You might think Rotting Dead F*cks to be yet another standard zombie fare. Things in the world were going along swimmingly when . . .
Zombie apocalypse. Per usual there’s no explanation why. Poop simply hit the fan. This is the story of several non-brain-nommers and their efforts to keep said brains un-nommed during the immediate aftermath of the zombie breakout. Of course, since this is a Matt Shaw story it takes things to a totally new level of discomfort. What begins with . . .
Quickly morphs into . . .
and then . . .
(Just replace that newspaper with a Kindle.)
Thar be triggers. Consider yourself warned.
If you can stomach the really-not-okay parts of the storyline, you’ll find yourself reading a real adrenaline rush of a novella. I read pretty fast, but this one left me cursing myself because there was no way for me to go faster, leaving me hyperventilating and nothing but a bundle of nerves ready to lash out at anyone who dared pull me away from my reading trance.
Good thing Shaw knows to keep his stuff short. He also continues to impress me with his horrifying brand of debauchery. Mitchell has already requested my assistance in making friendship bracelets for them to share . . .
Probably a good thing you live across the pond, Mr. Shaw. Just sayin’