Dead Girl. Craig Nybo
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Allied Zombie For Peace
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It’s Zombies vs. the KKK in Allied Zombies for Peace. This novel discloses the explosive 42-minutes that transpired during the 1968 Veteran’s Day Parade in Columbus, OH. Sparks fly when the Allied Zombies for Peace, a civic organization with sights on undead enfranchisement come to blows with the KKK, their long-time rival. Meanwhile with amped up tension between marching Vietnam War Veterans and members of an anti-war movement known as the New Revolutionaries for Peace and Love, also demonstrating in the parade, the streets of Columbus turn into an all-out war zone.
Other Works by Craig Nybo
Novels
Funk Toast and the Pan-Galactic Prom Show
Terrifying Lies - A Collection of Stories
Non Fiction
Total Human: The Complete Strength Training System
Music
Zombie Sing-a-long: Whistler and the Children (Part 1)
Zombie Sing-a-long: Whistler and the Children (Part 2)
Rustmonster - Last Voyage of the Black Betty
Rustmonster - Flight of the Filthy Vicar
The Big Sky Country Boys - Beer
Craig Nybo lives with his lovely wife and five children in Kaysville, Utah. He works as a creative director for mediaRif.com, a digital creative agency.
Craig became a writer at a young age when the results of a 5th grade aptitude test stated that he should consider becoming a career humorist. He first looked up the definition of the word humorist, then he became one. Craig enjoys writing novels, sketches, essays, and articles. Aside from his writing, Craig enjoys composing, recording, and performing music. Craig also develops board games and card games for Quirky Engine Entertainment.
For more information about Craig Nybo, visit these sites:
www.craignybo.com
www.facebook.com/CraigNybo
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Dead Girl
•
Craig Nybo
Nybo Media LLC. Books Edition, September, 2016
©2016 by Craig Nybo
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Nybo Media LLC. Books, Utah.
ISBN: 978-0-9970534-1-8
www.CraigNybo.com
This one is for my dad,
forever one of “the big four.”
Chapter 1
The news room smelled like a bag of molding towels when I hit the floor at quarter to ten, my eyes still puffed up like a couple of country biscuits. Sheldon Sharp--I always hated his pen name, it reminded me of checkered coats and white Cuban heeled shoes--had left his desk. His cup of coffee steamed away, sitting next to a stack of files. I snatched up the mug, ignoring the affirmation printed on the side, some fluffy quote from Anthony Robbins. I took a sip: too much sugar, too much cream. Oh well, the caffeine would help deflate my eyes and bring reason to my foggy head.
I found two handwritten notes on my desk; one surprised me; one didn’t. I picked up the pink slip, the one that didn’t surprise me, the one that read TERMINATION NOTIFICATION in block print along the top. I walked to Ernie Sanidoro’s office. Since he had taped a note with the words, PLEASE KNOCK in black sharpie to the privacy glass of his office door, I had taken to barging right on in.
As I pushed into his office, both he and Terry Running Fox, a respectable culture vulture freelance writer, looked up at me. Terry sat on the leather couch across from Ernie’s cheap, pressed cardboard desk, stacked as usual with cantilevering piles of books and files with one clean piece of real estate reserved for that damn abacus he had won at the Platinum Pen conference back in ‘05.
“Do you know how to read?” Ernie asked, nodding toward the Sharpie note taped to his office door.
“Look, chief, I got a lead I want to follow up on. I thought I’d take the rest of the day to dig into it.”
“Lay off the chief bit, Block, this isn’t the 50’s. And it’s not exactly P.C.” Ernie shot an awkward glance at Terry Running Fox. Running Fox grabbed his bangs, lifted them up, and made a tomahawk slashing motion with his other hand.
Ernie glanced at my pink slip. “I see you got the memo.”
“What memo,” I held up the pink, pretending I was looking at it for the first time. “Oh, this? Yea, I got it.” I tossed the pink slip into Ernie’s aluminum waste paper basket.
Ernie snarled, making his nostrils even larger, more like chasms than breathing orifices. “What lead are you planning to follow? I put you on movie reviews to help Sharp out.”
“Come on, Chief. You know I’m not one of those pretentious armchair Hollywood director types.”
Ernie pointed a beefy finger at my chest. “I want you to review films. I only gave you two.”
“Does that mean I have to go see them?”
“Don’t be a pain in my ass. I’m not kidding around here. Get out and see that new Micheal Bay flick and put down 200 words for me STAT or this is coming out of the trash.” Ernie pointed