by Mark Tufo
Indian Hill IV: From the Ashes
It has been three years since the Progerians left their mark of devastation upon Earth. The remaining humans are in a desperate race against time as they do their best to reverse engineer the alien technology they captured, in an effort to bolster their beleaguered defenses against the oncoming onslaught of Progerians hell-bent on revenge. Revenge against the humans that thwarted their take-over and revenge against the subordinate Genogerians that helped.
Michael Talbot once again finds himself at the forefront to protect all that is sacred to him. He will receive help from some unexpected allies but will it be enough?
Timothy
Timothy was not a good man in life, and being undead did little to improve his disposition. What will a man trapped in his own mind do to survive when he wakes up to find himself a zombie controlled by a self-aware virus?
Tim 2
Timothy lived a life only a psychopathic sociopath could enjoy and understand. When he was bitten on the first day of the zombie-apocalypse he turned the tides on a single-minded virus he affectionately called Hugh. Together they terrorized a city before seemingly meeting their untimely demise. Nobody could have foreseen his resurrection, Tim’s close call with death has done nothing to temper his missions in life, to live, to eat and to rule the world.
Tim is back and he’s an asshole.
The Book of Riley: Part 1 - My Name is Riley
When the zombie apocalypse strikes without warning, one dog will hold the fate of her pack in her paws. This is the story of Riley, an American Bulldog who takes charge when the dead begin to walk. Follow along as she struggles to protect her pack from danger. Traveling with Riley are Ben-Ben, the high-strung Yorkie; Riley’s favorite two-legger, Jessie; Jessie’s younger brother, Zachary; and Riley’s arch-enemy, Patches the cat. They are a rag-tag group of survivors who, when pushed to the limit, realize they are all that each other has.
The Book of Riley: Part 2 - My Name is Riley
In the second part of this unique horror tale from acclaimed author Mark Tufo, Riley, an American bulldog, continues to defend her pack in the midst of a zombie apocalypse. When the zombie apocalypse struck, intrepid American bulldog Riley quickly discovered it was up to her to keep the pack safe. Together with Yorkshire Terrier Ben-Ben and former archenemy Patches the cat, Riley helped to keep the zombies at bay while favorite human Jessie traveled cross-country to find safety for herself and her baby brother, Zachary.
But after a long journey, Riley and the gang arrive in Las Vegas - one of the few remaining inhabited cities - only to find that it has been taken over by a group of thugs who rule through fear and brutality. Making matters worse, ruler Icely and his gang have taken to staging dog fights as popular entertainment, and Riley catches their eye. With Riley forced to fight for her life and Jessie locked up in the home of Icely himself, the future is uncertain. Will Riley save the day once more and help her pack escape?
The Book of Riley: Part 3 - My Name is Riley
In this third installment, Jess aided by her four legged friends escapes the self-proclaimed King of Vegas and flees across state lines in a desperate bid to stay one step ahead of the vengeance seeking mad man.
Riley and company come a cross a unique ally that helps them on their quest to avoid recapture from Icely and his gang. Jess is one step closer to finding her way to Justin but is dogged each step of the way, by zombies and thugs. Can Riley and the ever petulant Patches along with the bacon loving Ben-Ben be able to keep her safe?
The Book of Riley: Part 4 - My Name is Riley
In this fourth and final explosive installment in the Riley saga, Jess finds herself once again alone in her quest to get back to her boyfriend. More determined than ever she vows to not let anything get in her way and Riley does her best to help Jess keep that promise, but will it be one in which she pays the ultimate price to keep? Ride along as Jess. Zach, Riley, Patches and the bacon-devouring machine known as Ben-Ben continue their journey.
The Ravin
This is book one of the Indian Hill series in a more youth friendly version.
Coming Soon - The Prey! Book Two in the Youth Adventures of Michael Talbot.
The Spirit Clearing
Mark Tufo’s novels often center upon a single figure - that of Michael Talbot. Fans have joined this unforgettable character in numerous adventures. They’ve accompanied Mike in his struggle to navigate the apocalyptic world of the Zombie Fallout series. They’ve cheered him on his quest to save mankind from an alien threat in the Indian Hill books.
Now, in The Spirit Clearing, Tufo presents a Michael Talbot adventure like no other. Our hero wakes one morning to find himself in the hospital. Blind in one eye, he is the sole survivor in a horrific car accident. Soon Mike discovers that his injured eye allows him to see what others cannot. When he tells others of his visions, no one believes him.
Overcome by confusion, Mike feels as if he’s caught between one world and another. Then, hope arrives in the form of the beautiful Jandilyn Hollow. Will she be able to pull him out of the depths of his despair? Can love transcend even death?
Join Mike as he embarks on his latest adventure, in this eerie, well-paced tale. Full of twists and turns, The Spirit Clearing will keep readers guessing until the very end.
Callis Rose
Callis Rose is a girl blessed with a gift from above or cursed with a ruthless power she barely understands, it’s really just a matter of degrees. As her family life is turned asunder she is thrown into an indifferent Social Services program where she defends herself the only way she knows how. Callis is moved from home to home until she finally settles at the Lowries. As she starts her first day of high school she meets both her favorite and least favorite person, both happen to reside at the same household.
Mindy Denton makes it her single mission in life to destroy Callis, even as her brother Kevin falls deeper into love with the mysterious and beautiful girl who is hiding something from them all. Follow along in Mark Tufo’s newest adventure.
Lycan Fallout
The world of man was brought to its knees with the zombie apocalypse. A hundred and fifty years have passed since man has clawed and climbed his way from the brink of extinction. Civilization has rebooted, man has begun to rebuild, to create communities and society. It is on this fragile new shaky ground that a threat worse than the scourge of the dead has sprung. One man finds himself once again thrust into the forefront of a war he wants nothing to do with and seemingly cannot win. Follow along as Michael Talbot attempts to thwart the rise of the werewolf.
Zombie Fallout available in Spanish and Hindi
Bonus Talbot Mis-adventure
Mayan Prophecy
By Mark Tufo
Mayan Prophecy
I was getting ready to lie down when I heard something bang up against the side of the house. I'm thinking deer because we live in the sticks, or maybe a friggen moose because that would be awesome. So I go downstairs and see the puppies are in the back room hiding under my office desk. Typical! I turn on the porch light and I didn't see anything. So now I'm a little scared. “Screw this,” I said and grabbed my .357. Now I'm brave! I opened up the front door, and I'm looking around. I can see nothing because it's dark as hell, but I hear this real heavy breathing.
Shit what is going on? I went back in and grabbed a flashlight (still have the gun). I walk out on to my deck and go behind my house. The breathing is louder now. I shine my flashlight down and there's a friggen black bear looking up at me. I may have screamed, it was dark and I couldn't tell. The bear didn't move except for his head, which he swiveled up to look at me. His eyes were wide and he looked petrified. I noticed wounds on his forearms and his back. I'm thinking what the hell attacked a bear? Pack of wolves, maybe?
So now I'm thinking I'm way too far from the front door and start edging back. The bear makes this low moaning sound and I hear him go thundering through the woods to the west side of my house. If he's spooked, I'm spoo
ked. I start to hear shit in the woods on the other side of the house and I'm thinking I’ve made a poor choice of weaponry. I stayed a minute longer to see....them coming. It's started. My house is surrounded I don't know how much longer I'll have power. Good luck and God Bl....
I'm so exhausted. We made it through the night. The basement is lost...they...are...in...the...house. We've barricaded the door that leads downstairs—heavy oak, should hold them. But what's disconcerting is that I see the handle TURN from time to time.
It's just Travis, Tracy, Henry, Riley and myself. Maybe we should have done shifts to watch that damned door. I just want to be the first and hopefully last line of defense. I don't know what they are; human once, maybe. Not anymore. If you're reading this, you need to know THEY ARE FAST.
I thought I could keep them from getting inside the basement. Went through two magazines. It looks like a head or a heart shot will stop them. When I turned to pop my 3rd magazine in, they came and they came fast. I barely made it up the stairs ahead of them; felt more than one hand reach and grab for my calf. If Travis hadn't opened the door I guess I would have been a late night snack.
It sickens me to think they're below us. My wife's Jeep is twenty-five feet and five hundred ravenous sub-humans away. We're stuck. I heard sirens about five hours ago, but pretty sure they're not going to make it. Once upon a time I'd wished for a zombie apocalypse. Be careful what you wish for. I don't know if we'll make it through the day.
I guess I figured it wouldn’t end like this. It’s kind of ironic that my last meal is going to be a fucking cherry Pop-Tart. I’m wincing every time I have to take a bite. The basement door is cracking; all efforts to keep that from happening have failed. We have grabbed all the ammo and guns and have retreated (fuck that—Marines don’t retreat, we’ve withdrawn to readjust!) to the upstairs. We didn’t even bother grabbing any food other than some snacks since this was not going to be a long withdrawn siege. Unlike Zombie Fallout 1 I do not have the luxury of being able to remove stairs.
Travis and I are shoulder to shoulder and will blow zombies to whatever maker they belong. Tracy, after a quick lesson, will be our re-loader. We’ve got enough bullets to coat my living room floor in six inches of enemy blood. If and when we finally fall even the zombies will have to take pause at the losses they suffered. If this were Middle-earth they would sing songs of our heroics.
Travis stiffened and I sagged as we heard the basement door splinter. It’s showtime. We locked the dogs in the master suite bathroom. I hope when the zombies are finished with us they leave them in peace; somehow I could die a tad bit happier if that thought held true. The first zombies that rounded the corner were running so fast they couldn’t make the sharp turn to come up the stairs. More than a few slammed into the far wall. And so it begins as Travis fired the first shot. I think it hit the shoulder of one but it was impossible to tell as we started to light them up. Rounds fired this close were devastating as arms were fractured off and heads ruptured, dripping gray diseased mass across the wooden walls.
More than once my mind began to wander and I wondered how I would get those stains out. They didn’t stop, no matter how many we blew apart, no matter how many times we changed out rifles and handguns, no matter how many times Tracy reloaded magazines and cartridges, they still came. No matter how many times that fucking cherry Pop-Tart threatened to reemerge, they came.
So far the zombies hadn’t got past mid-way on the stairs, still entirely too close…what’s that five, seven feet max? I thought for the briefest of seconds we would have to retreat to the master bedroom. At that point it would have been a waiting game. This was our Alamo; our final stand was here and if we left this spot and we might as well turn the guns on ourselves and save the zombies the trouble.
It’s a standoff right now. They’re slowing up trying to slog through the death and detritus of their dead, and we’re exhausted. Thankfully we’re not yet running low on ammo, but the zombies seem to be in endless supply. I’ll write again when I can. Is it Christmas yet? We could use a miracle.
Been up forty-eight hours straight. I can barely focus. There were times in the Corps during battle I’d stayed awake for seventy-two hours. But that was 6000 miles and 25 years ago. I’m a different man than I was then; I cared for little, including myself. This constant worry for my wife and son (and dogs) is draining. There is no cessation in fighting when the enemy needs not regroup, re-plan or reform, they just come unmercifully. There will be no quarter, no surrender, and no Christmas greeting across the span of the battlefield.
We were spent, physically and emotionally and it didn’t help that we had all suffered a fair amount of hearing damage from so many shots. Dialog was difficult. “Running low on 9 millimeter!” Tracy shouted. That was fine with me as gripping the small Glock 26 was murder on my hand and forearms anyway and if I didn’t damn near have the thing pressed against a zombie head it was difficult to hit something.
I could hear Henry barking off to my left. That was unusual although he could be hungry or Riley was beefing so bad he couldn’t breathe. Both were highly likely. “Did you hear that?” Tracy yelled.
If she was talking about the mini-explosions that heralded the outgoing trajectory of a bullet, I’m pretty sure I’d heard it about twelve hundred times. I’d sent Travis into the master bedroom to see if he could get some sleep. We were going to have to do this in shifts if we were to have a chance. Typical teenager—he was somehow able to sleep. The dead zombies had piled up so high they became an effective barrier against a bull rush of the smelly bastards.
Tracy even had some time to sit down next to me on the top step and take some shots. She kept closing her eyes as she pulled the trigger, maybe because she was afraid of the noise or just in the off chance she would hit something and have to see the devastation the bullet caused. Either way I didn’t blame her.
I laughed.
“You laughing at me?” Tracy asked as she almost fell over from her last shot.
“Hell no, my enemy is to the front so I see no reason to have one from the side.”
“Then what?” she asked.
“I’ve written, what, ten books on zombies?”
“Probably.”
“I guess I thought I’d be better at this.”
“We’re still alive,” she said tenderly.
“Yeah that’s a positive. I’m going to be pissed if we die though.”
“What?”
“Do you know how many readers I’ve told that if I’m the first zombie or the first victim in a zombie apocalypse I’m going to be ripped?”
“I think they’ll understand.”
“Did you hear that?” I asked Tracy as I stood up.
“Gunshots. Our neighbors?”
We live in the sticks so “neighbors” is a term used loosely. I’ve lived in houses where I could have reached out my window and borrowed my neighbor’s ketchup (not that I would, mind you. Who knows where that bottle’s been). We’d heard shooting from houses in our general vicinity but nothing for a long while.
“Mark, you in there?”
‘It’s Ron!” Tracy and I exclaimed at the same time.
“Hon.”
“On it,” Tracy answered.
Our bathroom window overlooked the driveway, the only viable approach. Although I guess that was wrong as the zombies had materialized through the dense thorn laden woods. Enough to stop a sane human, but not so with our latest dinner guests.
I could hear them exchanging words, but like I said earlier I had suffered no small measure of hearing loss since this started. Having attended concerts since the ripe old age of twelve I didn’t have much I could afford to lose going into this battle.
“We’ve got problems,” Travis said, coming out of the bedroom rubbing his eyes.
“You don’t say?” I asked him, popping off the head of what looked like a twelve-year-old girl.
I retched a little inside my mouth. That was about the sixth or seventh time I tasted tha
t fucking cherry Pop-Tart and it got worse each and every time. Serves me right for eating Devil’s fare.
“Uncle Ron’s leaving.”
“Fuck. Sorry.” What I thought was the cavalry was merely a message delivery.
Tracy’s head was hanging low when she came back out of the bedroom.
“He had to leave. They started to surround his car.”
Ron’s car was a 1992 Subaru that was one pot hole away from its final resting place.
“Did he tell you anything?” I asked.
“Yeah, he came here hoping to get more guns. There are zombies everywhere.”
“Wonderful.”
Then our Christmas miracle started to happen (that would be a heavy dose of sarcasm laced with dread). Our post and beam house was starting to protest LOUDLY over the number of uninvited we had in our living room and our staircase. A huge snap that was equal to or greater in sound than any of the guns we had fired exploded in the basement. I could only imagine that it was some sort of structural beam as the house was being tested to the limits of its design and it was about to come up wanting.
“What was that?” Tracy cried. “Is someone in the basement?”
“I think our house is getting ready to fold in on itself,” I said in despair. “Get some warm clothes on.”
“Why? Where are we going?” Tracy asked.
Travis knew and had already headed into my closet to grab some hoodies.
“The roof,” I told her.
“What? Why?”
“Hon, this house is going to collapse and we can’t be in here when it does.”