So this week I’m reading Fortress Britain, by Glynn James and Michael Stephen Fuchs, which mostly follows the activities of an elite military strike force in Britain as they attempt to deal with the aftermath of a (you guessed it) zombie apocalypse.
In this book, Britain plays a role similar to that of Israel and Cuba in World War Z, i.e., last bastion of humanity besieged by zombies from the mainland who wander in along the ocean floor or, in the case of Fortress Britain, through the Chunnel. Why didn’t England block up the Chunnel, you ask? Well … they did. It just didn’t stick. Now, normally “Teaser Tuesday” consists of only two sentences, but in this case I’m making an exception, because this novel contains what is simultaneously the most amusing and most accurate description of the “barricaded farmhouse” scenario so common amongst zombie apocalypses, to wit:
If you lost your mobility or initiative in a city, if you got in trouble or bogged down, you’d generally find yourself holed up in some large structure, barricaded in. And the thing about zombies is that once they are onto you, they just will not go away. You’re now in a siege, one of unlimited duration. And in a siege, the moans of the besiegers will bring more besiegers. And the newcomers never leave either. So you could theoretically trigger some kind of zombie singularity — and find yourself at the center of a mass of all the zombies on that entire continent.
So don’t get bogged down, right? Speaking of getting bogged down, here’s the latest edited few sentences of The War of the Ravels, in which Our Heroes are already well past the threatened zombie apocalypse there (you didn’t think there wouldn’t be one, did you?) and now back on the road, heading for the Ravels, where, as you may have surmised by now, they’re going to get involved in a war. Or something like one.
The Pelt paused in the center of the crossroads, looking at each of the statues in turn. The drizzle continued unabated. When Cynidece went over to the cat statue and start stroking it behind the ears, Mercy said: “What are you doing, exactly?”
“I never thought to see these totems again. This one was always my favorite.”
“Mmm. This doesn’t seem like the time to stand around reminiscing and petting the statues.”
“No, I suppose not,” Cynidece said, although she kept on doing it.
Now, Mercy. One must always take time to stop and pet the statues.