Zombie Redemption: #4 in the Tom Zombie Series

By H.D. Timmons

Iceland was the last place Tom Dexter (a.k.a. Tom Zombie) thought he'd end up when he stowed away on a container ship filled with zombie cargo. Tom was rescued from certain death by air force pilot Jef Barber, who soon reveals the horrifying truth behind the origin of the zombie pandemic that has grown to apocalyptic proportions.

Back in the states Tom's daughter Holly and her new-found friends, Jemma and Mark, try to make their way out of Chicago to the safety of her doomsday prepper cousin's bunker.

One final discovery fuels Tom's determination to pursue his one last shot at redemption by getting back home to find his daughter and, if it's not too late, save mankind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: H.D. Timmons
• Release date: Aug 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310314636

H.D. Timmons

H.D. Timmons is the author of The Tale of Tom Zombie ebook series, the short suspense ebook and audiobook Savage, as well as other ebook fiction short stories. He has also had articles published in Adoption Today Magazine, RetailerNOW Magazine, and New Focus Daily Magazine. Mr. Timmons was born in Brooklyn, NY and is currently a Creative Director living in Kernersville, NC.

Book preview

Zombie Redemption

#4 in the Tom Zombie Series

By H.D. Timmons

Copyright © 2015 by H.D. Timmons

Smashwords Edition

Prologue

Air Force Captain, Jef Barber, skirted the chaotic scene at the quay on his growling Russian made M-72 sidecar motorcycle, a well-kept relic of World War II, still useful and agile over the Icelandic terrain. Jef surveyed the area a few times and was about to go back to the base, his curiosity satisfied, when he noticed something – someone – moving on the dock.

The figure was on its belly attempting to crawl onto the dock, the lower half of its body dangling over the edge, feet still on the dock ladder. Jef’s M-16 rifle was slung across his back. He pulled it around in one smooth motion and looked through its scope. He saw a face that bore the all too familiar results of a government delusional enough to think it could play god. Just another creeper. The entire island was filthy with them. In the span of five days, Iceland’s population of over 320,000 reduced to a meager fraction left living, the rest living dead or dead dead.

Jef shifted the nub of a cigar clenched between his teeth, the ends of his handlebar mustache twitching as he did, and scoped the scene again. The crawling dead-head was trying to raise itself, looking more like it was trying to do a push up with zero upper body strength. Jef peeled away from the scope to take in the entire panoramic view with his naked eyes. Finally, he lined up the scope once more, bit down on his cigar, and fired.

Part One

Tom roused wearily to the sound of The Girl from Ipanema playing from an old record player in the corner of the room.

Well, aren’t you a lucky pup, Jef said to the stray he’d brought in. I was kind of getting used to being the last of the Mohicans around here, but it’s good to have someone to talk to. You can talk, can’t you?

Tom rubbed the back of his sore head and propped himself onto his elbow from his reclined position on a vinyl sofa, while Jef filled in the blanks. "You might have a concussion ‘cause you were pretty dazed from that ship fiasco. Better a knock to the head than few slugs from a 5.56mm to ventilate it.

"Seeing that other creeper thirty yards from you, and closing the gap fast, told me that if he’s comin’ after you, then you ain’t no creeper. I mean, you sure as hell look like one, but you’re not a real creeper. Kinda lucky how that worked out, huh?"

Tom cleared his throat and uttered weakly, Yeah. Thanks.

You’re at Keflavik Naval Air Station. I’m Captain Jef Barber, Jef offered without a handshake. But I guess all that name, rank, and serial number bullshit is out the window now. Maybe I’m just plain ol’ Jef Barber again. And you are?

Tom swiveled to right himself on the sofa and rubbed his aching head. His hands rubbed down the length his face, fingertips tracing the contours of his grotesque features. As his hands pulled away, his nostrils sucked in a deep breath to refresh his lungs.

Tom Dexter. But I guess I’m just plain ol’ Tom the zombie man now.

Tom Zombie. It fits... because of your jacked up face and all… Yeah… I get it. Well, it’s not as jacked up as the rest of the world, let me tell ya. A lot’s happened while you were at sea.

Jef presented Tom with a nutshell version of what had transpired in the past week with regard to the inordinate world-wide rise in zombie population, and the drastic decrease in the living, which he basically termed a survival of the fittest cluster-fuck.

Tom was speechless, and at first Jef couldn’t tell if it was because he was in shock, not surprised, or just still dazed and tired. Tom tried to stay alert, but his eyelids grew visibly heavy.

No. No. Can’t go to sleep. Not yet. Jef slapped Tom’s knee. Didn’t you hear me say you might have a concussion? I need to make sure you’re coherent before you go noddin’ off. I’ve got a dry a second louie uniform for ya. Now you outrank me, Jef chuckled. Not that any of that matters anymore.

Jef flared his nostrils to sniff the air. But first, I think we need to get you into a hot shower. Then, I’ll get you some chow, and give you the nickel tour.

Part Two

To say that things had gone awry in the world would be a gross understatement. That would be the equivalent to saying it was a bit nippy