Specifically, I’d like to thank:
Debbie Davis
Phil Davis
Jamie Crosby
Ryan Dunn
Ashley Jones
J. Cornell Michel
Monique Happy
Jenaya Cones
Chad Davis
David Michaud
Finally, I’d like to thank my wife, Laurie Davis. Without her encouragement and support, I would never have sat down to type the first word.
This book would not have come to life without all of you!
THANK YOU!
About the Author
S. Johnathan Davis is an American author, best known for writing apocalyptic horror. He released his first novel, 900 Miles, in January of 2013. In addition to being published in English, Davis’ works have been translated to German and converted to audiobook.
Davis can often be found guest blogging, speaking at events, and participating on podcasts related to the zombie genre. In addition, Davis is an active member of the Horror Writers Association (HWA), a prestigious group of global authors dedicated to all that write and read horror.
Davis resides in Atlanta, GA with his wife and two children.
Website: www.sjohnathandavis.com
Twitter: @900milesbook
Read on for a free sample of Judgment Day: A Zombie Novel
1
For an hour, the last patient of the day had been droning on and on about his abusive father. Dr. Jebediah Stone had heard the depressing tale so many times over the past six months; he could repeat it almost verbatim. Worse yet, the story never varied; a well-rehearsed rationale for the speaker’s abusive behavior. Dr. Stone idly stared out the window at a spotted Gila Woodpecker busily excavating a new hole in the twenty-foot tall saguaro cactus outside his office. The sunshine from a cloudless blue sky and the yellow lantanas blooming like a patch of spring in late November made him wish he could be out there in the fresh air instead of sitting bored in his office.
Thanksgiving was just a few days away and his thoughts turned to the aroma of pumpkin pie, roast turkey and cranberries. Thanksgiving had always been a season of food, friends, family and fellowship for the Stone family. However, this year, events had transpired to place his favorite holiday on the back burner.
“What do you think, Dr. Stone?”
Jeb refocused his attention on his patient, Nelson Sedge. The question was his cue to respond. This time, he decided to vary the dialogue. “I think you need to move on.”
Sedge’s head jerked in his direction at the unexpected answer. “Move on? What do you mean? He abused me.”
“Yes, yes, he beat you. I know. You said yourself you were a wild kid, always in trouble. Do you think your father beat you because he hated you or because he wanted to straighten you out?”
Sedge hesitated, confused by the new focus of the conversation. He had never been grilled before while on the couch and the spotlight made him uncomfortable. “I don’t know.”
Jeb sighed. “Nelson, you’ve told me a dozen times that you’ve forgiven your father; that you want to move on with your life. Why rehash old wounds?”
Sedge squirmed uncomfortably on the leather couch, his ample backside squeaking on the leather upholstery. “I’m impotent and it’s his fault,” he snapped.
“You’re impotent because you’re 150 pounds overweight, have high blood pressure and take seven different pills a day for your supposed mood swings. It’s enough to curtail any man’s sex drive. You don’t need a psychologist. What you need is a gym and a good personal trainer.”
Sedge sneezed without covering his mouth. Jeb winced. Great, all he needed was the flu, especially since his child already had it, and his wife might be coming down with it. Everyone in the whole country seemed to have it, despite the mandatory flu shots.
“You’re supposed to help me,” Sedge said in an accusatory tone.
“You have to want to help yourself. Blaming your father is the easy way out. He might have encouraged your low self-esteem and your quick anger, but he’s dead and you are the only one who can change your life. These past six months I’ve listened to you, and even though I have made my observations time after time, you choose to ignore them because they’re inconvenient. I can’t help that. It’s time to take some responsibility for letting your past control your present.”
Sedge remained silent for a moment before replying harshly, “Maybe, I need a new doctor.”
Jeb sighed again, this time in irritation. He was tired and his head throbbed. Maybe, he was coming down with the flu despite the vaccine, after all. “You might be right. You won’t listen to me and I can’t in good conscience take your money and offer nothing in return.”
“I’ve got plenty of money,” Sedge snapped. “I need help.”
Laying his notepad and pencil aside, Jeb looked at his watch. Since a video recorder captured each session, he seldom took notes, but patients felt reassured by the age-old façade.
“Your time is up, Nelson. I suggest you seek professional help elsewhere. I’ve done all I can for you.”
With some difficulty, Sedge levered himself from the couch, glared at Jeb and said quite huffily, “That is exactly what I’ll do, Doctor. I find your manner quite unprofessional, and I don’t think you care anymore.”
Jeb rose. “You know, you’re right, Nelson. I don’t care. Good day.”
Quickly, he ushered Sedge out the door and shut it behind him. Then, he returned to his desk and leaned against it for a moment, as a dizzy spell swept over him. I should have taken better care of myself. Nursing Karen and Josh has worn me out. He pressed the concealed button shutting off the video recorder, before buzzing Gloria, his receptionist.
“Go on home, Gloria. I’m going to change and drop by the florist. It’s Karen’s birthday. God knows a little color might cheer her up a bit.”
“Send her my love, Dr. S,” she answered.
Jeb smiled at Gloria’s irreverence for the boss/employee relationship. He liked Gloria, because she brooked no nonsense from him or the patients, and she never failed to offer her opinion about his patients, his choice in ties or his refusal to eat fast food.
“I’ll do that, Gloria. Good night.” Just as he turned off the intercom, he heard Gloria’s sneeze come through the closed door and shook his head. Her too?
Changing out of his suit coat and tie was almost more than he could handle. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, finally yanking it off over his head. Thank God, it’s Friday. I need a break. Finally, dressed in a pair of worn jeans and a faded t-shirt, he felt less the doctor and more the human being. Absentmindedly, he rubbed the belly of the brass Buddha sitting on his desk for luck, a reminder of his and Karen’s vacation to China seven years earlier. His constant daily rubbing had removed the dull patina that covered the rest of the smiling statue, making the prominent belly shine. Gloria, a devout Christian, always chided him for what she called a ‘heathen idol’, but to him it was a simple reminder of better times.
As Jeb drove west along Ina Road from his Catalina Foothills office, he was surprised at how light the traffic was. The Catalina Mountains formed a spectacular barricade to Tucson’s northern growth, rising majestically to a height of almost 10,000 feet. In stark contrast to the warm late fall day below, snow blanketed the piney slopes of Mt. Lemmon. The major east-west conduit on the city’s north side was usually crowded. People were beginning to panic and stay home. Not that he could blame them. Nearly six thousand people in the U.S. had died of the Avian Flu in the past month, and over fifty thousand in Asia where it had originated. It wasn’t just the old and young succumbing to the ravages of the fever anymore. Men and women, hale and hardy, were beginning to drop like flies.