Attack of the Nymphomaniac Zombies

By Charlotte Roberts

Another boring day at work for Kate turns out to be a day unlike any other. Pandemonium erupts all around as humanity is seized by a sex-fueled madness. Even Kate's father is a little too pleased to see her when she drops by her parents' place.

Can Kate and her co-worker Jason survive this depraved armageddon? And will romance bloom as they struggle to survive the end of the world?

Attack of the Nymphomaniac Zombies by British author Charlotte Roberts is a sassy end-of-days story of undead debauchery brimming with energy and zombie humor: a page turner from the word go.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Aug 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9781326736064

Book preview

immanent!

ONE

Life used to be complicated. There were bills to pay, forms to fill in, emails to reply to, products to consume … all the paraphernalia and rituals of modern society that demanded our attention.

But that was when we had a modern society. Or a society at all for that matter. Now life is simple and there is just one rule: survive.

Unless you're a nymphomaniac zombie of course. In which case the rule is: carry lube at all times.

The reason being, things can get a little dry – desiccated even – when the blood's no longer pumping through your veins.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me start at the beginning.

It was a normal day at the office, and by normal I mean of course mind-numbingly, soul-crushingly, spirit-snappingly tedious. But then things started to look up: the photocopier ran out of toner. Yay!

Why the celebratory ejaculation, I hear you ask?

Well, the place I worked at split its premises between two locations. Admittedly the two buildings were only about five hundred meters apart, but as the toner was for some inexplicable reason kept in the other building, yours truly got to escape the stuffy, claustrophobic confines of the office for twenty minutes in her quest for said toner.

So off I set, with a song in my heart and a skip in my step.

Wow, there was a sky up there. And it was blue. And the sun was shining. The world was in fact a beautiful place. And as I crossed the gray, concrete plaza I asked myself, not for the first time, why I had to spend my days cooped up in some darkened corner of the world clicking through endless spreadsheets when there was in fact life out there and said life was passing me by.

As usual, I had no answer.

I entered the other office, where the staff always seemed so nice and friendly (presumably just to rub salt into the wounds by drawing attention to the fact that I was based in the other office, AKA Stalag Doom) and I made my way to the storeroom where the toner was kept.

You're probably thinking – and hoping – that that's when the exciting stuff kicked off, in the storeroom, the stuff about the walking dead nymphomaniac zombies and all. I have to tell you right here and now that it didn't. But bear with me. It's coming.

So I got the toner and on my way out I happened to pass Jason's desk, as I often did on these toner quests. And as was my habit, I happened to pause for a minute or ten in conversation with said Jason, who happened to be a ripped young scallywag of tender years and prodigious bulk (in all the right places, I should add).

He'd just made some joke which, though not particularly witty, I was for some reason laughing uproariously at, when a sudden commotion came from the reception desk. (Here it comes. Brace yourselves.) We rushed across to find that a delivery guy had pinned down the receptionist on the floor behind the desk. His trousers were around his ankles and he was trying to … ahem … gain access to her private parts. It wasn't the kind of thing I often saw on a Monday morning at the office. In fact, to tell the truth, this was a first.

A couple of the other male staff members grabbed the guy and pulled him off, and this is when the weirdness levels went up a notch. In the ensuing struggle, as the guys wrestled with the would-be rapist, his right arm came off.

Now you'd think that would be an instant turn-off for the guy, wouldn't you? I mean, I don't know about you, but if I was feeling horny and my right arm dropped off, I'd probably stop feeling horny. But not so with this bozo. His penis, which was standing to attention like a thirteen-year-old's, remained in its hyper-stiffened state and showed no signs of diminishing.

On closer inspection, the guy did at least look sick, white as a sheet with dry, flaking skin.

Well, they managed to restrain him to a chair with some packing tape and someone called the cops. While we waited for the cops to arrive we tried to talk to the guy but he wouldn't answer. He just growled and gnashed his teeth and did a lot of pelvic thrusting. A sensitive soul got a towel and draped it over his still erect member. He was thrusting so much that it kept falling off – the towel that is – so