome sound of a splash from below, and put the lid back on. He knew the gasoline here wouldn’t last forever, but he wouldn’t be stranded here anytime soon, either. If all went well, he would grab his siphon from the truck and fill all the gas cans in the morning. The sun was setting fast, however, so he had to get inside quickly.

Now it was time for the real work. Taking a deep breath, Floyd unlocked the deadbolt and slowly opened the door. There was still enough light streaming in through the large front windows to see by, which was one of the reasons he liked this place. The other was the tactical advantage of being able to look outside at anything that might be approaching. The back of the building had no such windows, but there was an access ladder to the roof, where Floyd had sat on many an evening with his binoculars and hunting rifle.

Quickly and methodically, eyes darting every which way, covering every possible angle, Floyd made his way through each room. He quickly scanned the front where there was no place for anything to hide, then hurriedly peered over the counter to see if anything lurked behind. The nose of Ol’ Faithful was ever pointing ahead, ready for anything.

Floyd turned the knob on the door to the rear area, disengaged the lock, and then kicked it open gently with his foot, shotgun raised and ready. He inspected the break room, the bathroom (thank God the water still worked), and the back office. Finally, Floyd drew a quick breath and threw open the door to the garage.

This is where the worst surprises had occurred. He could never completely secure this place. Critters of all kinds—all kinds—had somehow managed to find their way in here on more than one occasion. He had cleaned out as much of the machinery as he could, but he still had to search the two cars left in the area, resting over jacks that would never lift again. With no windows, this was the darkest area of the building, illuminated only by light from the open door where Floyd now stood, the seam between the two large rolling shutters, and a few cracks in the skylight. Floyd could see adequately in the gloom, but the darkness was still deep enough to be more than a little unnerving.

Scanning the room carefully, Floyd observed that the trunks and all the doors of the two cars were still open as he had left them, making it harder for anything to hide inside. He poked the nose of Ol’ Faithful into the trunk, front and back of each car, his senses alert for any sound or movement behind him as well. Not too long ago, a diseased raccoon had jumped out at him from the back seat of one of the cars. With the greatest of luck and instinct, he managed to blow it away in midair, but the incident had left him very wary.

It took nearly 10 minutes to search the 40’ by 80’ expanse, but Floyd was always thorough. Heading back inside, he climbed the ladder, unbolted the access, and popped up onto the roof. Nothing. Finally satisfied, he made his way back to his truck, where he removed a large ammunition box and a crate of emergency rations to get at the box on the floor in front of the passenger seat. He gathered eight small movement sensors into his arms and started making a wide circle around the building. One by one, he flipped a switch and dropped them at strategic intervals.

Each three-inch cube was black and powered by AAA batteries. Floyd had a large supply of batteries, but was always looking for more. Power cells of any kind were in short supply nowadays, and they often didn’t last very long. Before he locked up the truck and headed inside, Floyd switched on the receiver and walked toward one of the cubes. At about five yards out from the nearest one, the box in his hand began to beep and a little green light began flashing red. Floyd had the volume on low as he tested each sensor, and then turned it up high after he finally went inside. Fairly certain now that nothing could approach without warning, Floyd took a deep breath and finally began to somewhat relax. At least, as much as he ever dared to.

Chapter Two

As usual, only static came from the radio as Floyd sat on the roof, scanning AM and FM bands from one end of the spectrum to the other and back again. The portable radio had a hand crank that provided up to 30 minutes of power at a time for the receiver, a built-in flashlight and even a 120-volt electrical outlet. Floyd used it occasionally to keep his rechargeable batteries at full power, but even those batteries wouldn’t last forever, and the batteries he found on the shelves of abandoned supermarkets rarely registered more than half power on his battery tester.

Yes, life would only get harder in the years ahead, but Floyd was focused on the present. A momentary lack of focus at any second could mean a gruesome death, so Floyd planned as best he could for the future, but focused on the immediate dangers all around him. He had spent nearly a week at his home base, filling all the gas cans in the back of his truck, restocking his rations, refilling his water bottles, and reloading all his ammo clips. He had picked the area clean of anything useful for miles around, and it was time to move on.

Several months earlier, Floyd had picked up a radio signal. It was obviously an automated message as it kept repeating without deviation. He had been driving through New Mexico somewhere when a voice started crackling through the radio. It came out of nowhere, startling him so badly that he nearly ran off the road.

...to New California Haven. We have power, clean water, housing and medical facilities. If you can hear this message, don’t lose hope! Your government has established a safe zone in Southern California. If you show no signs of the disease, we can provide you safe shelter, food and clean facilities. Make your way to New California Haven. We have power, clean water...

Floyd had laughed to himself. Typical government bureaucracy crap. If you show no signs of the disease. What a joke! If anyone showed signs of the disease, they wouldn’t be able to understand the message in the first place. He hadn’t heard the message anywhere in this area, but if there was any chance that Humanity had survived the devastation, it was worth checking out. After all, Floyd had survived on his own with basically just a truck, Ol’ Faithful and his wits. Surely the feds and the military would have a better chance than he did.

Then again, Floyd hadn’t seen another living human being for nearly a year. Few of those who eluded the infection had the survival skills necessary to make it in a world where bottled sparkling water wasn’t trucked in to the local supermarket every day. Many had committed suicide rather than face the harsh reality of this dark world. The American Dream had become a hellish nightmare, and only the strongest could survive.

Of course, that was the other problem. Roving gangs fought each other for scraps and Floyd had learned to stay out of their way. One gang back in Amarillo tried to recruit him, and that hadn’t ended well (for them). He pretended to join them, acting all bad-ass until they trusted him enough to give him guard duty. At the first opportunity, he grabbed as many guns as he could carry—including Ol’ Faithful—and disappeared into the night.

Oh, she was a shiny new shotgun back then. Full barrel and unmodified stock. Floyd left silently, terrified that the gang would track him, find him and kill him when they found out he was gone. He needn’t have worried, however, for soon after he left his post unguarded, the entire camp was invaded. From quite a safe distance away, Floyd could hear the alarm sound, accompanied by screams and gunfire. And then...silence. Utter silence.

Floyd stared through his binoculars for hours, searching for any movement inside the camp. No one came looking for him. Eventually, he caught sight of some of the gang members, but they no longer posed any threat. They had already been initiated into a very different type of gang. Floyd turned away and never looked back.

No remorse. No sadness. The gang members had all lived like scum and they died like scum. They stole everything they could from anyone they found, living or dead. Now, none of the gold, jewelry, or weapons they had stolen had any value to them. God himself could no longer redeem their souls.

Deciding when to travel was always tricky. Nighttime held the most danger, but sleeping during the day left little time for travel before the sun set. Floyd’s truck helped to partially solve that problem, as the huge tires and the razor-sharp iron grill he had added to the front enabled him to drive at night, running over or through virtually anything that might get in his way. The windshield and windows were all made of unbreakable plastic he had picked up from an abandoned auto body shop, and the heavily modified engine was powerful enough to manage high speeds even with a full load of gasoline and water, not to mention the other survival gear he had squirreled away throughout the truck.

It was just about midnight when a little town came into view. Floyd stopped and looked at several maps, but the town wasn’t on it. It seemed to be just a few buildings and houses, but unlike his home base, this area was surrounded by trees.

Floyd hated trees. Things could hide behind trees. Things could hide up in trees. Things could drop down from hiding up in trees. Bad things. Horrible things. And you couldn’t always get a clear shot off in an area that had trees. Floyd avoided areas like this whenever he could.

He saw all the buildings were dark, as he looked through his binoculars from the relative safety of his cab. Nothing seemed to be moving. He considered stopping to scavenge one of the more promising buildings, but decided to move on.

Even from this distance, the place made his skin crawl, and Floyd had learned to trust his gut in these matters. He put the truck in gear and was ready to floor the gas pedal, when something caught his eye that would change his life forever.

He wasn’t even sure if he had even seen it at first. It frankly couldn’t be possible. He put the truck back into park and scoured the area again with his binoculars on the highest setting. He searched up and down every opening and walkway he could see throughout the little town.

Oh, Floyd, he muttered to himself. What the hell are you doin’?

But suddenly, there it was again! There could be no mistake. It was only a flash, but it was there. And it wasn’t just random. There was a definite purpose behind it. Somewhere down in that forgotten little town that existed on no map, there was a light.

Chapter Three

Oh crap! Floyd exclaimed, as he turned off the engine.

He desperately wanted to throw the truck into high gear and burn rubber out of there, but he knew he couldn’t. Something highly unusual was going on in that town, and he had to find out what it was. He pulled a large metal briefcase from behind the passenger seat and opened the lid. It was armor time.

True, it was paintball armor, but it served Floyd’s purposes. Lightweight but durable hard plastic coverings for his forearms, upper arms, shins and thighs, as well as a breastplate and backplate. All had a series of angled slits for air circulation to prevent his body from overheating. The facemask offered a wide field of vision—including peripheral vision, which was critically important. Floyd had added a black plastic bowl under the straps to cover the back of his head. He also put on an old leather neck brace he had found along the way (neck attacks were the worst), and completed the ensemble with a thick pair of heavy leather workman’s gloves. He might look like a motorcycle rider who shopped at the local thrift store, but the gear was effective and offered free movement.

Over this outfit, Floyd strapped on the custom weapons belt he had made. The leather straps crossed over his chest and back with a belt that buckled in the front. Leaning over the dashboard, he used the sling to slip the hunting rifle onto his back, then added his favorite four handguns into the four holsters on his belt (two in front and two in the rear). Preloaded spare ammo clips already adorned the straps covering his chest, filled with high-powered hollow point ammunition for maximum damage. At his right side hung a wickedly sharp machete. He hung the binoculars around his neck and tucked them under one of the chest straps to keep it from bouncing around unnecessarily, or getting caught on something in an awkward moment.

Taking Ol’ Faithful in his left hand, Floyd pulled the keys from the ignition and placed them in his right front pants pocket. Looking around carefully, he opened the door and sniffed the air. Nothing nearby. At least, nothing upwind nearby. Standing on the foot rail, he grabbed a can of fish oil spray and doused himself to cover his human scent. Damn! That was the last of it. Pushing down the door lock, he stepped down from the cab, closed the door as quietly as he could, and tossed the empty can away.

The road here was in reasonably good shape. No gravel or crunchy twigs on the ground to give him away. The soft rubber of his heavily soled shoes did not betray him as he quietly trotted down to the town.

Floyd had seen the flashes of light down by the third building at the far end. There seemed to be no movement outside the ring of buildings, so he made his way as silently as possible around the perimeter to avoid the center of town. He could faintly hear what sounded like the shuffling of feet in the area, but with the odd angles of the buildings, the sound could have come from anywhere. Floyd’s eyes were wide open and his breathing was deep with anxiety as he quickly peered around the corner of the third building.

He saw nothing before he ducked back. He took a longer look. Still nothing. A slight fog had rolled in through the town. Not enough to limit visibility much, but it added an exceptionally spooky quality to an already chilling atmosphere, like a scene from some third-rate horror movie. There was even a full moon out tonight, which lit the area dimly.

Suddenly, a loud noise shattered the silence! Floyd knew that sound. A shotgun blast. There was nothing else it could have been. All of a sudden, he could see movement through the fog. There, in the center of town, a couple of dark figures shambled through the gloom. Floyd looked around and saw no immediate danger in his area, so he propped Ol’ Faithful between his knees and pulled the hunting rifle from his back.

The rifle was fitted with a military-grade silencer and hollow point 30-06 ammunition. It held a clip of eight bullets that could be changed rapidly to reload. Floyd looked through the scope. Sure enough, he recognized two figures shambling through the fog for what they were. He fired twice and dropped them both. Then the moaning started.

It was low but intense, a cross between a dying asthmatic and a sick cow. Creepy to the max. A long, sustained chorus of moans from multiple sources. Floyd guessed there were about eight in the area, but there could be more. As he shouldered the rifle and picked up Ol’ Faithful again, he saw a light appear from around the building. Another shotgun blast and the light was gone again.

Goddammit! Whoever the hell was out there was a moron! Light attracted these creatures. So did sound. The idiot was attracting every goddam freak in the area. Floyd made his way quickly to the edge of the building and ran right into one of them face to face!

If you could call that a face. Blank stare, gaunt features, unblinking eyes covered with a gooey white film, a rotting hole where a nose should have been, and of course...the mouth. That horrible gaping mouth, with cracked lips, rotting teeth, and dripping the same kind of white goo as the eyes. The stench erupting from that mouth filled Floyd’s nostrils. It was worse than the fish smell and nearly made him gag.

The creature looked right at Floyd with its mouth wide open, then sniffed in Floyd’s direction but made no move to attack, obviously confused by