Book 2, "No Sanctuary"

Stay caught up with all your favorite characters as they navigate the world that's been turned upside down by the worldwide zombie virus and the global war for oil-rich lands.

Excerpt from Book 2, "No Sanctuary"

  "They're following the refugee routes," John said, his hands tight on the wheel. "Moving north along the highways where the living have been traveling. Drawn by the scent or the sound or just the general pattern of movement."
  He paused, processing the implications. "Which means anywhere there's been heavy refugee traffic, we're going to encounter more infected. Every highway, every major road—they'll all have infected following them like sharks following a blood trail."
  Priscilla's hand moved to the shotgun between them, her fingers resting on the stock in a gesture that had become habitual. "How many miles to your mother's place?"
  "From here? Maybe two hundred and fifty. Five hours in normal conditions." John glanced at the fuel gauge—still three-quarters full after the stop in Cortez. "But nothing's normal. We'll have to go through or around several more towns. Durango's the biggest, maybe fifty thousand people normally. Then, smaller places as we get further north and east."
  Ahead, the darkness began to resolve into shapes as they approached the outskirts of Mancos. Buildings appeared first as darker masses against the night sky, then took on definition as the headlights illuminated their facades. A gas station, dark and apparently abandoned. A small strip mall with an empty parking lot. A church with a steeple that stood like an accusatory finger pointing at the heavens.
  Then a sign appeared in the headlights, reflective letters glowing bright: MANCOS, COLORADO - POPULATION 1,200
  Twelve hundred people. A small community. The kind of place where everyone knew everyone, where the high school graduating class probably numbered in the dozens, where the biggest local event was perhaps the county fair or a rodeo.
  And according to Rodriguez, the infection had torn through it like wildfire through dry timber.
  "It looks quiet here," Priscilla said, her voice carrying a note of fragile hope.
  "Yeah," John replied, his jaw tight. "I don't like it at all. We've only seen a few infected wandering around out here. Where's the rest?"