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In the zombie apocalypse, your worst enemy may be yourself.
From the Until the End of the World and City Series universe comes the story of the virus on the West Coast. Where the end of the world is only the beginning…
Rose Winter has enough problems. With a marriage going down the tubes and a dreaded anniversary party on the horizon, the last thing she needs is the zombie apocalypse. She wanted to get drunk and sing karaoke, not murder her undead neighbors. It’s clear the party’s over, however, and now Rose has more problems—a missing husband, an overbearing houseguest, and keeping her family alive.
Tom Jensen has inflexible rules. Rule number one? Don’t deviate from the plan. But when his life is overturned in the space of minutes, his plans die along with everything else. The world is finished, the future is uncertain, and survival means living in the last place he’d planned to be. Maybe his rules weren’t meant to be broken, but if he can’t change his tune, he risks losing the one thing he has left—his daughter.
Craig Matthews has a mission: get to Oregon. Doable, maybe, if he could bring himself to leave his apartment. With his food and water near gone and death closer than ever, a chance encounter may lead to finding his friends—if he can first find his courage.
Unfortunately, the new world doesn’t always mean leaving old problems behind, and as the West Coast succumbs to the virus, the survivors face more than the undead—they face themselves. But in an existence where fences offer dubious safety and zombies certain danger, people may save you in more ways than one.
26 pages, Audible Audio
First published February 27, 2020
The fact that people fled, didn't listen to reports to stay inside, is why we're in this mess. They left, they were bitten, and now California is crawling with zombies.
I refuse to think of how a forty-two-year-old woman singing at the top of her lungs might look to other drivers. It's better than therapy, and everyone knows you're invisible in your own car.
"Whoever designed Eugene should've been taken out back and shot."
I've had that thought many times. In Eugene, streets end and don't go through. They curve and dog-leg without notice, as if modeled on the aerial view of a toddler's scribbling.
Everyone goes on and on about how pretty Oregon is, but the ride from Eugene to Portland is like the road from Purgatory to Hell. Except for the eight seconds when it's not raining and you can see distant mountains.