From the Author
This is the story of one man and his family as they struggled to survive the zombie pandemic that swept the globe. In truth, the first infections were seen in 2010 and 2011, and by the time the infamous “end of the world” date of December 21, 2012, came around, the general populations of the world – those who paid attention anyway – were becoming suspicious. The smart ones were already planning and preparing. The really smart ones realized that if they were right about the unthinkable – a zombie pandemic – that it wouldn’t just happen ONCE. Anything that happens once can happen again. So, I type their story as they shared it with me. Interspersed in the chapters of their experience are the lessons intelligent people have learned; some based on information disseminated by the government agencies of the various world powers, others based on simple common sense and ugly experience. I encourage you to read their story and study the lessons in between. Because it’s happened once… are you willing to bet your life and the lives of those you love that it will never happen again?

From the Inside Flap
Although claimed as a work of fiction, there are a lot of truths within the story of the Rustovic Family as they prepare and survive this current outbreak of Zombies. The narrator Frank Borelli was fortunate enough to have interviewed Russ; a man whom despite the scoffing and laughter from others including his own family in the beginning was able to protect his own family, thus “Surviving the Zombies”! Reading the details of Russ interview reminds me that we have all been where he was at the beginning; especially when having a family that you want to protect. First perceiving a possible threat, researching the history and discovering “Why weren’t we told?’ Just like a puzzle Russ was able to put all the pieces together! Determined Rus found the one person whom who could teach and prepare his family. He took a stand; making a pledge to protect his family. Others whom scoffed and laughed didn’t heed the warnings soon found out the hard way with not only their own lives but that of their family; they should have listened! Although as many of us have discovered that the best made plans of Mice and Man can some times jump out and smack you! Rus found out the hard way as it only takes one slipup; one tiny error that could cost everyone’s life! Yet, if everything was easy we would never have to prepare! So, we plan and prepare so when the Zombies appear and becomes a reality there is that gut feeling that you know your family has a fighting chance! That’s what Rus did and now he is alive to tell his story. Most of us at one time in our lives have been a hunter of some sort. But, with Zombies; you are the prey! And even more important: Zombies are always hungry! So heed the words of wisdom; remember the lessons learned from the Rustovic Family! Otherwise you are but a snack for the Zombies! Surviving the Zombies is an excellent book to start you on your preparations; Rus has shared in great detail what you must do to protect your family not just what to use; but the how and why is explained! As for me, I have got to stock up on more magnesium shavings & the first neighbor that turns, their yard becomes the burn pit!

- Pamela Carroll
CochiseMom

Comments others have made after reading this book:

-”It’s an interesting new twist to the typical vampire fiction. Suspenseful and riveting. I recommend highly to everyone!”

- “Yeah, I read this book, and it is a most original and interesting piece of vampire fiction.”

Here is an excerpt from the first in this exciting new series:

Visibility became my first concern as I flipped the switches for all my lights. The lightbar lit up with red and blue rotators as well as red flashers and the white takedowns. I stopped my car and put it in reverse in case I had to try to escape the collision, but I didn’t start moving yet. Something wasn’t quite right. The car was moving real slow, across my lane more than toward me in it, and I realized that I could see no driver behind the wheel.

I stayed put and watched the vehicle completely cross my lane, jumping the curb and hitting a small sapling, which was enough to stop it. I saw that it was a taxi and wondered about the occupants. That question was answered just a fraction of a second later as I looked farther down Eastern Avenue to see two men standing in the middle of the road. I guess I was about thirty yards away, but I could plainly see that one man was holding the other by his shirtfront, brandishing a gun in the victim’s face. They were looking directly at me and fear was evident in both sets of eyes.

Recognizing an attempted armed robbery in progress, I dropped my cruiser back down into gear and tromped on the accelerator. The robber, knowing he’d been had, released the victim, and pushed him away, conveniently pushing him out of my line of driving. Turning his gun toward me, the robber fired three shots, two of which entered my windshield almost exactly in the middle of my car. Trying to duck behind the wheel, I pushed harder on the accelerator, having every intention of bouncing this ner-do-well off the hood of my cruiser. He started running the opposite direction, nice enough to stay in the middle of the street. I thought for a moment that he had no way to escape because that portion of Eastern Avenue goes right over a set of railroad tracks and the bridge is at least fifty feet over the tracks. If he ran to the side of the road, he’d go splat shortly after jumping over the concrete barrier.

I was confident. He was mine. The fear on his face was obvious as he looked back, trying to outrun my oncoming cruiser. Finally he realized that he wouldn’t make it, and he veered to the side of the road. Fine with me; I veered as well continuing in my intention to hit him or smear him onto the concrete barriers. When he got to the barricades, he stopped and turned to face me, bringing his weapon back up on line and firing another two shots. Subconsciously I knew that he had fired five of the six rounds his revolver (I was close enough to see it) would hold. I also recognized the fact that those last two rounds had come through my windshield close enough that I felt glass fragments stinging my cheek.

Swerving the car, I jammed on my brakes and came to a stop less than twenty feet from him. In a motion that I’ve practiced too many times to count, I opened the door with my left hand as my right found my gun and drew it from my security holster. A small part of my mind registered that the grips were still warm from my incident in the cemetery, but I don’t know why that thought stuck with me. Circling back to my trunk, I mentally kicked myself for leaving the excellent cover of the steel engine block for the less worthy sheet-metal cover of the trunk panels. Settling my gun over the trunk, I lined the bad guy up in my sights and started to shout a warning. He didn’t give me the chance. His gun was coming back up on line and I wasn’t going to let him fire the last shot.

I stroked my trigger twice, just as I’d been taught, and was temporarily blinded by the muzzle flash from my hot-loaded police issue ammo. When my vision readjusted, I didn’t see the robber anywhere and figured he’d fallen to the road out of my line of view because of my position behind the police car. With my weapon still trained in the direction of the perceived threat, I gradually stood up and realized that he was nowhere to be found.

Now, I’ve shot better than ninety-five percent throughout my police career at distances of up to one hundred feet. I was sure that I’d hit the bad guy with both rounds that I’d fired from less than twenty. Then it dawned on me: the impact of the rounds must have knocked him backwards over the barricades and he’d fallen some fifty feet to the railroad tracks after being shot twice. My heart sunk; it’d be a long night. There was no way he was alive.

Just then, the victim of the attempted robbery came running over, thanking me in jilted English, with a strong Jamaican accent, for having saved his life. I sat him down and got on the radio to call for assistance. In a police shooting, a lot of people got called out: homicide investigators, evidence technicians, the patrol area supervisor, my supervisor, a public information officer and more. Once I’d made the proper notifications on the radio, I went back over to the edge of the bridge. Shining my flashlight down, with my gun alongside just in case, I scanned the area below.

There was no sign of the bad guy. What the hell? I thought to myself. He had to have been hit, and then he fell the equivalent of five stories. He couldn’t have walked away. Could he? When the first unit arrived, I gave him a condensed version of what had happened and together we went down the steep dirt trail that led from the roadside to the railroad tracks. At the bottom, we looked around carefully but found no sign of blood or a body. Once again, I thought, What the hell?