Saturday, April 30, 2016

#AtoZ - Z is for Zombies -- Of Course!

Welcome to the 7th annual A to Z Blog Challenge in April!  
Come back daily for more exciting posts and even some giveaways!
Check out the 1000+ blogs on the list! 

Today is the letter Z for Zombies – of course!

If you read this blog, you know that I am obsessed with zombies. And what’s not to love? The best part about the undead creatures is that they help us understand what it means to be human. We see all of our horrible, awful, primal traits reflected in their rotting forms. When humans are thrown into a survival situation, they often do terrible, evil things to each other to ensure they come out alive.

I’ve written several books about zombie, including fiction (Life After the Undead, Death to the Undead, and Finding Eden) and nonfiction (Undead Obsessed: Finding Meaning in Zombies).

Currently, I’m working on another young adult zombie series, and I’m almost done editing the first book.  

I’m not exactly sure when it will be coming out, but I’m hoping next year. I have a couple other releases that are coming out this year (not zombie books), so I want to give them a chance before releasing another into the world. I will let you know when it’s close!

What’s your favorite zombie book or movie?

Thursday, April 28, 2016

#AtoZ - Dogs & #Zombies - EXceptional Young Adult Fiction

Welcome to the 7th annual A to Z Blog Challenge in April!  
Come back daily for more exciting posts and even some giveaways!
Check out the 1000+ blogs on the list! 

Today is the letters X and Y for EXceptional YA fiction 

The fun of developing a character is then finding new adventures for them to get into.

That's the case with my part-zombie girl Becca from GIRL Z: My Life as a Teenage Zombie.

In this case, I had her not only fighting off a few full-zombies, but facing one of her biggest fears - dogs. And how better to do it than have her come face-to-snout with a cute little white German Shepherd puppy. 

When the puppy is lost, Becca has to face that fear and solve a mystery of where other dogs have been disappearing to in "Puppy Love and Zombies" by C.A. Verstraete  in the anthology, Young Adventurers: Heroes, Explorers & Swashbucklers.


By C.A. Verstraete
    Most of us had been too busy surviving, and trying to avoid the roaming hordes of ravenous undead, to notice something else was going on.
    Yeah, like the rest wasn't bad enough? It was, but this new thing nearly did what the mutated Z virus didn't already do—kill me.
    The morning started great when my Uncle Franco brought this beautiful, year-old white German Shepherd puppy over for us to meet. Unlike my first dog experience (more on that later), the puppy bounced around, played, barked, and most important, didn't make me afraid.
    Call it love at first lick.
    For once, I forgot all the zombie stuff that had plagued me for the past year. I threw a ball and laughed at how she ran and brought it right back. “Ooh, she’s so cute and smart! I’m going to call her Fluffy! Is she mine? Can I keep her, can I?”
    I begged and begged, though I knew my Tia (Spanish for Auntie) Imelda already loved her as much as I did. Then we heard the yells outside. My uncle's cries of “look out!” came too late. My cousin Carm opened the door and jumped back at sight of the chaos in front of our house. Our neighbor Mr. Thompson screamed, “go back in, shut the door!” as two of the zombies came at him.
    In the last few months, most of the full Zs had been rounded up and exterminated, but a few wanderers like these kept us on our toes—at least they should’ve. My uncle grabbed his gun and fired at the monsters. The excitement was too much—the puppy panicked and pulled out of her collar. I screamed as she darted out the door and ran off in the opposite direction.
    “NO-NO!” I yelled and tried to catch her, but she was gone. I would've followed if not for the strong arms of my cousin and aunt holding me back.
    “No, Becca honey, let her go,” Tia implored. “She'll come back or someone will find her.”
    “No, she won't,” I cried. “She won't!”
    And she didn't.
My aunt's friend Amelia from down the street stopped by later and let us know my suspicions had some truth to them. As a nurse, she had a way of hearing what was going on in the community.
   “Sure glad they got those creatures.” She gave a mock shiver. “The National Guard’s been doin’ a fine job of watching out for stragglers, so I can’t imagine how those two made it into town.”
   I shrugged and tried to be polite, but my heart wasn’t in it.
   Amelia reached out and patted my chin. “Oh sweetie, I wanted to see how you're doing. I saw that cute little dog of yours run by my house. I tried to stop her, but couldn't catch her.”
   She paused for a minute. The concerned look on her face did make me pay attention. Amelia was a sweet, caring lady, who also told us when she heard something we should know about. What made her even more special to me was that of all the people in our neighborhood, she’d been the only one who welcomed me back home after I’d been infected. She treated me the same as always, like she was my aunt.
   “Amelia? Is something wrong?”

   The older woman paused a second, then leaned in, and looked me straight in the eye. “At first I didn’t think much of it, but now, well, I’m not so sure. Two of my other neighbors' dogs are missing, too. One ran off and never came back. He told me his dog never went further than the house next door before this zombie thing hit. My other neighbor said her dog was in the yard and when she went to call her in, the dog was gone, and the gates were still locked.”

Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Lizzie Borden #Zombie Hunter #1LineWed - The Beginning

Lizzie Borden, Zombie Hunter is my new book coming out this summer/fall.

For #1LineWed - 1 Line Wednesday - here's how it begins: 

NOTE: There is a historic news paragraph that begins each chapter, as well . 

Chapter One
Q. You saw his face covered with blood?

A. Yes sir. 
(--Lizzie Borden at inquest, August 9-11, 1892, Fall River Courtroom )

August 4, 1892


Lizzie Borden drained the rest of her tea, set down her cup, and listened to the thumps and the sound of furniture moving upstairs. 

And one of the creepier lines:
Then Lizzie spotted it: the worn hatchet Father had left behind after he’d last brought in the newly chopped wood. 


Every city has its secrets…

Everyone thinks Lizzie Borden murdered her father and stepmother one hot August morning in 1892 for the oldest of reasons—greed, social status, frustration… But what if she did it because she had to?

Discovering Mr. and Mrs. Borden have become zombies thrusts Lizzie into a horrific world where the walking dead are part of a shocking conspiracy to infect not only Fall River, Massachusetts, but also the world beyond. Now Lizzie enters the fight, vowing to do everything she can to protect her sister, Emma, and her hometown, from this horrid scourge.

But who really killed the Bordens—and why? Lizzie and Emma try to unravel the mystery, even as Lizzie faces the gallows for murder and another fear: what role did her father have in these horrors?

Nowhere in nineteenth-century Fall River is safe from these nightmarish ghouls or the evil forces controlling them.

Yet, for Lizzie, uncovering her city’s—and family’s—secrets may come at a terrible price…

#AtoZ - W is for Wrath #horror

Welcome to the 7th annual A to Z Blog Challenge in April!  
Come back daily for more exciting posts and even some giveaways!
Check out the 1000+ blogs on the list! 

Today is W for Wrath

Today we welcome horror author Chantal Noordeloos, who shares how real life inspires her fiction. 

About the Book:
“Fatima Oni never had a chance for a good life. Born into poverty, her hopes of anything better are dashed when she’s given away as a child bride to her abusive uncle. Her days and nights become a living hell on earth, and things grow from bad to worse when Fate rips her children away from her. Can she keep turning the other cheek when faced with the ultimate loss, or will she give in to the wrath that boils inside her and take her fight for retribution to Hell and beyond?” - Even Hell Has Standards: Wrath

By Chantal Noordeloos
What on earth possessed me to start a series about human darkness? I’m not going to lie, the Even Hell Has Standards series will probably be one of the most difficult things I will ever write. Whenever I come up with these stories I cry bitter, ugly tears, curl up in a ball, hugging my own arms, and curse myself for needing to write this. I promise you, my heart is not made of stone, and I take no enjoyment out of tormenting my poor characters.

And yet… they have stories I need to tell. I think with Even Hell Has Standards—more than anything I’ve written so far—I have a point to make. So, I travel into the proverbial depths of Nigeria—from the safety of my computer and imagination—and face the reality that somewhere out there, there’s a girl like Fatima Oni, who leads a life that makes me lose faith in humanity… and I tell her story.

The whole series started with this image I had in my head of Lucifer. I won’t give too much away about his character, I’ll let you read that in the books. Through him I formed my own version of Hell, which inspired me to look into the human horrors. We all—myself included—like to write stories about monsters, ghosts, or even serial killers. I wanted to dig deeper with this series, and touch upon the taboo topics that make us uncomfortable.

The scariest part of my book? Not Hell, or any of the supernatural parts I put in it… but that I’ve based parts of it on reality. The poster I describe in the doctor’s office exists, as do the horrible conditions that some of these child mothers have to deal with. These young women have stories that set the hairs on the back of my neck on end.

My only hope is that despite the bleakness of this novelette, I still manage to entertain. No, that’s not true, it’s not my only hope. I also hope that my writing will ‘touch’ people (in the non-physical sense), and that will make them think. It’s my desire to create stories that the reader can’t just walk away from, but that will mull over in their minds and maybe even change their lives… even if it’s such a small change they barely notice it. I guess I’m just ambitious *wicked grin*

Even Hell HasStandards: Wrath is the second novelette in the series, following Pride. Each story is written as a standalone tale, but they do strengthen each other, and I recommend that if you like one, you read the others too.

* Hear Chantal narrate her excerpt or read it below. 
** Don't forget to comment to win an e-copy of Wrath. Be sure to leave an email to contact you.

Ikenna sounds faint and far away to me. The high tones of my child’s voice are muffled by the rushing sound that throbs in my ears. My heartbeat is fading, and I’m sickly aware of it. I try to lift my arms to console my son. It takes effort to open my cracked, bleeding lips—they’re a mess from when I took a fall, but the pain is nothing compared to that of my shredded abdomen—and I try to tell Ikenna to run, but only a faint rasping escapes my battered mouth.
His ten-year-old arms are so warm against my cooling skin. I feel them even through my numbness and pain. His tears run down my face; I’m hyper aware of every part of him that touches me. There is love in this child, and I need to be a mother to him now, but I can’t. My limbs refuse to move, and I am without words.
Large, dark hands the color of coal grab my son’s shoulders. Everything seems to move in slow motion as the hands pull Ikenna away from me with brutal force. I watch my boy’s arms and legs shoot out toward me—trying to hold on to me—as he’s lifted into the air. His face is filled with fright. All I can do is lie here and watch him being taken away by this man. This monster.
Instead of saving my son, I’ve made him an orphan. The people I tried to rescue him from have won. In the back of my mind, the darkness stirs. I would’ve let it win this time—giving in to the anger and the violence—but I’m dying; I’m too weak to do anything.
My vision blurs as something blocks out the sun. It’s a different man. I recognize him; he’s the one I stabbed earlier. The sleeve of his shirt is torn open. Slick blood covers the fabric and the skin underneath. To my satisfaction, I can see the wound I gave him is a mess of raw meat. Yet it’s not enough to stop him. If only my knife had found his chest or throat instead of his arm... if only I had given in to the rage I had felt at the time… if only I had shown him my wrath, just that once. If only….
Lord, I will forever be your servant, but now I wish I would have broken your rules. My darkness could have saved my son.
The man’s speaking to me, but I can’t concentrate on his words enough to make out everything he says. The world around me seems fluid, and I tread the border between this world and the next like a tightrope dancer. The sounds the man makes morph in and out of words, but I pick up just enough to get the meaning. The hatred and contempt show on his face and flow from his lips. I can almost see myself through his eyes—the bloody heap on the floor. To him, I’m barely human. To him, I’m like a dog that has bitten him; perhaps I’m worth even less. I’m only a woman, after all.
Tears run down my face, not because of what this man is going to do to me—I am not afraid, not anymore—but I cry for my son and my daughter. I cry for the life I wanted to give them but couldn’t. I cry because I failed.
My tears stir a rage in the man, and a heavy boot connects with my jaw. A blinding pain turns my vision black. I feel my teeth break, tearing my gums open. More blood fills my mouth, hot and salty, mixing with my saliva.
Inside, the darkness stirs, rearing its head against the sense of injustice that overwhelms me. I am to die for the sins of another. My death will help no one. It will leave my children doomed. My daughter will be raised by her loveless father, and Ikenna… who knows what will become of him?
I glare at the figure that leans over me. He’s speaking to me still, but I don’t care. The darkness inside is too strong now, and I respond by spitting blood into his face. Bits of my broken teeth bounce off his pockmarked skin. He shouts, kicking me in the face again. Then he takes a step back. I assume to wipe away the blood. My blood.
Within a few seconds, his figure blocks out the sun. He kicks me again, in the ribs this time, and the pain shoots through my body. Ribs crack, muscles tear, skin bruises. He kicks again, and again, but I’m fading, floating away from the torment. I have no more fight left in me; even my inner darkness is being lulled by the agony. All I can do is wish for a swift end.
The man above me lifts his foot and holds it there for a few seconds so I can fully appreciate what he’s going to do to me. I’m not shocked, not after what I’ve seen the men do to women who disobey. I’ve seen worse.
His foot rushes down onto my face. My nose breaks with a wet crunch and an explosion of agony wakes me from my lull, blinding me completely. The bone splinters, ripping through the skin, tearing it open wide. Hot blood bursts out and runs over what is left of my face. The second time his foot comes down, I feel the skin on my cheek and jaw split open, igniting another fire that threatens to overwhelm me. The third time, I feel my skull cave in under the pressure, crushing my brain. My body is dead, but somewhere in the depths of it I still exist. I know, however, it’s time to let go of this life.

Tuesday, April 26, 2016

#AtoZ - #Horror V is for Vampire

Welcome to the 7th annual A to Z Blog Challenge in April!  
Come back daily for more exciting posts and even some giveaways! 
Check out the 1000+ blogs on the list! 

Today is V for Vampire

Author Margot Justes talks today about delving into the dark side with her vampire novel, Blood Art.

She says the idea came about during a pitch session. " An agent asked if I could write a vampire story, so of course I said yes. I was intrigued by the idea, and wanted to do something totally different."

It was a switch since Justes usually writes romantic suspense with romantic settings like Paris, Bath and Venice, but she decided to try it. 

"Since I've never read any paranormal stuff, I immersed myself in the genre, and started reading both urban fantasy and romance," she says. "The agent wanted art and vampires through the ages, but I did it from the point of view of one vampire, and one masterpiece. I enjoyed it so much, that I’m now writing a sequel "

About the Book:
 Leonardo da Vinci meets master vampire, Nikolai Volkov. The Mona Lisa tormented him in the past, and plays a pivotal part in Nikolai’s life in modern times, when she threatens the woman he loves above all. 
His attempt to destroy her failed, and she hid her essence in a crack in her own portrait. Leonardo da Vinci, the consummate professional, painted over the split in the wooden plank, and  ensnared  her in the painting. Mona Lisa was trapped.

Undetected, no longer corporeal, but pure energy, the evil spirit imprisoned for centuries, obsessed by the vampire she turned, gains strength and plots her ultimate revenge.

Now living in the twenty-first century, Nikolai knows she seeks escape. He must at all cost, protect Devane Redding from the ancient demon, who wants to possess him once again, and destroy his only chance at happiness with the sculptor he loves above all.

Will he succeed in keeping his hard earned freedom? Can he destroy the demon before she destroys his life, and kills the one woman who matters?  Will he even recognize the new corporeal entity that holds her energy? 

** Comment about your favorite vampire and why for a chance to win 1 of 2 ebook copies of Blood Art. Be sure to include an email to contact you.

Excerpt from Chapter One of Blood Art:

Florence, Italy 1503
“I am a vampire, Leonardo.”
“I am well aware of that fact Nikolai, but you have the soul of an artist.”
“I repeat. I am a vampire. And make no mistake—I have no soul.”
As a course for survival, Nikolai lost his soul centuries ago, but there was no reason in belaboring the point. Leonardo da Vinci was entitled to his belief.
Nikolai stood in the middle of the cavernous room and looked around him. Flickering candles cast shadows on the walls. A massive wooden desk was shoved against bare brick, one end piled with old rags coated in deep and rich colors. Leonardo's palette lay on the floor recklessly abandoned, and paint splashes had spilled onto the wooden floor, filling the wide cracks between the boards. A stale oil smell permeated the room; used candles were everywhere, surrounded by mounds of spent wax. A few books were stacked up on the floor against another wall, one on top of the other. An old wooden chair pushed against a corner, stained with crimson paint; the cushion looked like a splash of blood. A tapestry covered the wall where a makeshift straw bed lay on the floor.
“I repeat. You, my dear friend, have the soul of an artist. Vampire or not.”
“I collect art, hence our deep and abiding friendship—all due to your masterful accomplishments. I have no other such talents. At least, other than being eternal, ageless, and have an uncanny ability to amass a fortune at every opportunity. Typical vampire standards; anything I want, when I want, and how I want. Staying alive for eons does allow one to become complacent. Despite the danger, eternal existence does permit certain pleasures. And for me, the building of a sizable art collection is most gratifying, and a venture which I intend to continue through the ages.” The brusque, low voice was mesmerizing in its intensity, and hid any emotion, any visible trace of anguish. He simply stated these facts as if they were nothing, and common.
Nikolai Volkov watched as Leonardo picked up burned out candles and stray brushes he had left everywhere.
“Nikolai, you support artists that are being ignored, ridiculed. You redeem us. You recognize ageless talent. I am egotistical enough to say that in the coming centuries I will survive through my art.”
“Of that I have no doubt. Again, that is why I collect your paintings; your drawings alone are incomparable. I know you will survive. And you will increase my wealth substantially.” Nikolai turned and looked at the various paintings leaning against one of the stone walls. In the corner canvases were stacked in no particular order, and next to them wooden planks.
Leonardo's studio was plain, utilitarian, and filled with finished and unfinished works of art, all of which Nikolai coveted and wanted to own. Possess.
“Yes, I am sure I will survive, but only through my art. You have and will continue to survive through other means. Ones I do not wish to think about.”
“I have paid dearly for my survival.” Nikolai touched his cheek, feeling the ridge of the deep scar on his face. That attack had been particularly brutal. The cut went all the way to the bone, and not allowed to heal. Lucrezia Borgia told him it would mar his stunning beauty and further bind him to her, both physically and emotionally. She was wrong on both counts. He considered the scar his badge of courage and tenacity.
His surreal beauty, as she had once described it, now marred by that one scar. A reminder of torture. A memory not to be forgotten. Vampires do not scar, yet that one single scar on his body remained, as if an omen of things yet to come. Centuries of memories all held within that singular ridged cut on his face that slashed down to his very soul. The one he claimed not to have.
He was tall, over six-foot-three, with hair black as night. His eyes were as blue as sapphires and frigid as the Arctic ice. Nikolai was built hard, like Michelangelo's David, and just as cold.
The lethal combination fostered first and foremost fear from man and demon alike. And admiration, from women. All women. He never lacked for company. Yet, they all left him unsatisfied, and yearning for something he didn’t understand.
“Leonardo, will you paint a portrait for me?” Nikolai spoke quietly, staring at a painting stacked against a wall, his back to Leonardo.
“No. Not me.” Nikolai replied, his bleak smile was more of a grimace that did not reach his eyes. “This will be from memory. My memory.”
“Does she mean something to you? I assume you are speaking of a woman.”
“Yes, I was. And yes, she meant something to me.” He ran his finger along the jagged scar.
“Ah, I see. I gather she was not a pleasant memory.”
“You gather correctly.”
“I will do it for you. Tell me everything you know about her. Every single memory. Every movement. Everything you remember. Give me a perfect description of the mysterious woman. It will be my gift to you.”
“I do not wish to keep the painting.” Nikolai visibly shuddered at the thought. “You may do with it what you will. Burn it in hell for all I care.” His reply was savage.
“I see.” Leonardo replied thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “Why do you want me to paint it?”
“To exorcise a demon. One among many.”
“Do you wish to discuss it, my friend?”
“No. Just paint the damn thing. You will be well paid.”
“No,” Leonardo replied vehemently, shaking his hand in the air. “There will be no money changing hands. I will paint it. I will not burn it; I will sell it. I do have a payment to demand of you. Once I am done, I expect to hear why I painted it. That is my demand. Do you agree?”
“Yes, damn you. I will agree to your terms. Your absurd demand.” 
--- Get Blood Art for the rest of chapter one.
** Don't forget to comment for the contest! Include an email to contact you.

Monday, April 25, 2016

#AtoZ - U is for Undead Obsessed

Welcome to the 7th annual A to Z Blog Challenge in April!  
Come back daily for more exciting posts and even some giveaways!
Check out the 1000+ blogs on the list! 

Today is the letter U for Undead Obsessed

I am obsessed with zombies/the undead, and I have been since the first time I watched Night of the Living Dead. I was in junior high, and it didn’t scare me like other horror films I’d seen, but it left me with an unsettled feeling—and I loved it!

But zombies aren’t the only undead creatures I’m obsessed with. There are others—lots and lots of others.

I’m also a huge fan of slasher films. Freddy, Jason, and Mike all fit into the “undead” category because, technically, they aren’t exactly alive. And they sure as hell can’t be killed. Do you know how many films there are in these franchises? A lot! But I’m not complaining. I find them incredibly enjoyable and love to watch them.

And don’t forget about vampires. Again, undead creatures. I remember watching Bram Stoker’s Dracula and falling in love with Gary Oldman. Oh, he was amazing as Dracula. Then there was Interview with the Vampire. I think my favorite part about vampire films is how sophisticated the creatures try to be, even though they are damned, murderous monsters. I just love how these films blur the line between good and evil and make the audience questions who they should feel sorry for.

But that’s true for all horror movies that I watch. It’s supposed to be clear-cut who is the villain and who is the hero, but that’s not often the case. In slasher films, audiences find themselves seeing the world through the eyes of the killer—and sympathizing with them! In zombie films, it’s never really clear who the real killers are. Sure, zombies have destroyed the world and eat the humans, but their motives are clear. The humans are the ones who are devious and underhanded. Who’s the real monster there, huh?

You can also include movies about hauntings in this category because, well, ghosts are undead. This isn’t one of my favorite genres of film, however, but I know there are people out there who dig it. And that’s totally cool!

Who are your favorite undead creatures?

Saturday, April 23, 2016

#AtoZ - T is for Trust No One #zombies

Welcome to the 7th annual A to Z Blog Challenge in April!  
Come back daily for more exciting posts and even some giveaways!
Check out the 1000+ blogs on the list! 

Today is the letter T for Trust No One

From Chapter 14 of my book Undead Obsessed: Finding Meaning in Zombies:

IF ZOMBIE FILMS HAVE SHOWN US ANYTHING, it’s that a zombie uprising would be swift and devastating. We would be caught unprepared, and most of us would either die or become the living dead. Civilization and life as we know it would come to a crashing halt, and those of us that are left would be standing there with our mouths open trying to figure out what happened. Survival is all that matters, and we would have to do whatever it took to make sure humans don’t become extinct.

Scientists are often to blame for the dead rising to consume the living, whether they are created by something from space or pathogens or an experimental serum. Scientists may be the cause, but they are definitely not the cure. Scientists can’t figure out how to rid the world of zombies, so they become useless. If they can’t help in the zombie apocalypse, then the next logical place to turn to is the military. After all, they are trained for situations like this—maybe not for zombies exactly, but other high-stress destructive situations—and they have weapons. But as many films show, the military is just as ineffective as science against the undead horde. They often become power hungry and corrupt. As Chapter 7 points out, the military has also had a part in the rise of zombies through the creation of biological weapons.

What zombie films do is take our trust in authority figures—science, the military, and the government—and twists it to show how degenerate these entities can be. They remind us that these factions are created and run by humans, so they are fallible and open to corruption. But the other thing zombie films point out is the determination and survivability of common folk. They show that formal training isn’t necessary when it comes to defeating the undead, but a little common sense and the ability to work with others goes a long way in ensuring the human race doesn’t go extinct.

It is abundantly clear in zombie films that the authority figures can’t be trusted. They are either the cause of or are completely ineffective at ridding the world of the undead threat. They are often power hungry and willing to do whatever it takes to be in control of everything. What this all boils down to is that humans are their own worst enemies. The system breaks down once zombies have risen. There is no more government or military, so why are we still fighting with each other like there is? Surviving should be the only thing that matters, but we can’t let go of our petty issues with other humans. We see an opening to “make things better for ourselves” and we jump to take it, not caring if we step on others in the process to achieve that goal.

This notion is apparent in every zombie film, including those where the zombies are created by magic. In White Zombie, Legendre turns his enemies into zombies so he can control them. In I Walked with a Zombie, Jessica is turned into a zombie because she was threatening to tear the family apart and needed to be controlled. In The Serpent and the Rainbow, people who oppose the leadership are turned into zombies so they can be controlled. Those with power do what is necessary to stay in control. Just because a zombie is created by other means doesn’t mean the goal of the survivors is different—they still want to be in control.

This notion becomes even more important when the world spins into chaos. Having control of your environment is important to give you a sense of purpose and meaning. If that is gone, how do you make sense of the world? How do you know where you fit in the scheme of things? The survivors in zombie films are attempting to make sense of what is happening and are trying to figure out what their role is in the new world. The problem is that they are using outdated ways of thinking. They are trying to cling to notions that existed in the world before zombies destroyed it, which could mean vying for a position they weren’t allowed to have before, and that generally involves needing to obtain power.