Swarm

Mired in a deep state of self-loathing and despair, Sam Woods is too wrapped up in his own personal failings to notice the world falling apart around him. As he barrels towards the coast to find peace (and the bottom of more than a few whiskey bottles), the chaos around him becomes too much to ignore. Too far from home to turn back and still a hundred miles from the coast, Sam has no choice but to fight the soulless monsters that threaten to recruit him into their undead ranks. In a race to see what will kill him first - his own personal demons or the meat grinders looking for their next fix - Sam's prime objective is simple: SURVIVE. Swarm, a novel of 75,000 words, is Book 1 in the Dead Ends Trilogy. Swarm. Dying is easy. Living is Hell.

Mired in a deep state of self-loathing and despair, Sam Woods is too wrapped up in his own personal failings to notice the world falling apart around him. As he barrels towards the coast to find peace (and the bottom of more than a few whiskey bottles), the chaos around him becomes too much to ignore. Too far from home to turn back and still a hundred miles from the coast, Sam has no choice but to fight the soulless monsters that threaten to recruit him into their undead ranks. In a race to see what will kill him first - his own personal demons or the meat grinders looking for their next fix - Sam's prime objective is simple: SURVIVE. Swarm, a novel of 75,000 words, is Book 1 in the Dead Ends Trilogy. Swarm. Dying is easy. Living is Hell.

G.D. Lang - "Greggers" if you're nasty - is an enigmatic sort. Prone to mood swings and astonishing feats of strength, he spends most of his days writing, playing video games, and reading anything even remotely ZOMBIE. Though he despises gyms, he'll occasionally bench press a Buick, just to show that he can. His father was a relentlessly self-improving boulangerie owner from Belgium with low grade narcolepsy and a penchant for buggery; his mother a fifteen year old French prostitute named Chloe with webbed feet. In his younger years, G.D. Lang was often accused of running like a Welshman, a claim he adamantly denies to this day. Colors make him happy. Numbers make him anxious. Colored numbers make him crane his neck and tilt his head like a confused dog. He knows that life is pain and anyone who says differently is most certainly selling something. If given the chance, he would wear Quentin Tarantino's skin like a luxurious fur coat. Often times, he has an inability to recognize when he's over-sharing. His favorite movie scene of all-time is from Predator where Dutch and Dillon interlock hands, total bro-style, and the camera focuses in on their sweet biceps. But that doesn't make him gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.