Book Excerpt: The Zombie Who Left The Building

By and copyright of Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

Concept art by Stephen Mooney

The zombie rollercoaster continues as the undead continue to give us their view of being a rotting corpse under the control of Mother Nature.
This time round we meet Comic Book zombie and the zombie who thinks the ending of Toy Story 3 is sacrilege. What happens when a zombie’s faith in God is rocked to its very foundation and why is the spirit of Elvis Presley still going strong in the vast
roaming herds?
A zombie tells why the covid pandemic was much preferable to being undead and why having a club foot makes you feel normal as a zombie. Plus more zombie characters than you can shake a stick at.

Available on Amazon now!

The Zombie Who Left the Building

For all the royalty on this planet there was really only ever one real king worth honouring.

No member of any majestic household has ever lit up the world like he did nor touched peoples’ lives long after his death. He was flawed like the rest of us but when you have that much indefinable raw power to reach into peoples’ souls from every level of society, there will always be a price that comes with it. Even kings bow before the will of gods.

As I said he touched millions across the globe of all colours and creeds. There are numerous movies and books about him and thousands of impersonators.

 I am one of those people. I am Elvis Tuhoe Presley to honour my heritage as a Maori from Brisbane Australia. It is a tribute to the impact the King had on me and celebration of my culture to the world. The legend that is Elvis Aaron Presley from Tupelo Mississippi lives on in me.

I am the zombie who left the building.

As a kid growing up I quickly became painfully aware of racism. Others saw us as different and had made no attempt to hide their dislike of us. It didn’t understand with me as a child why my friends at school had different skin colours. We had so much fun together learning and playing without a care in the world. Yet when the parents arrived at the end of the school day, everything changed. Something furtive cloaked in the adults’ customary smiles and small talk descended at the school gates in the afternoon. There was a shiver in the atmosphere. I could see something flicker behind my father’s eyes every time he came to pick me and my sister up. It was a shadow that was never there when we were at home.

Even in their weak attempts to maintain a pleasant façade towards my father or whichever member of my family picked me up from school, it danced like a smoky wraith around them. It wasn’t just Maori I noticed but Aboriginal too. My young brain simply failed to process it. It didn’t affect us kids the way it did the grown ups so maybe it was a grown up thing we would have when we were adults. I just knew the white folks seemed to look at us very differently. While I know it wasn’t every white person but that was the impression I got as a child. My friends were my friends full stop regardless of what colour they were.

We all played soldiers, football, swopped collector cards, rounders, cricket, super heroes and every other game anyone has ever played while at school. Our adventures in the woods and creeks behind the school were all of us together, all for one and one for all. We were the kids that fought the smugglers and stopped the alien invasions that came form the creepy woods.

Our lives were a fictional cross between Stranger Things and the Goonies as we set up our secret hides in the woods. It was our own clubhouse built from wood and scrap metal we found in the copses; our sanctuary that looking back was how the world should have been. We were just kids from different backgrounds seeing nothing but the friends before them and the imaginary world we created around us. We were the team that would stand against the monsters. As time passed what we didn’t understand was just how the world would creep in and send us all off in different directions. We were friends forever like those guys out of It but how little we knew.

I always thought racism was just aimed at black , Indian or Chinese people. It was something that dominated the news but little did I know that the foul bile of racism was a poison apple that spared no one.

As I got older and saw the divide through older and slightly wiser eyes, my obvious questions of why we were being treated differently brought me no concrete answers. After all, this country had always been our home long before the white men came.. Those that openly practiced racism were descended from those that had entered our land long ago brazenly and without permission. Prison ships had brought them from other countries to our shores centuries before. Mrs Trent told us so in our history classes. Others had emigrated here over time too seeking a better life but had arrived with this attitude of entitlement to another’s home. We had welcomed them yet they had spread like a virus. Now our communities were diluted from what we once had and looked down upon.

Doctor Who Tegan’s Surprise Reunion trailer

By Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

Copyright BBC release

To celebrate the upcoming release of Doctor Who season 20 Collection, the BBC have released a special trailer featuring Tegan. She receives a mysterious summons from someone from her past but it leads to a deadly foe she thought long gone.

Season 20 featured elements from the past in every story to celebrate the twentieth anniversary including Omega, The Mara, The Master, The Brigadier and culminating in the Five Doctors. Sadly the planned Dalek story fell through but would appear in season 21. I love these trailers as they add to the whole mythos and the stories of the companions after they leave the Tardis. It’s nice to see Tegan again so soon after her triumphant return in the Power of the Doctor. With Melanie Bush’s imminent return alongside the 15th Doctor, long may these returns continue.

Book Excerpt: Zombie Blues 3: Orphan at 47 Zombie

By and copyright of Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

The zombie rollercoaster continues as the undead continue to give us their view of being a rotting corpse under the control of Mother Nature.
This time round we meet Comic Book zombie and the zombie who thinks the ending of Toy Story 3 is sacrilege. What happens when a zombie’s faith in God is rocked to its very foundation and why is the spirit of Elvis Presley still going strong in the vast
roaming herds?
A zombie tells why the covid pandemic was much preferable to being undead and why having a club foot makes you feel normal as a zombie. Plus more zombie characters than you can shake a stick at.

Available on Amazon now!

47 Year Old Orphan Zombie

Do you know what song I really hate? That bloody one from Annie, Tomorrow.

Every time I hear it I could smash my fist through a wall in anger. The very first thing that immediately comes to mind upon hearing  it is all singing and all dancing orphans and how great it is because the sun will come out tomorrow. Well of course it bloody will because little Annie was adopted and loved by a super rich guy. But it’s not like that in real life for us orphans especially a forty seven year old one. It’s shit!

Yeah I can hear you all ry that a lot of kids in need of a home get adopted which is great, it really is but who is going to adopt me?

I’m an orphan.

Both of my parents are dead. When my fantastic mother took her last breath eleven years after my father, the shining sun went dark for me. It can fucking come out tomorrow all it bloody wants. It’s going to anyway but it’ll never ever shine quite as brightly as it did before that day. The definition of an orphan is a person that has lost both parents through death. According to our society when we hear the word orphan we immediately picture some kid waiting to be accepted from a children’s home into a family that love and nurture them. You never think of people like me as an orphan. No, I’m just somebody whose parents died when I was an adult. I have my wife and three children so at least I have my family but I would never be classed by society as an orphan.

Well I am and forever will be. Don’t get me wrong, adopt kids who are desperate for a happy home or at least foster them; my God it is the least you can do if you have it in your heart.

It’s a bloody brilliant amazing thing to do and life changing in so many ways.

But only those who are like me, adults who have lost both parents know what I mean. We don’t count in the world’s eyes because most adults have their own families by the time thus happens to them but we feel like children; we are orphaned. It will happen to all of us eventually so if you are lucky enough to still have at least one parent then I hope it is a long time before you know what I mean.

Death of a parent at any age is hard but for the ones classed as men and women it is different. I have never really grown up. My wife tells everyone that she has four kids; three she gave birth to and one she married. I still love all the things I did as a kid. My wife rolls her eyes and moans if I buy comic books or action figures. There’s nothing I like more than wandering around the toy shops at Christmas taking in all the lights and festive decorations in town. My mother chided me one day moaning at the fact I liked a particular song; one again classed by our society as not for my age. I told her with a cheeky grin that I had hair on my balls, had a wife who bore me three kids; I work forty hours a week in a crap job and pay a mortgage. I have goddam sex!

“How much more grown up would you like me to be mother?”

She couldn’t answer and she hated anyone getting one over on her. Life is hard enough these days so to keep your passions and hobbies alive as part of your inner child is vital in keeping you young. But I’ll never again see that wrinkling face crease in grudging defeat. It was of course the complete opposite when she won over me chastising one of my kids. How dare you ever tell one of her darling precious grandkid what to do. She had something we did not; an arsenal of memories where we did the same things we dared scold our kids for doing

TW presents Stormtroopers 2: The Seige

Copyright Michael Fitzgerald

A couple of years ago Irish and Sar Wars fans were introduced to the wonderful fan made Star Wars short Stormtroopers by Michael Fitzgerald. If you missed it click here to see it https://timewarriors.co.uk/2023/03/06/tw-presents-stormtroopers-the-original-fan-film/

The sequel Stormtroopers 2: The Seige debuted back in March at Dublin Comic Con and which has been doing the rounds at the film festivals since. We are delighted to have permission to share this with you guys so check it out and leave your feedback in the comments below.

Book Excerpt: Zombie Blues 3: Far From Home Zombie

By and copyright Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

The zombie rollercoaster continues as the undead continue to give us their view of being a rotting corpse under the control of Mother Nature.
This time round we meet Comic Book zombie and the zombie who thinks the ending of Toy Story 3 is sacrilege. What happens when a zombie’s faith in God is rocked to its very foundation and why is the spirit of Elvis Presley still going strong in the vast
roaming herds?
A zombie tells why the covid pandemic was much preferable to being undead and why having a club foot makes you feel normal as a zombie. Plus more zombie characters than you can shake a stick at.

Available on Amazon now!

Far From Home Zombie

Hell came to Earth the day the apocalypse began. Fires ignited red and gold infernos turning the blue angelic skies dark with wretched dank smoke that smelt of tar and flesh. It clogged the lungs of all those who fell beneath its wraith choking cowl that swept across the land like a dark tsunami. People clawed at their throats as the insidious serpentine smoke poured down into their lungs like an oily liquid. Their screams of the innocent echoed across the land. Blood flowed into once fertile ground and willow trees wept silent tears beneath the burden of yet more human foolishness. If the foliage relied on happiness and joy to grow then they would be mere weeds at this stage. It was a world of fear and dread where the slightest sound could summon cold death swooping in like a vulture. Families were torn apart and the pain of the world was broadcast through the cries of babies.

Now a father would snap his baby’s tiny neck to save the lives of twenty people cowering with the shadow of death mere feet away. I saw it happen. I can’t get it out of my head. I was not prepared for this. It burns my memory even now as a member of the undead. Even zombies get nightmares; some acts disgust even us. The silence after the snap was like a punch in the head. The sound was as delicate as the baby’s neck itself. I watched with numbed shock trying not to scream as acid tears streamed my face as the father closed the limp baby’s eyes as he choked back his own grief. I wanted to throw up but had to hold it down. I can still taste the taste of it in the back of my throat. In the trembling father’s arms I saw every baby I had ever known lying there sacrificed to stop another mass murder. I saw my very own future babies ripped away by the tendril phantoms of this hell. This picture of a proud father cradling his innocent baby should have been one of joy and pride but instead was distorted into a horror movie. I was not prepared for this. They never told me about this.

War is hell was drummed into us but I literally had no idea what bone shattering depravity true hell really could bring.

Now with this shitty damned zombie apocalypse I have been plunged from one war to another. I will never see my family again. I know that; none of my squad will.

Book Excerpt: Zombie Blues 3: The Zombie With All the Answers

By and copyright of Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

The zombie rollercoaster continues as the undead continue to give us their view of being a rotting corpse under the control of Mother Nature.
This time round we meet Comic Book zombie and the zombie who thinks the ending of Toy Story 3 is sacrilege. What happens when a zombie’s faith in God is rocked to its very foundation and why is the spirit of Elvis Presley still going strong in the vast
roaming herds?
A zombie tells why the covid pandemic was much preferable to being undead and why having a club foot makes you feel normal as a zombie. Plus more zombie characters than you can shake a stick at.

Available on Amazon now!

They came to my village in Poland one cold night in November and took my family from me. In an instant my mother sent from a hardy family driven woman and loyal wife to a twisted hideous crone. Her soft unblemished skin mottled like rotten pears, her teeth became fangs and her eyes burned with a hatred born from Satan himself. Alfie, my younger brother’s blood smeared her face and pieces of his flesh were stuck between those incisors. A taloned hand sharply swung out to the side slashing my father’s throat in a second. I will never forget him sinking to his knees, bloodied hands clasped to his throat, with the most startled expression on his face. I can still hear his gargling death throes as his words shattered like glass in his gaping throat. They were calling to me to run but I could not. His bulging eyes screamed at me to flee. His expression was begging God to deliver his only daughter from his demon possessed wife. His mind snapped under the impact of the image of his once loving wife cradling their children, her beautiful voice singing lullabies to the abomination before him that had ripped the throat from one of those same children. His body trembled as his hands fell away from his throat as the life ran out of him as surely as the blood flowed from the mortal wound.  Somehow his survival instincts thought he could stem the bleeding but it was to no avail. The jagged wound was too deep; the jugular severed. His parental natural instinct to save his family was as thick as the growing pool of blood he was kneeling in. It was hopeless. My pale father fell face forward and all I could think of was how his beard tickled when he kissed me goodnight. I still recall that sensation forty seven years later. The memory still brings me comfort and sorrow simultaneously.

Father’s inert body got no attention from the demon as it swung its glare in my direction. I prayed that God would save me and send an angel against this monster. If there were demons like this in the world then God’s warriors couldn’t be too far behind. What had once been my mother advanced towards me, jaws snapping, yellow eyes burning with pus.

Suddenly, the door burst open in an explosion of splinters. A short rotund man with thick blond hair and clad in black stormed into our log cabin. Whirling round, the demon shrieked at him, blood spraying from her hissing jaws like misty dew. I recall to this day how beautiful that actually was; the droplets twinkling like gems as the light caught it.

In that moment I learned that even in horror there is a certain beauty. No matter what the demons try to do to us or try to twist our normality into a weapon against us, Mother Nature would always find a way to reclaim their poison into something beautiful.

I glimpsed a telltale band of white round the man’s neck. He was repeating something, chanting words I was not yet familiar with. Of course I knew right there what the man was.

God truly had answered my prayers.

Three other people flanked the priest also chanting, two men and a woman; three priests and a nun.

All three men were dressed in black. One of the blond priest’s companions was Oriental, the other a man of colour. The nun did not wear the traditional garb of the Sisterhood. Her shiny ginger hair was cut short and bobbed yet not long enough to be grabbed by hand. Her usual holy traditional dress had been replaced by a tight all in one suit with a leather belt round the waist attached to which were weapons. Both wrists were ringed by bracelets like plain silver handcuffs from which extended curved blades with the merest flex of her wrist. She moved like no other nun I had ever met. Her steely gaze was locked on to the demon. She was so agile and impossibly flexible with almost inhuman moves that confused the demon. Confronting the demon, the rotund blond man threw a spray of holy water at the snarling demon making it recoil like it had been stung by acid. Long nailed hands clawed at her face as the green tinged flesh smoked and bubbled. Leaping upwards towards the ceiling, it tried to flee with a screech.

Book Excerpt: The Time Warriors Red Water: Summer’s End

By and copyright of Owen Quinn author of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues

Available on Amazon now!

“The Celts are master storytellers,” he reassured her. “It’s just Halloween except the supernatural is as real to them as this house.” He smiled. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. Besides, what if it is real? Wouldn’t that be amazing?”

“When does it start?” asked Tyran.

“At midnight the bone fires will be lit as the veil falls. The slain animals bones will be fed to the flames and every home will be lit from that. The souls of our loved ones will feast with us and Samhain will be celebrated.” 

Betony came back putting bowls of berries and turnip stew in front of them with plates of cheese and bread. She filled their goblets with some sort of beer which made them grimace with its bitter taste. Varran’s eyes flashed at them to eat and drink respectfully.

The cheese and bread was surprisingly more than edible and they wolfed it down. Tyran wasn’t fussed on the stew but forced it down respectfully. Betony went to clear the dishes but Jacke stopped her with a light touch to the back of the hand.

“Please. Let us, it’s the least we can do.” Betony bowed gratefully. Jacke turned to Michael. “Clear the dishes. You too Varran.” Both men looked at each other startled but did as they were bid. Betony nodded approvingly at the girls.

“All the turnips have been placed and all fires are being extinguished Failbhe.” The Chieftain nodded.

Sionn arrived back and came respectfully into his Chieftain’s home, bowing on one knee. Failbhe looked satisfied as he reported the Druids had approved his request.

“What request would that be?” asked Jacke. He turned and gave her a strange look, his eyes glinting mischievously.

“I took the liberty of sending word to the Druids of your arrival Jacke. They would be honoured if a child of Samhain with second sight were to meet with them and give her blessing to the battle ahead.”

Jacke exchanged a worried glance with Varran who stood by Sionn’s shoulder. She had visions of being sacrificed or some dark ritual being invoked with her being the central ingredient. With a deft gesture, Varran stepped before the Chieftain.

“I wonder Chieftain if I may be allowed to accompany Jacke. I have heard about the Druids but would greatly appreciate this opportunity to meet and talk with them.” Failbhe picked up on the pleading in his voice. Failbhe stood and gripped him by the shoulders.

“I am in your debt Warrior Varran for bringing such honour to us. It would only be right for Jacke’s mentor to accompany her. Sionn will also go with you as my personal guard. Night is falling and you must be protected as guests.” He looked to his soldier. “Take a carriage, it will be more befitting. But be warned, the druids hold their secrets dear. Even I do not know them at all.”

“Excellent!” Varran declared, rubbing his hands together. He gestured to the others. “Please help the clan finish any necessary preparations. We’ll be back soon.”

He bit his bottom lip as he spied their less than happy expressions.