Tanked & Life After: The Brother's Creed

By Joshua C. Chadd

Get the prequel & sequel short stories to the award-winning and best-selling Brother's Creed series in this double feature.

 

Allen "Tank" Hook is your not-so-typical twenty-something-year-old dude living each day just to get by. Go to work, hate life. Get home, play video games. Rinse and repeat. But all that changes when the world ends. Now he must fight his way through hordes of undead to escape a crumbling Fort Collins. Witness the beginning of the outbreak through the eyes of the most iconic character in the series!

 

Get a glimpse of the future beyond the end of the main series with Life After. Years after the establishment of Last Hope, the group is not just surviving, but thriving in their new home. Relationships are deepened and a community is grown out of the ashes of sacrifice. This is your chance to see how life truly does continue after the apocalypse.

 

WARNING: Life After contains major spoilers for The Brother's Creed series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joshua C. Chadd
• Release date: Mar 25, 2022
• ISBN: 9781642480283

Joshua C. Chadd

Joshua is a Jesus Freak and adventurous nerd, who loves the outdoors. He's the award-winning and best-selling author of the zombie apocalypse series, The Brother's Creed. When he’s not escaping into the mountains, he can be observed living in Northern Wisconsin with his wife, two sons, guns and katanas. He has a love for all things imaginary and finds inspiration in the wilderness, away from the distractions of life. He's currently pursuing a career as an indie author and writing coach. Some of his other passions include hunting, shooting, board & video games, hard rock, reading, and anything fantasy & sci-fi.

Book preview

Tanked

Part 1: The Beginning of the End

Allen sat at his desk playing World of Warcraft on his Alienware computer while watching Family Guy and listening to Demon Hunter. Most people would be overwhelmed with all the noise and distractions, but not him. He’d always been able to focus better with a lot going on around him, even when he was doing homework back in high school.

He cursed, slamming a fist on his desk. One of his guildmates, xXxFairyKillerxXx, had just Leeroy Jenkin’d their entire raid.

What a dick, he mumbled to himself then turned his mic on. AFK.

He rose from his chair and walked into the kitchen of his small, one-bedroom apartment in Fort Collins, Colorado. Most of the walls were covered in video game and movie posters, rock music paraphernalia, ornamental weapons, and other random crap. One whole side of the apartment, the one with the large window, was covered in a variety of plants—from an eight-foot-tall Money Tree named Dolla Dolla Billz to a Wandering Jew, aptly named Moses. Most of the people who came over were surprised by how homey the whole place felt. He’d taken this small, slightly rundown apartment and transformed it into his own little corner of the world.

He opened a kitchen cabinet, pulled out a tortilla, smothered peanut butter on it, added a handful of jalapeno cheddar chips, and grabbed a Guinness from the fridge. Returning to his desk, he sat down, put his headset on, bit into his concoction, and took a sip of beer. He leaned forward and got back into the game. He and his guild still had a long night ahead of them. The quest to reforge Val’anyr, Hammer of the Ancient Gods, was anything but quick and hopefully would end with Yogg-Saron giving them a nice long, deafening roar. The hours passed, and the later the night became, the more awake he felt. It was just another Wednesday night in the never-changing life of a twenty-year-old bachelor.

His two days off passed quickly, and come Friday night, he found himself behind the bar in the hellhole that was the Blue Crab, a seafood restaurant catering to the old and usually annoying. Why a restaurant such as this even had a bar and full-time bartender was beyond him. It was probably just to allow everyone else the ease of not having to make the ridiculous drinks this place served. But it was a job, and after taking a hiatus from college two years ago, it’d been the only one he could land that even remotely interested him. So instead of studying biochemistry, he went there five or six nights a week, made just enough money to get by and left, hating it more and more every time. Something needed to change, soon.

This night was going horrendously slowly as it usually did before that one customer came in right before closing and ordered the fruitiest drink that would make him have to dirty all the dishes he’d just cleaned. Sure enough, at five minutes to closing, the bell on the door rang and he didn’t even look up from cleaning the sink. There always had to be that one guy.

A scream brought Allen’s head snapping toward the entrance. Leslie, that night’s hostess, had her hand to her mouth as her wide eyes regarded the man leaning against the doorframe.

Oh, shit, Allen said.

The man standing there was covered in blood and seemed like he was about to collapse. His clothing was torn, making it look as though he’d been mugged.

Help me… the man said weakly as he sank into a sitting position.

Leslie stood there, completely shocked.

Leslie, Allen said, then louder when she didn’t respond. Leslie!

She looked over at him, eyes still wide.

Call 9-1-1 and get ‘em to send an ambulance!

Okay, she said in a shaky voice as she picked up the phone at the host stand.

Allen grabbed a few clean rags and a first aid kit from under the sink and then rushed over to the man. He had some knowledge of what needed to be done; he just hoped he could recall it. Stopping a few feet away, he watched the man, trying to assess him and make sure he didn’t have a weapon. Deeming him low on the threat level, he closed the distance. Allen knelt down, checking the man’s injuries more closely. His left arm was hanging awkwardly and had a wicked tear in it. Blood from the wound soaked his plaid shirt.

That’s a lot of blood for one man, Allen thought.

Sir, can you tell me your name? he asked.

John, the man gasped.

May I check your wounds?

John nodded, closing his eyes against the pain. Allen pulled the scissors out of the first aid kit and cut the man’s shirt down the middle and up both sleeves, allowing it to fall off. John’s arm was missing a large chunk from the bicep and there was a similar wound on his left shoulder that leaked blood at an alarming rate.

I need more towels and water, Allen said to his coworkers who were gathering around him. No one responded. Now!

A few of