All Our Tomorrows (Z is for Zombie, Book 2) by Peter Cawdron

By Peter Cawdron

Hazel is on my own in a crowd. nobody knows her, no longer even her father. the single people who ever relatively understood her have been Steve, David and Jane. yet they’re lifeless. If they’re now not useless, they’re demise stranded open air the compound. Hazel can’t settle for the sour fact of existence within the zombie apocalypse, she can’t settle for that her acquaintances are most likely lifeless. She has to discover them.

ALL OUR TOMORROWS is the motion packed sequel to WHAT WE LEFT at the back of

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Extra resources for All Our Tomorrows (Z is for Zombie, Book 2)

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There's a big open iron gate at the entrance. ' ‘Trust me. ' Culver took a last wistful look at the opening leading to the Underground tunnels, then shook his head once. ' The nightmare continued, a dream far worse than any Culver had ever experienced. Destruction to a degree he had never imagined possible. A mad, stumbling journey that tore at his mind and made him weep inwardly. Havoc. Madness. Hell exposed. A woman - no, girl: even in her dishevelled state he could see she was just a girl - rushed at them, tugging at Culver's jacket, pointing and pulling him towards an overturned car.

Dear God, five! He lowered his gaze from the horizons and slammed the flat of his hand against the taxi's roof. He had witnessed the stark face of ultimate evil, the carnage of man's own sickness! The destructive force that was centuries old and inherent in every man, woman and child! God forgive us all. People began to emerge from buildings, torn and bloody creatures, white from shock, the look of death already on their faces. They crawled, staggered, dragged themselves from their shattered refuges, some silent, some pleading, some in hysterics, but nearly all separate islands, numbed into withdrawal from others, their minds only able to cope with their own individual hurt, their own personal fate.

But it was too late. His groping fingers had found the eyes. But there were no eyes. Just deep, viscous sockets that sucked at his fingers as he withdrew them. He fell back and his hand touched something else. It was warm, and it was abhorrent. It was something slippery and it belonged inside a body, not outside. ' Culver's voice commanded again. Dealey's throat was too constricted to allow speech. Culver, lying sprawled across the outer track, shone the flashlight around them. Bodies littered the tunnel.

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