Zombie Games by Kristen Middleton
Origins
Zombie Games series Book 1
Description:
Seventeen-year-old Cassandra Wild thought that living in the chaos
This YA story is a lighthearted adventure filled with zombies, butt-kicking teenaged girls, a man obsessed with video games, an annoying but totally HOT karate instructor, and humor when needed.
This is a young adult fictional story that includes some language, violence, and mild sexual situations. Recommended for ages sixteen and up.
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Running Wild
Zombie Games series Book 2
Description:Cassandra Wild is on the run from a deranged psychopath while she fights to stay alive during the zombie apocalypse. After being kidnapped, injured, and thrown together with a new band of misfits, things get more complicated, and it takes all of her strength and courage to survive in a world gone completely mad.
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Dead Endz
Zombie Games series Book 3
In a world of blood, sweat, and tears, dreams are crushed but hope still flickers in the hearts of our brave survivors.
It's been a wild ride but our heroes have finally made it to Atlanta, where the chaos continues and they find that zombies aren't the only dangers lurking in the big city.
The game continues with new players, several dangerous adversaries, and more than one princess that now needs saving...
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Road Kill
Zombie Games series Book 4Description:
The road back home proves to be far more dangerous and terrifying than ever. Join Cassie and Company as they face evils that are beyond anything they could have ever imagined and enemies that are virtually... unstoppable.
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End ZoneZombie Games series Book 5
Description:
As a cold darkness settles upon the world, our heroes search frantically for their friends and family. Meanwhile, two evils come together and try to destroy the child they believe to be the true "Chosen One". Will they succeed and annihilate all of mankind.
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Carefully, I climbed the clock, placing my feet on the times of other worlds, in order to see more along the top. Fragile materials supported my weight as if I weighed nothing—were nothing—but a breath of air in time and space. I climbed on, grabbing timepieces with my hands and pulling myself upward along the tower.
The skin on the back of my neck prickled when I reached the topmost third of the tower. An hourglass sat perched on the tower’s tapered tip, like a golden star crowning one of Earth’s Christmas trees. The top half of the glass was mostly full. Both halves rested on a crescent moon-shaped base. The hourglass hung balanced, lightly swinging back and forth, ready to flip over when empty.
I made my way back down the tower, wondering whether time ever ends, whether it could be eternal—how a system of worlds with World Builders could possibly have an end. My brain ached as I tried to make sense of it all, wondering where to begin searching for Calla.
My attention turned to something bright and painful: a miniature White Tower, representing the world my parents created, the timeline of which reset when I was born.
The White Tower replica had no clock hands. There were no digital measures of time, no sand trickling from the top of a glass. But I knew how the time was recorded and what time it was at the tower, based on the brightness of its glow. Like the sky which backlit the clock tower, the White Tower was a dazzling white. From what I’d learned as a child, the more brightly it glowed, the later its time and the closer to its end.
I tightened my grip and groaned. “Why does every search lead back to the White Tower? Have I traveled here to the Clock Tower only to be faced with it again?” I descended a few more steps toward the base of the tower. “Is there no way to escape the past—to leave it behind me?”
“You don’t appear to be biding time, friend.”
I nearly fell from the tower. I glanced beneath me to see who’d spoken.
The man who looked up at me was thin, with a nose as straight and long as his gangly limbs. He regarded me with eyes of purple ice. His hair, white like snow, was bound in a loose tail. Friend indeed.
I exhaled, relieved. Everything about him radiated Aborealian descent.
I jumped the last few feet from the Clock Tower and signaled to him, the way I would have greeted anyone in my mother’s home country, Aboreal.
His amethyst eyes met mine as he drew his lip into a thin line. He signaled back, and then frowned. “I disclaimed Aboreal long ago, but I respect the gesture.”
“You’re from my mother’s homeland,” I said. “I just wanted to be sure.”
The former Aborealian nodded and held out his hand.
“Valcas Hall,” I said, clasping it.
He grinned. “You can call me Nick.”
I squinted. Aborealians had no last names, so I hadn’t expected one. Aborealian citizens were simply individuals of Aboreal. But the man’s first name didn’t fit the metric. Nick didn’t have the same significance to it as Ivory and Sable, shades of white and black. He should have had a name that reflected his wintry hair. Nick meant nothing in Aborealian.
I opened my mouth to say something.
“I’ve renamed,” he said. “When I denounced Aboreal, I changed my first name and adopted a surname of sorts.”
“Which is?”
“Time,” he said. “I’m now Nick, no longer of Aboreal, but of Time.”
Nick of Time. Was this guy serious? If he noticed my cringe at the horrible pun, he didn’t show it.
“What brings you to this part of the worlds, friend?”
“A search.” I looked around, disturbed. “How did you get here?”
“I’m the keeper of the Clock Tower. Welcome to my home.”
Chess Desalls is the author of the YA time travel series, The Call to Search Everywhen. She's a longtime reader of fantasy and sci-fi novels, particularly classics and young adult fiction. Her nonfiction writing has led to academic and industry publications. She’s also a contributing editor for her local writing club’s monthly newsletter. The California Writers Club, South Bay branch, has awarded two of Chess’ stories first place for best short fiction. When she's not reading or writing, she enjoys traveling and trying to stay in tune on her flute.
