Souls Around the World Blog Hop ~ Excerpt/Giveaway The Famished Trilogy by Annie Walls

Hello and welcome to my stop in the Souls Around the World Blog Hop. This blog hop is about Things That Go Bump in the Night, and the first thought I had was Zombies!! So today I wanted to feature one of my favourite Zombie series – The Famished Trilogy by Annie Walls. 

Today you can read an excerpt from the first two books in the series, Taking on the Dead and exclusive excerpt seen here first at Nomi’s Paranormal Palace from Controlling the Dead which is due out next week!! 

There are two giveaways at the bottom of the post as well. One to win eBooks of both books in the Famished Trilogy and a major giveaway where you could win eReader preloaded with eBooks. Good luck and enjoy!!

Title: Taking on the Dead

Author: Annie Walls

Series: The Famished Trilogy #1

Genre: Paranormal/Fantasy

Published: September 20^th 2012

Life for Kansas was perfect until the day the world changed.

She has been hiding out for four years in solitude. It's the only way to survive. The only way not to draw the living dead. Helping a small group of people, she learns the new world might not be what she assumes. Venturing out of her refuge and comfort zone, she meets Rudy, who helps her find a greater purpose. She realizes that the world has moved on without her. Only it's not what she expects. Her knowledge of the living dead grows and only makes her more curious as humanity continues to hang on by a thread. While on her search for answers she finds comfort in new friendships and love, but her past seems as if it will haunt her forever.

Kansas takes it upon herself to help other survivors, which would be easy if the famished were the only obstacles.

In a trilogy plot thick with twists and turns, this adult dark fantasy is emotional as much as it is horrifyingly gripping.

*Not intended for a young audience. Mature content.*

Check out my Review for Taking on the Dead HERE.

I usually get excited about seeing zombies, loving the chance to get up close and check them out, then do my duty and kill them. Looking out the window, I can’t make out how many there are. Rhonda rocks slightly from them trying to get in, but all they can really do is push. Since they’re old, getting out of this situation should be a piece of cake. As long as I don’t have to get out of the car, I’m going to be fine.

I climb to the driver’s seat and start the engine, sending the zombies into a frenzy of jerky and unstable movement. I resist the urge to sit and study them as if I’m in a biology class. With the gearshift in drive, I punch the gas. Several zombies are piled like a cheerleader pyramid on the front hood, and I can’t see through the windshield. The initial launch dislodges a couple of them, and the SUV thrusts up and down jaggedly from running over a few.

I hold the steering wheel straight and pick up speed. There is a street ahead somewhere. Looking for the road, the car bumps up in the front, hitting a curb. Jostling up and down in my seat, I’m starting to relish this joyride and my lips stretch into a wide grin. I jerk the wheel to the left sharply. The SUV lurches where I want it to go without flipping over, and more zombies tumble off to the right. Blood sprays from that direction as old zombies splat on the pavement like gory water balloons.

Two zombies still hold tight to the hood, their fingers in the space between the hood and windshield. A mouth bites at the glass directly in front of me. It’s lost a few fingers from trying to hold on somewhere along the way. I pick up speed before slamming on the brakes, effectively dislodging it. Its remaining fingers rip off, and it slides feet first to the ground. The other zombie hangs on, creeping toward my side. I put the gearshift in reverse. When I hit the gas without looking back, the SUV shoots backward in response. I feel rather than hear several meaty thuds as it knocks zombies away. I hit the brakes again. I can see enough to get out and fight them. It’s not worth the risk of crashing into a tree.

Just as I aim my crossbow at the zombie and watch it closely as I get out, a large arrow goes straight through its head, and it explodes into chunky pieces. I blink to make sure I didn’t conjure it in my mind. Nope, brains still decorate my windshield. I peer out the window, even though the arrow came from the other direction. Zombies litter the ground. Some have arrows through their skulls. I should just turn around and leave, but I want to see who shot the arrows.

The first thing I notice upon getting out of the car is the rancidity. The strong stink of decay hits my nose and the back of my throat. The blood and chunky bits all over the car make it worse. It’s like the smell of the two old zombies from my ventilation system, but a hundred times worse. Unsavory bile from my stomach helps mask the taste. The smell is overpowering. My face scrunches and my mouth waters along with my swirling stomach.

I’m still battling the nausea when more flying arrows grab my attention. They take down the approaching zombies. The archer is very well hidden. I lift my crossbow and shoot my own zombie, and the larger arrows subside. My arrows are much smaller than these, which are meant for serious big game hunting. The larger arrows are always harder for me to aim and still hit a target. Though they are much better for long distance shooting, I still stick with my pistol crossbow.

After the zombies are down, I step out to retrieve my arrows from the rotting flesh. The bow hunter is already doing the same thing. I freeze and stare. Dawn is near, so I see him clearly. He can’t be mistaken for anything but a man. His profile makes my breath catch.

Black leather boots under frayed jeans hold a zombie head down as he jerks an arrow out of the skull. His arms flex when he wags gooey bits from his arrows. I can’t see his face, but he is tall, much taller than me with broad shoulders and wavy brown hair tied back with a dark green bandana. His hair shines golden brown as it blows in the wind, caressing the compound bow strapped to his back.

A large arrow holster hangs by his side. The hunting bow goes from the back of his knees to a few inches above his head. It’s the biggest bow I’ve seen, making me think it is custom made. The wind blows in the other direction, and his hair whips across his face. It barely brushes the tops of his shoulders.

This guy is locked, stocked, and loaded with a big gun tucked into the front of his jeans. When he looks up at me, I feel like a deer caught in headlights, but only for a moment. I escape his gaze. Knowing this guy is helping me, but not caring to know his motivation, I hop into the SUV and hit the gas. The wheels get caught in sticky blood, but finally catch the traction I need for a hasty U-turn.

I bound down the road, peering into the rearview mirror. The last thing I see is morning sun glinting off suntanned shoulders and boot treads running in the opposite direction.

Title: Controlling the Dead

Author: Annie Walls

Series: The Famished Trilogy #2

Genre: Paranormal/Fantasy
Expected Publication: October 2013

With the help of her new companions, the path Kansas follows leads to more knowledge of the ever adapting famished.

The team finds help in unlikely places, meeting more survivors, and discovers the possibility of a new beginning.

When the team experiences a devastating loss, Kansas struggles to keep her humanity from fading and distorting like that of the surviving society around her. It begins with knowing who to trust and who to leave behind. First, she must trust herself – she won't make the same mistakes twice.

As the answers to her questions are revealed, Kansas begins to understand the knowledge comes with a heavy price and great responsibility of controlling the dead.

In a trilogy plot thick with twists and turns, this adult dark fantasy is as emotional as it is horrifyingly gripping.

The sun is making its last appearance for the day when I make it to my destination. Standing outside the first-floor door, I expected to feel nervous or fidgety, but I don’t. The door is ajar, and I use my foot to nudge it open. Gripping the crossbow and listening for any movement, the silence in the apartment meets me. My gaze lands on the easel propped up by the window on the far side of the apartment.

I don’t have time to stare at anything yet. I need to check for zombies even though I’m not worried about finding any. The famished tend to migrate where people are, and I’m sure there’s no one around for miles.

Making quick work of the simple layout, I check the bedroom, bathroom, and closet—the only closed in spaces. The living room and kitchen is one big space. All the kitchen cabinets are chaotically opened from being looted.

The wall opposite from the kitchen is bare. Dismay runs through me. Of course they would have been looted, too. Hockey sticks make a nice weapon when needed, and all of Malachi’s prized sticks are gone. Every one of them had been autographed by various NHL hockey players. Swallowing a lump, I remember it’s not like they are the reason I came here.

Boxes line the walls of the living room. We hadn’t unpacked despite living here together for a month. Both of us had been busy—Malachi with school, hockey and work, while I spent most of my time in Nashville selling my art a piece at a time.

Stacks of finished canvas pieces lean against the wall next to the easel. Touching the easel, the dried paint is thick under a layer of dust. I had tried my hand at college, but it never held my attention. So I painted and sometimes did other forms of art. Not that those skills are what has kept me alive. I can always add stabbing a zombie in the eye with a paintbrush to my mental to-do list.

I could see you doing that, you must miss it. Wish I could have seen them. I bite my lip and contemplate if he told me the truth or was just being nice when I told him what I did for a living. I decide on the former, bending down and going through the finished work before I can think about it too much.

After reminiscing for far too long, I make my way into the bedroom. Everything looks almost exactly the way we left it. The only difference is the dust and lifelessness. A sense of dormancy tinges every surface, and it gets harder to see through my watery eyes. I take a deep breath, knowing this is good. I’ve always known I needed to come back here. It just so happens there’s ulterior motive.

Sitting on top of the desk next to Malachi’s desktop computer where I left it, is an ancient IBM laptop. One my dad built from the ground up to replace the one I got into trouble with and had confiscated as evidence.

“What is this?” I had asked as my dad sat behind his desk. The hunk of junk I held in my hands was heavy.

Tossing his reading glasses down, he gave me a look. “What does it look like? Your replacement.”

“I thought you said it was new.”

“It amazes me you think you deserve a brand new one.”

Only my dad had made me feel shame and guilt for what I done. “I don’t deserve a new one. I was only stating what you said.”

“It is new. To you. I built it myself.” My dad smiled, proud of his accomplishment. “Still has everything you need on it. I put the extras on there, but if you get into more trouble with it… You’re an adult now, so you’ll deal with the consequences. You were lucky this time. Even luckier to be graduating on time.”

Shaking myself from the memory, I think I had been lucky. Not because I graduated on time or got off with community service from the school, but because I got away with what I did it for. Malachi still graduated with a 4.0, keeping his scholarship.

A bunch of cables cords sit in the bottom drawer of the desk, and I remove them all, stuffing them in my pack. I’ll have to wait until I get back to the community to have power.

Movement catches my eye outside the window in the twilight. A woman putrid roams around, reminding me of Lucy from the community. Once bitten, she decided to turn. I shot her during her own celebration. If Mago can control them, how would anyone be in danger of being bitten in the first place? Why does he go to the community? There’s so much I need to know about him and I know just who to ask.

It’s time to become my father’s daughter.

Exhaustion blurs my vision around the edges. I’d like nothing more than to lie down and sleep the past few days off, but I need to head back to the community. I realize I’m still staring at the wandering putrid in a daze when more sluggish movement catches my eye about the same time a muffled groan cuts through the apartment walls.

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