Query: HOUND IN BLOOD AND BLACK

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Dear Agent,

The undead are everywhere in popular culture, from video and board games to novels and films. Even my two-year-old nephew claims that zombies live in grandpa’s garage. HOUND IN BLOOD AND BLACK is speculative fiction, and explores a new kind of future where existing isn’t just about running from and killing the undead, but about the survivors who turn humanity’s leftovers into something spectacular.

The world is dirty. The centers of the continents are filled with dust and undead. Clean water and peaceful sleep are things of the past. After all, a barricade of rusted metal, broken glass and people with guns isn’t always enough to keep the dead out. And for some, it’s all about letting them in.

Kumari is a wrangler, a poacher and a gambler who catches undead and fights them against one another in the pit as gladiators. It’s not pretty, but it’s good enough. All Kumari has ever wanted to do, just like everyone else, is to live and die without becoming a monster.

Kumari’s simple life is tested with a wager against her fiercest rival – a gamble that could cost her everything. The bet yields complicated results and Kumari finds herself in possession of the slave and child-whore Heaven. Granting the girl freedom is the first in an avalanche of events, and Kumari faces the death of a treasured friend after she is forced to pull the trigger. From there, mere survival becomes much more complicated.

As Heaven struggles between the acceptance of misery and the chance to live for herself, Kumari stares in the maw of her greatest fear when she is bitten by an undead and the death she believes so strongly in is threatened.

HOUND IN BLOOD AND BLACK, complete at 101,500 words, is capable of standing on its own, but also leaves the door open for a possible sequel.

I currently work for Costco Wholesale where I write for a magazine, Costco Today, with a circulation of more than 140,000 employees. In January 2009, my short story “Savage” was published in “Monstrous: 20 Tales of Giant Creature Terror” by Permuted Press. I have samples of both my professional writing and fiction posted on my blog at http://www.thescreamingguppy.blogspot.com/.


Thank you for your consideration,

Erin


Hound in Blood and Black


Part I

I remember the first time I met Kumari. I recall, most vividly, that she smelled of gunmetal, blood and death.

I hated her.



Chapter 1

“Harder!”

Kumari screamed the words over the howl of the battered engine. It revved as Bastion punched the gas pedal, dust and pebbles spraying the side of the jeep in peppered graffiti. Driven by the wind, coarse bits of the world clawed her face and scratched the surface of her smoke-glass shades. She tugged the bandana across her nose and lips, turning around to stare at the back of his head.

“I said harder, Bastion.” Her voice barely broke the wind. The driver twisted his neck only an inch to the left, an affirmation that he indeed heard her over the grinding engine. The jeep jumped in speed again, spewing more of the broken earth into the sky.

She stepped down from behind the seats, striding easily through the back of the moving bed. Bending low, she scooped the collar from her feet, turning the seven foot pole around in her grip. She checked the prongs at the tip of the weapon, satisfied that the horseshoe was intact and strong. Only a fool, or an inexperienced wrangler, would jump the bed with a broken collar.

“Left!”

His response was swift, and the jeep veered hard to the side, tires skidding and jumping over the roadless plain. She caught herself with a hard foot to the wheel well, the span of the collar keeping her upright as it rammed against the crossover bars above her head. Despite the murky air, she saw her quarry, clear against the horizon.

“Again, harder!” Her throat was dry. It was only daybreak, but the heat was already climbing. Best to get done and home before noon. The jeep jerked again, this time right, and she checked her arsenal as they closed the gap. Handgun, kukri, rifle, bootblade and collar. Her shields, the gauntlets that covered her fingers to her mid-bicep and metal boots that stood to her upper thigh, were in place and secure. She flexed her hand around the collar pole. She remembered a time when she thought the armor heavy.

Today she didn’t feel the weight when she jumped.

The landing jarred her knees, but she rolled with it as she’d practiced for years. She was on her feet in a heartbeat, grunting as her armored feet dug into the drought-ridden soil. Her grip was solid still, the collar light as air.

She heard the jeep and Bastion turning to come back for her over the wind. She inhaled the exhaust, savoring the smell before it faded away and was replaced by the ripe taste of decay. The bandana was to block the unpleasant scent, but she always felt it limited her capacity when she hunted. And while she knew her prey understood little, she still wanted them to see her smile when she won.

She was running, the pounding of her stride lost in the ocean of noise. The hunted paused, its shambling canter stumbling to an unbalanced halt. It smelled her. Kumari licked her lips and ran harder.

Less than twenty more feet.

The shape, human and hunched over, finished its rotation, facing full on the incoming attack. She planted the spike of the collar in the dirt, using her weight and momentum, to vault through the air.

Her weighted feet slammed into the undead’s chest, flattening the creature to the dirt. She bellowed as they connected, the cry coming from deep in her belly. They both collided hard, but she was ready. She was quicker. She was alive.

On her feet before the monster moved, she lifted the collar high up and above her head, before driving it around the neck of her catch. The undead flailed, roaring and moaning in the broken voice of what was once a man. She wrinkled her nose at the smell and sight of one this close. The pole of the collar vibrated in the hair, flapping like an empty flagpole.

She backed away, leisurely taking off her glasses as she watched the undead struggle. As she tucked the sunglasses on the front of her tank, she ran her other metal-cased hand across her forehead. The heated metal stung her skin, but it kept the sweat and salt out of her eyes. She cracked her neck, a tangle of braided black hair slipping forward over her shoulder.

She sunk slowly to her knees, a pace away from her catch, and forced herself to swallow the thickness in her mouth. As she considered it, the sun warmed what was exposed of her tanned skin, her ability to burn under the rays vanquished years ago.

She didn’t turn around at the sound of the jeep pulling up behind her, or even at the sound of Bastion’s footsteps as he walked over to gauge her handiwork. She was thinking.

“It’s thin, don’t you think?”

His voice was gruff, but light. She turned her head, cupping a hand over her eyes to block the light. Bastion shifted to his right, positioning his mass between her and the rising sun. She lowered her hand, staring into his face.

“So am I.”

A grin tugged at the edge of Bastion mouth, before he shrugged his shoulders in retraction.

“You’re the wrangler, Kumari. Not me. If you think it’s a good catch, let’s pack it and go.” Bastion peeled back the sleeve of his tattered windbreaker, staring into the face of a solar watch. “Rem’s up by now. I’m sure he’s wondering where we are.”

Kumari snorted, shaking her head as she turned to the flopping body.

“He’s a brilliant man. I’m sure he can guess.” Kumari reached a hand out to grab one of the undead’s jerking limbs. The muscle tissue was soft, denting under the pressure of her hand. The thing roared, and with its predictably above-human strength, it tore easily from her grip. The undead left the meat of its forearm behind, draped over Kumari’s palm. A vicious stench wafted up, and Bastion took a step back with a frown.

Kumari sighed, hauling herself slowly to her feet and dropping the chunk of rancid meat next to the struggling corpse.

“Mushy.” Bastion wrinkled his nose. “It’s been dead too long, or found a damp place to keep home.”

She nodded, reaching out to grab the waving pole.

“You’re right. This one’s no good. It’ll never make it in the pits.” Kumari twisted the collar, snapping the undead’s neck with a single flick of her wrist. She leaned her weight against the pole, easily separating the head from the shoulders once the neck was shattered. The sound was one of tearing meat, tendons stretching and snapping apart. The flailing ceased. “How long do we have left?”

“Noon is four hours off. Right now we’re two hours out from the barricades.” Bastion held out a hand as he spoke, and Kumari passed the collar into his palm. Together they walked back to the jeep, leaving the bloodless, rotting corpse to bake in the sun and be eaten by vultures. Black wings were already dotting the horizon, aggressively coming for a meal.

“Plenty of time.”

Bastion raised a brow, looking down at Kumari. She was fierce, of all things, but he still stood nearly two feet taller. He watched her as she climbed into the back of the jeep, checking for the things she always ignored. She appeared hydrated, no signs of fatigue, no injuries from the scuffle. Of course, that collaring had been flawless, as most of hers were.

He watched as she pulled up her hair, winding the tangled dreads away from her face. It was normal, he knew, for women to keep that hairstyle, at least the few who didn’t run in the prostitution rings or keep house. Glints of silver caught in the dim sunlight, the marks of her victories in the arena for all to see, displayed in the form of the valuable metal decorating her hair. To Bastion it was less trouble to simply shave his head with grease and a dull blade.

“What?” Kumari caught his attention, narrowing her gaze just before she slipped the sunglasses over her dark eyes. Bastion shrugged, leaving the gnawing nostalgia behind with the dead as he climbed back into the driver’s seat.