White Trash Zombie Apocalypse

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This book would not be possible without a great deal of help and support.

Therefore, enormous thanks go out to Sherry Rowland, Kat Johnson, Dr. Kristi Charish, Robert J. Durand, Myke Cole, Mary Robinette Kowal, Dr. Michael Defatta, Catherine Rathbun, Tara Sullivan Palmer, Tricia Borne, Deborah Jack, Lindsay Ribar, Matt Bialer, Dan Dos Santos, Marylou Capes-Platt, Joshua Starr, Betsy Wollheim, everyone at DAW, the internet hivemind, and all of my wonderful readers.

Rain. Lots of it. Not yet, but soon. I hadn’t heard a forecast, and I sure as hell wasn’t psychic, but I’d lived in southeastern Louisiana all my life and felt the coming downpour in my bones. Of course, the really dark, ominous clouds helped a bit too.

But that was nothing. Not with zombies roaming the streets of Tucker Point.

Several shuffled along the sidewalk, and a dozen or so huddled together, gruesome and shabby, in front of the Sundown Café, one taking a drag from a cigarette through cracked and bloody lips. Apart from the nearby movie crew, the cigarette was a sure sign these were zombie wannabes and not the real thing.

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