“I’m really excited about Good Boy coming out. Tom Clark has put great love and work into this project and his writing. I’m in for the whole trilogy. This is everything that’s great about zombie fiction and animal protagonists.” — Jay Wilburn
Teaser from
Good Boy
by Tom Clark
FOX FIGHT (FROM CHAPTER 1):
Outside, the world felt different, it smelled different. Something in the air had the stink of the brain worms. The DADDY stood on the porch, his gun in hand, scanning the street as I sniffed for a spot to piss. I didn’t see the mangy, infected fox until it had struck. Neither did the DADDY. The diseased creature sprung at him from the bushes, biting into the DADDY’s neck and locking down its jaws. Mostly hairless, it no longer resembled a fox, instead the infection had made it truly frightening. It locked its jaws on the DADDY’s neck. Screaming in agony, the DADDY ripped the creature off him. Blood spouted from the open wound. The fox bounced off the deck and crashed into the flower pots, shrieking and squealing, its teeth snapping and feet flailing. Centrifugal force carried it though the pots, smashing the porcelain and clay, and off the deck, into the hedge. The DADDY threw his hand over his gaping wound, hoping to stop the bleeding, but with little success. The fluid continued to spit though his fingers, making crimson splatters on the deck. The infected animal erupted out of the hedge, poised to strike the DADDY, again. This time it met me.
I struck at it in midair, my jaws catching the beast at the back of its neck. We rolled on the ground. I refused to release my grip. I found my feet and raised my haunches, keeping my head and, in turn, its neck in the dirt. I shook! I pulled! The worms tickled at my lips but sizzled and shrunk in a smoky haze when my saliva touched them. I pulled, tore, and ripped the fox’s head off. Blood, or at least what should be blood but really wasn’t anymore, spurted out of the gaping wound, covering the deck in a slick, black goo. The head bounced off the door and rolled into a corner. The spot once holding the fox’s head was now a void, teeming with the little worms. After a moment, the body stopped kicking, but the head still thrashed at nothing. The jaws continued to snap at nothing for a few more moments, then without blood, or worms, to keep it alive, the head finally joined the rest of its body and died. The worms controlling its motor functions curled about from the head and body, seeking a new host but none were to be found. They dropped into the dust and leaves, shriveled, and died.
The loud retort of a firearm, followed by the crashing of glass and metal, scared me. I looked up to see the DADDY had fallen and fired the rifle into the roof of the porch as a reflex. He landed on the porch, writhing in pain as the blood spurted from his neck, his body jamming the door open. I ran to his aid, but it was too late. The stink of the brain worms lingered about him. I saw them wiggling around the wound on his neck- splitting, multiplying, and spreading at an alarming speed. In no time they squirmed out from the blood and torn flesh, crawling up his face into his ears, eyes, mouth, and up his nose. I can’t help him. My mate and the cat joined me at his side, but there was nothing any of us could do. The DADDY bled to death, mercifully, before the brain worms could drive him mad.
Look for this great novella coming soon.
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