Friday, December 3, 2021

 This Past Week, I Was Caught. . .



Dead to Rights

My readers and blog followers will be aware of the fact that I have something of a weak spot for the different. The zany and unusual. I like things that stand out from the mundane. Things that make the tired and staid special. The humdrum enjoyable.
That’s probably why I was drawn to Greg Stumbo’s Generation Zed series.

As you know, I dipped into the first story, Dead Serious, the other week, and was delighted to find a fresh approach to the zombie apocalypse. One where the surviving band of misfits isn’t made up from ex army rangers, cops, Special Forces, or geeky know-it-alls with PhDs yelling, “Bazinga!” and  dropping knowledgeable expressions into every longwinded sentence. No, our – and I use this term loosely – ‘heroes’ are a bunch of nerdy friends and newly-met acquaintances with the combined skill level of a lobotomized walnut. Excellent stuff, as it made following their dodgem ride of misadventure through a not so funfair of chomping death rather fun to follow.

And that mayhem continues in – Dead to Rights. You get just a hint of that from the blurb.

 

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So, that didn't work. You know what's worse than dead people getting in the way? Not yet dead people getting in the way. This whole end of the world thing is starting to seem like an awful lot of work. Who signed me up for this anyway? The pay is worse than a cheap neighbor when they ask you to mow their lawn. I’m starting to think the undead are safer than the not yet dead!

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Okay then. What total disasters – and yes, that IS meant to be plural – befall our hapless protagonists this time?

Well, here’s the thing. Despite being shockingly inept at most everything they do, the gang has been relatively lucky. The zombie apocalypse hasn’t been in full chomp-mode for too long, so they haven’t come across anyone particularly nasty. In fact, everyone they’ve met has been the exact opposite. Downright friendly! Not the thing you want when you’ve got a bunch of incompetents planning an ill-advised rescue mission of the friend they left behind in the Wal-Mart.

As it turns out, that rescue mission is something of a stroll in the park – or should that be, stroll through a fenced-in compound – populated by incredibly polite survivors, whose idea of a disagreement is to sit around a camp fire singing ‘Kumbaya’ while the grown-ups ‘talk about it’. Still all awfully nice and pleasant . . . and an absolute recipe for disaster for the gang, who start getting crazy ideas about how to improve their lot in a world turned upside down.

What do I mean?

Let’s just reiterate that up until now, they’ve met some very nice people. (Pains in the collective butt, most certainly - but nice nonetheless). And of course, that makes the gang somewhat complacent, especially when they start branching out into the wider community with grandiose ideas of becoming ‘fixers’ for those people still in hiding.

Think about it. In their area alone there’s an armory manned by jumpy national guards. Several larger groups who imagine that being isolated will protect them. Oh yes, and there’s a prison full of community minded citizens who are undoubtedly shocked of the events that have led to their early paroles, and who are now eager to show repentance for the misdeeds that led to their incarceration in the first place.

What could possible go wrong?

I mean, the gang possesses all the savvy of a drunken dungeon master breaking in a new game, where the instructions are written in Braille. Klingon Braille. What’s worse is that they can’t even make the simplest of decisions without arguing. So you just know what’s gonna happen.
Not so much, “why didn’t I take the blue pill,” as, sneaking into a firework factory, lighting as many blue touch papers as you can, and sticking your fingers in your ears . . . and hoping there won’t be the inevitable boom!

As before, this neat misadventure is tied together by the glaring ineptitude of the main characters, who haven’t yet begun to appreciate the reality of the nightmare they’ve woken up in. And until they do, they continue to stumble, fumble and grumble from one rose-tinted disaster to another in a wonderfully entertaining way. You just want to slap them! And when you realize that, you begin to appreciate how adroitly Greg Stumbo has drawn you into their apocalypse, and how invested you’ve become in what happens.

But of course, to find out the answer to that little conundrum, you’ll have to read the book.
And boy, will you be glad you did.


Goodreads Review



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