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  More screams.

  Then it got messy. Kate released the leg and was going for the other one when her right arm was hacked at the shoulder.

  Dangit! The hatchet!

  Her rotting arm lay on the ground, a little black goo seeping from the stump.

  Ashley was on the ground tying some torn cloth around her leg. Kate got to her feet and Ashley managed to get up and face her one last time.

  This was it, the end of her rotten life, and the end of the wench who lived to see her suffer. Ashley the Zombie Queen was going to die.

  With her remaining arm Kate rushed forward and scooped up the stiletto that lay a few feet away. It must have come off in the fight and with it in hand Kate now had a weapon.

  Cursing, Ashley lifted her hatchet.

  Kate could not recall what happened. She did not feel anything, just saw it as if it was a movie playing out in front of her. She was on her back, the room growing darker … was she dying, for real this time? Turning her head she saw Ashley standing with the spike of the stiletto sticking out of her temple. She took one step forward and her knees buckled.

  Falling, she hit the concrete hard. The side of her head made contact first, driving the heel all the way in.

  Ashley lay staring at her with dead eyes. The spark was gone, all life was in some other place. Hell, I hope!

  But she was fading as well … the last thing she saw was her mortal enemy dead next to her. It was a good death, the best one could hope for.

  * * *

  A weird sensation filled her mind. Was it life? No, something different, something new. Light burned her eyes and they felt like sandpaper, so dry and—dead.

  Ashley focused and saw Kate next to her on the hard concrete floor. Her head was severed from her body, the hatchet lying in a pool of black goo. With a grunt Ashley sat up and looked around the empty room. How long had she been out? Days?

  She remembered the fight, the—stiletto!

  Reaching to the side of her head she grasp the shoe and pulled it free, grimacing … but there was no pain, no sting, no blood.

  She stared. The stiletto in her hand was covered with dark goo, just like the zombies. She tried to scream, to cry, but all that came out was a groan, a guttural mutter that did not sound like her.

  She was a zombie.

  Getting to her feet she dragged her broken leg and hobbled to one of the huge broken windows. She could hear them now … distant voices of the undead waiting for her command. She was the Zombie Queen, not the killer like she imagined. The leader—their Queen!

  Come to me my babies … come to your Queen!

  This short story was published on a blog and has done well, that is to say people seem to like it. So if you want more from Ashley and Kate let me know and I will write more brain bashing fun. You can email me at: [email protected]

  THE CAST

  ASHLEY AKA THE ZOMBIE QUEEN:

  I’m the chick behind The Bookish Brunette blog. A coffee addicted, stiletto wearing, zombie freak with a very eclectic passion for books!

  Collector of flamingo paraphernalia… zombie keepsakes… and randomly awesome odds and ends that strike my fancy!

  Wife to the most amazing guy ever, mom to an 8 year old aficionado of Western movies (thanks Grandpa!) and a 5 year old who’ll play Zombie Fairy Princess and try to “eat your face off” during a tea party (it’s part of the GAME… duh!) all while wearing high heels AND a tiara.

  Website: http://www.bookish-brunette.com

  Twitter: https://twitter.com/Bookbrunette (@bookbrunette)

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

  K.C. NEAL AKA KATE:

  K.C. Neal works in publishing and co-founded StoneHouse University, a resource for writers and authors. In previous iterations of her professional life, she worked as a bench chemist, a lab equipment tester, a biotech researcher, and a medical writer. After several years moving around Oregon and California, she returned to her hometown of Boise, Idaho, where she lives now.

  M.R. MERRICK AKA MATT:

  M.R. Merrick is a Canadian writer and author of The Protector Series, a Young Adult mash-up between Urban and Epic Fantasy.

  Having never traveled, he adventures to far off lands through his imagination and in between cups of coffee. As a music lover and proud breakfast enthusiast, he’s usually found at the computer between a pair of headphones and in front of a large bowl of cereal.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

  Aaron Patterson is a bestselling thriller writer, and writes young adult on the side. He is also the founder of StoneHouse Ink and the co-founder of StoneHouse Lock and SandBox Ink. When not writing or speaking on subjects like eBooks and the Future of Publishing, he can be found hiking, snowboarding, or traveling. He has three children and lives in Boise, Idaho.

  PREVIEW OF

  BREAKING STEELE

  A Sarah Steele Thriller

  by Aaron Patterson

  Prologue

  LIGHT FILTERED THROUGH THE slats in the wood. Car headlights shone through the barn walls, moving like fingers tracing words on the sawdust-covered floor. Tracy Mulligan cried silently as she lay bound and gagged, hanging onto the last thread of life. She clung to a hope that someone would find her, but with each passing car, and each passing day, her hope was replaced with dread. This was the end.

  “God, help me.” Her strangled voice sounded strange in her own ears, as if from someone else, someone from beyond.

  Her prison was so small she couldn’t even sit up. She was locked in a grain box that smelled of rotten corn, rat droppings, and urine. Her own urine. It felt like the top was closing in on her. With each of her movements, the sides touched her, pushed and scraped, making the small space feel like the jaws of a monster. Tiny holes in the planks let in comforting rays of light.

  Her legs and hands were duct taped, and an old t-shirt was stuffed into her mouth with duct tape wrapped around her head. Every time she moved the tape pinched her scalp. She’d once had long, blonde hair, but now it was short and ragged. He had cut it all off. It had almost been the worst part, feeling those scissors on her head, making her look as ugly outside as she felt inside. After that, she knew there was no going back to how things were before. He’d taken everything away. Even her hair.

  She just wanted to sleep. To forget for a moment this waking nightmare she was in.

  Why me? Please, God, I don’t want to die.

  But then the agonizing thought returned. God wouldn’t help her. This was her fault. Tracy never thought the guy she chatted with, and yes, even flirted with online would ever do this—

  The tall man called himself Hank. She met him on Facebook and added him to her friends list. He was so nice, and always remembered little things—things she had forgotten she had even mentioned. He had this way of making her feel like the only girl in the world. He told her he was seventeen, but it turned out he was in his forties.

  Tracy’s heart skipped a beat when she heard the all too familiar sound of footsteps, and then the beads of light disappeared as a figure stood above her, covering her with shadow.

  No, not again. Please, not again.

  The lid burst open. Light blinded her and all she could see was a hand reach out and pull her out of the cramped space. She struggled and squirmed, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. He had her. And when he was done, she would be thrown back into the dark hole until he felt the need to pay her another visit.

  “Washday, my love,” His voice was so smooth, yet had a tinge of hate laced through it like a snake wrapped around a tree. “You know what today is?” He looked into her eyes as if searching for something.

  She shut her eyes and swallowed a whimper. She wouldn’t give him any sign she was there. He’d have her body but not her soul.

  “It’s your birthday.” He laughed. “And I have a special treat for you.”

  It wasn’t her birthday. What was he talking about?

  He cut away the tape from her hands and legs and Tra
cy slumped to the floor. Her legs were numb. They started tingling, coming back to life. She thought hard about running again, but the last time she ran he broke her nose.

  How long had she been here? She couldn’t remember. It felt like years, but that couldn’t be right. It had been enough misery to fill a lifetime.

  She watched Hank fill the horse trough with cold water from a garden hose. He whistled as he waited for the tub to fill up. She hated washday. The water was cold and he would stand there and watch her with that evil grin on his face.

  He half looked at her, mumbling and picking at his fingernails. She didn’t know she could despise anyone as wholeheartedly as she did him.

  “You know, my pet, you’ve been a good girl—most of the time. But one thing still bothers me. You don’t look at me with the love and respect I know I deserve. Do you realize who I am?” His tone turned darker as he walked over to where Tracy sat in the dirt.

  “I’ve given you everything. My heart, my soul … and in return you whine and cry like a spoiled little brat!” Grabbing her by the hair, Hank pulled her to her feet. Dragging her to the metal tub, he stripped her down and tossed her in like a rag doll. The water took her breath away. She choked and gagged on the t-shirt that tried to work its way down her throat.

  “You want your birthday present?” His voice softened as he pulled out a small, black stun gun. Holding it in his hands, he looked at her with a creased brow. “You make me sad, so sad, my sweet Tracy. I love you and you act like I’m the bad guy. And frankly, I’ve grown tired of you.”

  Tracy struggled to get out of the water, but it was too late. Hitting the trigger, a charge of blue electricity emitted and he jammed it in the side of her neck.

  Electricity surged through her body. The shock of the charge made her brain freeze and her muscles spasm. She tried to move, she needed to move, she had to move, but when she tried as hard as she could to run, her foot barely moved an inch.

  It took a moment for her to realize what was going on. Her body convulsed and twitched. The pain took over her mind. She tried to think, but everything was going dark.

  He moved. He was pushing her under, forcing her down.

  Her back arched and the gag jammed itself deep into her throat. This was it, the end—she was going to die and the last thing she heard through the water was his voice, muffled as if it came through another world. “Tracy, sweet, sweet Tracy …”

  Zombie High: Chick Fight

  Copyright © 2012 by Aaron Patterson

  All rights reserved as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the publisher.

  StoneHouse Ink 2012

  StoneHouse Ink

  Boise, ID 83713

  http://www.stonehouseink.net

  First eBook Edition: 2012

  ISBN: 978-1-62482-033-5

  STONEHOUSE INK