Mark Henry_Amanda Feral 02
Read Mark Henry_Amanda Feral 02 Online
Authors: Road Trip of the Living Dead
Tags: #Vampires, #Horror, #Contemporary, #General, #Romance, #Fantasy, #Supernatural, #Zombies, #Fiction, #Occult & Supernatural, #Paranormal
Amanda Feral Zombie Novels!
Battle of the Network Zombies
“Clever, fast-paced and so delightfully trashy that it should have been printed on Hefty bags, Henry’s third Amanda Feral novel smartly skewers popular culture. Henry gleefully delivers a sharp-edged whodunit with some smart and funny twists.”
Publishers Weekly
“Amanda’s back and serving up her deliciously bitchy snark in the oh-so-talented Henry’s wildly bizarre whodunit. No one can match Henry when it comes to gross and hilariously twisted shenanigans.”
RT Book Reviews
“Hysterical! An epically riotous page turner.”
Fresh Fiction
Road Trip of the Living Dead
“What can I say about
Road Trip of the Living Dead?
It’s irreverent, gross and disgusting. All in a good way. I LOVED it!!”
Jeanne C. Stein, author of
Legacy
“In turns hilarious and twisted,
Road Trip of the Living Dead
is a book I’ll never forget. Who knew fashion-obsessed flesh eaters could be so engaging? Fans of any genre won’t be able to put this book down as they fall into the darkly comedic world of Amanda Feral and her undead companions. Edgy and evocative,
Road Trip
is a must read! I’m looking forward to reading future works from this talented author.”
Anya Bast, author of
Witch Heart
Happy Hour of the Damned
“Dark, twisted and completely hilarious. I loved this book!”
Michelle Rowen, author of
Lady & the Vamp
“Call them the splatterati—werewolves who always know what to wear, zombies with bodies to die for, and vampires who know their fang shui—just don’t call them late when it comes to happy hour, or the drinks might be on you.”
David Sosnowski, author of
Vamped
“
Happy Hour of the Damned
—is it a comedy? An urban fantasy? A whodunit? Who cares! Mark Henry’s written such a clever and engaging story that fans of any genre will totally adore it! Amanda Feral is the freshest, funniest character to come out of fiction since Bridget Jones and my only regret is she’s not real and we can’t go out for drinks. (Because, really? Zombies are the new black.) In short? I loved this book!”
Jen Lancaster, author of
My Fair Lazy
HAPPY HOUR OF THE DAMNED
ROAD TRIP OF THE LIVING DEAD
BATTLE OF THE NETWORK ZOMBIES
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40
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Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2009 by Mark Henry
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
All Kensington titles, imprints, and distributed lines are available at special quantity discounts for bulk purchases for sales promotion, premiums, fund-raising, educational, or institutional use.
Special book excerpts or customized printings can also be created to fit specific needs. For details, write or phone the office of the Kensington Special Sales Manager: Attn.: Special Sales Department. Kensington Publishing Corp., 119 West 40
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Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN-13: 978-0-7582-6845-7
ISBN-10: 0-7582-6845-9
First Kensington Books Trade Paperback Printing: March 2009
First Kensington Books Mass-Market Paperback Printing: February 2011
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America
To the two most ravenous readers in my life:
my mother, Edna,
and my goddaughter, Delaney
(who better not read this until she’s old enough!)
Praise for Mark Henry and his Amanda Feral Zombie Novels!
Chapter 1 Raising the Dead for Fun and Profit
Chapter 2 Hood Ornaments of the Damned (and Bitchy)
Chapter 3 Bitches Trannies, Werewolves, Otherwise
Chapter 4 Winos, Witches and Winnebagos
Chapter 5 The Inexplicable Allure of Cowtown Couture
Chapter 6 Dust Devils and Dirty Mothers
Chapter 7 Snacking at America’s Favorite Child Abuse Palace
Chapter 9 Does Anyone Actually Own Shower Shoes?
Chapter 10 You Gotta Have Heart
Chapter 11 Blowing Adolf and the Rest of the Mini-Gestapo
Chapter 12 Well Hello Love Interest
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Chapter 13 Road Games and Gamey Discussion
Chapter 14 The Tall and Short of the Thing
Chapter 15 An Expedition, Wal-Mart Style
Chapter 16 What’s the Maha You?
Chapter 17 On the Hush-Hush, the DL, or the QT
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Chapter 18 As the Mothafuckin’ Crow Flies
Chapter 19 The Worst Realization Ever, Seriously
Chapter 20 Checking In on Those Checking Out
Chapter 21 The Water Park Runs Red with Blood
Chapter 23 The Dark and Intimate Secrets of the Pink Cave
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Epilogue Postcards from the Road Trip
Epilogue Two The Pretty Princess Party Palace
Amanda’s Très Importante Authorial Acknowledgments
Chapter 1 Hillbillies, Whores, and Horrors
A second novel in a surprise series (I had no clue that I was getting into more than one book here—still can’t believe my luck) shouldn’t have been anywhere near as easy as
Road Trip of the Living Dead
. My fantastic editor, John Scognamiglio, forced me out of my seat-o’-the-pants style, heralding the age of the outline. Thanks, John. Seriously. The book turned out better than I could’ve imagined.
I’m forever indebted to Jim McCarthy, agent, editor, comedian, and pop culture reference guide. Your advice and suggestions are invaluable. On the downside, you’ve encouraged a dependence on apple pie milk shakes.
I seem to have picked up a slew of first readers. First up, Stacia Kane (whom I’m sure I’ll mention again): Her encouragement and critique helped to make this book so much better than it started. The South Sound Algonquians, for the second year in a row, have put up with my filthy public readings, offered support, and even added a bit of their own brand of nasty. A hundred thank-yous to Monica Britt, Dolly Ceehar, Ned Hayes, Manek Mistry, Megan Pottorff, Sherylle Sta-pleton, and Tom Wright.
So often writing is a solitary activity, and for most, so is the promotional aspect. I was lucky to find like-minded friends to help stave off the loneliness. Team Seattle, for one, Caitlin Kittredge, Richelle Mead, Cherie Priest, and Kat Richardson—thank you, guys, for
putting up with all the crude jokes and laughing, anyway. To the League of Reluctant Adults (because blog-ging doesn’t have to be lonely), thanks Stace (there she is again), Caitlin, Jackie Kessler, Jaye Wells (Blue Drank!), Anton Strout, and Jeremy Lewis. And even our fallen comrades, Ilona Andrews and Jill Myles (who’ve never really left). One of the most surprising things to come out of this whole published-author thing is the great readers who have found me. The Glamazombies
*
, as I’ve dubbed them, are such a fun group, and I’m totally enamored of my plague carriers, Missy Sawmiller and Todd Thomas. You guys Rock!
I promised myself I wouldn’t write another two-page acknowledgments, but clearly I can’t keep my word, so I’ll continue….
Two author peeps kept the Montana events in this book on track, Patricia Briggs and Diana Pharoah Francis. Thanks to you both, and Patty, I still have that Butte map on my wall.
My friends continue to put up with my crazy schedule, God bless ’em. Thanks, Kevin Macias and Jo Rash for all the support and free dialogue! Three more friends: Synde Korman, Duane Wilkes, and Barbara Vey—your enthusiasm for books and the genre is inspirational. You guys are awesome, and I’m glad to know you.
Finally, Caroline, my lovely wife, she’s my magic. She is everything to me and contributes so much to this series.
Thank you.
For your time.
For your love.
*
Join us online at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/markhenry.
Raising the Dead
for Fun and Profit
Nowadays, anyone with a wallet full of cash and a little insider knowledge is getting into the Supernatural life. And, I do mean anyone. Criminals, politicians, even—brace yourself—entertainers are plopping down tons of cash for immortality.
—
Supernatural Seattle
( June 2008)
Gil brought lawn chairs to the cemetery—not stylish Adirondacks, not even semi-comfortable camp chairs (the ones with those handy little cup holders). No. He dug up some cheap plastic folding chairs, the kind that burrow into your leg flesh like leeches.
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He arranged them in a perfect semicircle around a freshly sodded grave, planted an iBoom stereo in the soft earth, pulled out a bottle of ′07 Rose McGowan,
2
and drained half of it before his ass hit plastic. Granted, he
managed these mundane tasks in a pricey Gucci tuxedo, the tie loose and dangling. On any other day, this would have been his sexy vamp look, but tonight … not so much. His eyelids sagged. His shoulders drooped. He looked exhausted.
I, on the other hand, looked stunning.
One of those movie moons, fat and bloated as a late-night salt binge, striped the graveyard with tree branch shadows, and spotlit your favorite zombie heroine reclining starlet-like on the polished marble of the new tombstone—there was no way I was subjecting vintage Galliano to the inquisition of plastic lawn chairs; the creases would be unmanageable.
Wendy didn’t take issue with the cheap and potentially damaging seating. She wore a tight pink cashmere cardigan over a high-waisted chestnut skirt that hit her well above the knee. She crossed her legs and popped her ankle like a 1950s housewife, each swivel bringing attention to her gorgeous peek-toe stilettos— certainly not the most practical shoe for late-night graveyard roaming, but who am I to judge?
3
The dearly departed were our only other company; about twenty or so ghosts circled the grave—in a rainbow of moody colors and sizes. A little boy spirit, dressed in his Sunday best and an aqua green aura, raced by, leaving a trail of crackling green sparks; the other, older specters muttered to each other, snickered and pointed. Popular opinion aside, zombies do not typically hang out in graveyards—ask the ghosts. We don’t crawl out of the ground all rotty and tongue-tied, either. We’re created through bite or breath,
Wendy and I from the latter. So you won’t see us shambling around like a couple of morons, unless there’s a shoe sale at Barney’s.
