Download All Our Tomorrows (Z is for Zombie, Book 2) by Peter Cawdron PDF
By Peter Cawdron
Hazel is by myself in a crowd. not anyone is familiar with her, no longer even her father. the single people who ever particularly understood her have been Steve, David and Jane. yet they’re lifeless. If they’re now not lifeless, they’re loss of life stranded open air the compound. Hazel can’t settle for the sour truth of existence within the zombie apocalypse, she can’t settle for that her neighbors are most likely useless. She has to discover them.
ALL OUR TOMORROWS is the motion packed sequel to WHAT WE LEFT in the back of
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Additional info for All Our Tomorrows (Z is for Zombie, Book 2)
She sounded dubious. “I don’t see how that can be, but—” A plane. Jesus. Five minutes ago, or maybe a little longer, while he’d been raking leaves and singing along with “How Great Thou Art”— “Stacey, was it Chuck Thompson? I saw that new Piper of his flying over. ” Brenda, no dummy, was already moving her car so he could back the forest-green Chief’s car down the driveway. She had set the portable radio beside his small pile of raked leaves. “Okay, Stace. ” “Yes, and the landlines. I’m on my cell.
The copter was blue and white, flying low. It was angling toward the pillar of smoke marking the crashed pulp-truck on 119, but the air was perfectly clear, with that almost magnifying effect that the best days in northern New England seem to have, and Barbie could easily read the big blue 13 on its side. And see the CBS eye logo. It was a news chopper, out of Portland. It must already have been in the area, Barbie thought. And it was a perfect day to get some juicy crash footage for the six o’clock news.
Elsa Andrews was on her feet now, and with-it enough to ask what would become the question of the day: “What did we hit? ” Gendron answered with complete honesty. ” “Ask her if she has a cell-phone,” Barbie said. Then he called to the gathering spectators. “Hey! ” “I do, mister,” a woman said, but before she could say more, they all heard an approaching whup-whupwhup sound. It was a helicopter. Barbie and Gendron exchanged a stricken glance. The copter was blue and white, flying low. It was angling toward the pillar of smoke marking the crashed pulp-truck on 119, but the air was perfectly clear, with that almost magnifying effect that the best days in northern New England seem to have, and Barbie could easily read the big blue 13 on its side.