Author Guest Post: Pembroke Sinclair

Throwback Thursday! We revisit a author post from 2016.

Zombies aren’t the worst thing in the world.

Amazon

Blurb:

Zombies aren’t the worst thing in the world.

Seventeen-year-old Krista has already proven she can survive the zombie hordes.

After moving to North Platte with her distant cousin General Liet to help build a wall that will keep the zombies in the West, it becomes apparent that the zombies aren’t the biggest threat—some survivors are far more dangerous than Krista had ever imagined.

With the help of Quinn, a survivor and fighter from the zombie-infested wildlands of the West, they free the garrison at North Platte from the power-hungry Liet.  But there is a bigger battle to fight.

The Families who rule Florida and use intimidation and the threat of the zombie horde to coerce their territory want Krista and Quinn captured, the zombies want to devour them, and other survivors want them dead. Caught between powerful forces, will they survive long enough to devise a new plan and put it into action?  Or will they self-destruct?

Find out in book two of this thrilling apocalyptic series by author Pembroke Sinclair.

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Review Snippet:

“Traitors and allies are found in the unlikeliest of people which makes this sequel full of twists and turns. The book is fast pace making you not wanting to put the book down. Death to the Undead has everything a good sequel needs and I completely recommend this book to everyone.”   – Kait, Amazon Reviewer

Excerpt:

CHAPTER 1

“Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

God, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that cliché. Dad was particularly fond of it when I had issues with homework or a dilemma in my personal life. I knew what his point was. He was telling me to be patient, to let things progress the way they were supposed to. But, I wasn’t good at that. I never had a lot of patience. I imagined my Dad reiterating the cliché after the North Platte takeover, wondering what he would think of what I’d done. What we’d done. We liberated Nebraska, but we still had a long road ahead of us. I knew Rome wasn’t built in a day, but I was pretty sure the zombies could destroy it in one.

I stood in the guard tower, overlooking the field. My body pressed against the railing. Corpses still littered the ground, but there weren’t as many as when I first came to North Platte. The crews had done a great job of cleaning up, though there was little they could do about the atrocious smell.

The sun sank beneath the horizon, casting hues of orange, pink, and purple onto the silhouettes of the undead. A bullet was chambered into a gun behind me. Quinn had been sitting in a chair behind me in the tower the whole time.

“Quinn, what happened to your parents?” I turned so I faced him.

Quinn rested the butt of his gun on the deck and wrapped his arms around the barrel. He sighed. “My mom died about seven years ago from cancer. I don’t know what happened to my dad.”

I furrowed my brow. “What do you mean?”

“Well, when we heard about the first zombie attacks, Dad wanted to help. Most of the neighbors lived within a few miles, so it didn’t take too long for him to move them onto the ranch. One morning, he and a few of the others decided to venture a little farther, see who else might need some help, and he never came back.”

My stomach felt queasy. I averted my gaze to the floor, then glanced back at Quinn. “Did you go look for him?”

Quinn shook his head. “He told me not to. He said no matter what happens, I was to stay at the ranch and take care of the people.”

“Yeah, but you must have been curious what happened to him.”

Quinn nodded and stood from his chair. “Of course, but I did as I was told.” He shouldered the rifle and lined up his sights. He fired.

I moved so I stood next to him. “Do you think he’s out there somewhere?”

Quinn glanced at me. “Probably. But I doubt he’s anything like I remember.”

“Doesn’t that make you sad?”

He returned his attention to the sight. “Every day. But there’s nothing I can do to change it now.” He fired another round.

I slumped against the rail. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I averted my gaze back to the field. I rubbed my sore shoulder. A breeze picked up, bringing a chill and the smoke from the funeral pyre. I wrinkled my nose.

“We need to do something about that.”

Quinn straightened. “Like what?”

I shrugged the good shoulder. “I don’t know. Maybe we could put a building around it. It might help contain some of the smoke and smell.”

Quinn nodded. “You should suggest it at the next meeting.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but the sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupted me. It was Pam. She still wore her old guard uniform, a relic from Liet’s reign, but it was obvious whose side she was on. Thank goodness she was on our side. She trained me; I knew how tough and skilled she was. It would’ve been a battle to take her down.

“Krista,” Pam said. “There’s someone who needs to see you.”

I pushed myself away from the rail. “Who?”

Pam motioned toward the courthouse. “I think it’s best if you just head over there.”

I looked at Quinn, who shrugged, then the three of us headed to the courthouse.

My stomach fluttered as I pushed opened the door. Visions of Mrs. Johnson’s bodyguard flooded my mind, and I didn’t think I could stand another visit like that. I held my breath as I stepped into the room. The person stood at the end of the room, her head down as she chewed on her thumb nail. Excitement rose in my chest and relief loosened my shoulders. A smile crossed my lips. I held out my good arm and hurried across the room. Normally, I wasn’t one for hugs, but anyone besides guards from Florida in the office was a welcome relief.

“Tanya! What are you doing here?”

Tanya looked up. She balled her hand into a fist and swung it over her head. I flinched, and the blow hit me on the bicep. Tanya lunged forward, flailing her arms. I crouched and covered my head. I didn’t know what else to do. I was so shocked, I froze. I couldn’t react. Several more hits landed on my back and head before someone pulled Tanya away.

“How could you?” Tanya yelled. “How could you?” She kicked and caught me on the knee.

Pain radiated through my leg, and I rubbed at the minor injury. Anger replaced the shock. Who did she think she was coming into my courtroom and attacking me?

 

Pembroke Sinclair Picture (2)

Bio:

Pembroke Sinclair is a literary jack of all trades, playing her hand at multiple genres. She has written an eclectic mix of fiction ranging from horror to sci-fi and even some westerns. Born in Rock Springs, Wyoming–the home of 56 nationalities–it is no wonder Pembroke ended up so creatively diverse. Her fascination with the notions of good and evil, demons and angels, and how the lines blur have inspired her writing. Pembroke lives in Laramie, Wyoming, with her husband, two spirited boys, a black lab named Ryder, and a rescue kitty named Alia, who happens to be the sweetest, most adorable kitty in the world! She cannot say no to dessert, orange soda, or cinnamon. She loves rats and tatts and rock and roll and wants to be an alien queen when she grows up.

FIND OUT MORE ABOUT PEMBROKE AT:

Website: http://pembrokesinclair.blogspot.com/

Facebook:  https://www.facebook.com/jessicarobinsonauthor

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/PembrokeSinclai

Amazon Author Page:  http://www.amazon.com/Pembroke-Sinclair/e/B007RFYJ6W/