First Chapter--HONOR: A ZOMBIE TALE

[madmcgee]

This is the first chapter of my novel HONOR: A ZOMBIE TALE. Please rip it to shreds. I am trying to gain some objectivity to really analyze my own voice and my pacing. Also, I have had one reader say I use too much description and it makes it less scary, another reader say that I do not use enough description (and it makes it less scary). Any thoughts/comments would be greatly appreciated.



Trust walked up a lane of palm trees to a small warehouse overlooking the Pacific ocean at the western edge of Santa Barbara. Buddy trotted along at his side, tail wagging. The air was crisp and warm, the heat of the summer slowly fading toward fall. Jets of spray shot up to sparkle in the late August sun. The man stopped for a moment and sniffed the salt air, listening to the steady crash of the waves.

His nose wrinkled at the hint of acrid smoke mixed into the fresh salty breeze. He couldn’t see it, but he had heard on the radio that morning about the cruise ship which had crashed only a few miles up the coast from where he worked.

The front of the warehouse was a maze of open fronted desks surrounded by overstuffed filing cabinets. Tables set up throughout the office space held broken shards of rock, accompanied by neat little tags describing mineral contents and location where samples were obtained. It was a tidy, organized world. The man and his dog wove their way through the desks and tables. At the back of the cavernous room were a set of enclosed offices.

The man knocked loudly on one of the doors. “Hey, Andrew?” Hearing no response, he poked his head through the door of the small corner office. “Andrew, I’m here.”

He stopped, tilting his head up to listen. Dark wrap-around glasses concealed his pale blue eyes. The buzzing florescent light washed out his healthy, sun-weathered skin. His tawny hair looked greenish in the poor office lighting. He didn’t care about his wan appearance in the lights; he was just annoyed that the interminable buzzing blocked out noise.

After years of field work, he had learned to listen to his environment, sorting through the various sounds to detect when elements were out of place. He tensed, holding his willowy body upright and alert; there was something out of place here. Under the florescent drone, he heard an echoing silence. The office should not sound this empty on a Tuesday morning.

Buddy whined softly. Trust reached down, patting his dog uneasily. “What is it, Buddy?”

Buddy started to whine louder, backing up and barking. Trust followed, holding the leather harness wrapped around Buddy’s ribs just a little tighter. After two years of companionship, the man and his dog could sense each other’s moods, responding instantly to the other’s cues. It seemed Buddy sensed something was wrong as well.

“Andrew?” He called once more, much more quietly; he held his breath while waiting for a reply. None came.

Unease twisted Trust’s gut. The hand gripping Buddy’s harness was almost numb.

He veered left, heading for the closer exit door at the side of the building.

By keeping a tight grip on the harness encircling Buddy’s ribs as the dog guided him, he was able to avoid the first row of desks. Then his free hand struck an object. He had wandered too far to the right, straight into a sample table. A large piece of rock tumbled from the table and shattered on the tile floor.

As though responding to the crash, moans suddenly drifted toward them from the warehouse. The man cocked his head, listening to the faint echoes. The dog whined louder, pulling frantically so that Trust was forced to pick up speed again. They took long, gliding steps, careful not to make any more noise.
He could not see the glowing exit sign as he passed under it. In his dark world, echoes rebounded through the cavernous space. He heard crashing, metal ringing, then thumping. Then he heard a slithering, wet noise, like noodles dragging across linoleum. Trust and Buddy fled. He could hear the slithering noise behind him, growing closer. Trust felt the hair on Buddy’s hackles rise as he growled.

The floor beneath the man’s feet became suddenly slick. He started to skid. He fell backward, putting his hands down to catch himself. His fingers squished through puddles of cold, viscous liquid. He smelled a coppery, decayed tang. His dog whimpered again, nudging him, then began to bark.
Scrabbling on the floor, the man rose to his knees. He stumbled, trying to run before he could get his knees off the slimy floor.

The slithering sounds grew closer. Now he heard moans and shuffling from deeper in the center of the building. He discerned at least four separate voices, all moaning, all heading in the same direction, straight for him and Buddy. The man finally dug his nails through the waxy surface on the floor and heaved himself onto his feet with his newfound purchase; the dog got behind the man and pushed him upright.

Buddy lunged forward, muscles bunching from exertion, pulling Trust behind him. Trust struggled to keep his balance, dreading another fall. He felt his shoulder slam against the exit door. He had lost sense of where he was; if Buddy had not pulled him unerringly toward the door, he would have missed it completely.
Panting, he grabbed the cold metal latch, pushing it down. Slick with blood, his hands slipped off. Panicking, he fumbled with the door. The more he struggled, the more his hands slid from the latch, until he finally could no longer feel the latch under his numb fingers.

He forced himself to stop and take deep breaths, trying to regain control of himself. Precious seconds passed, the slithering growing closer. He pushed the fear away, finding the firm ground within his mind where rested his resolve. Finally, he could think clearly.
He wiped his blood-slicked hands on his shirt, his breath loud in his sensitive ears. Calmly, he raised his shaky hands and unerringly found the latch. The squishy shuffling behind him grew louder, closer.

He tried the latch again; this time, it came open instantly. The heat of the sun beat down on his upturned face as he stepped through the doorway back to safety.
Just as he turned to slam the door shut, he felt a hand grab his ankle. He slammed the door with all of his strength. The hand held on with inhuman, determined strength. Trust pushed mightily against the door. He heard a sickening squelch and a low moan as the door slid partway closed; the hand still gripped at him, and as the hand’s owner slid backward from the force of the slamming door, it tore off a bit of Trust’s pant leg. The door stuck again with a meaty thud. Trust push against it, terrified of letting the squirming, sliding thing out into the world.

He released Buddy’s harness, using both hands to slam the door. Buddy whined and growled at his feet, barking and running in circles to vent his terror. Still, he would not leave the man’s side. Frantic to help, Buddy threw himself against the door.

The thing began to move as they strained. It felt like a giant sack of grain sliding across the floor. Except, the man knew it felt nothing like a sack of grain. It felt like a human torso, sliding in the slick pool of its own blood and entrails.

The door settled in its frame with one final click. The moans cut off and Trust could hear nothing but the steady crash of the waves.
Trust reached down, feeling for Buddy’s harness. As he grabbed it, they turned their backs on the terror and the man was running, running, his dog chasing his heels.

[writersink]

Trust walked up a lane of palm trees to a small warehouse overlooking the Pacific ocean at the western edge of Santa Barbara. Buddy trotted along at his side, tail wagging. The air was crisp and warm, the heat of the summer slowly fading toward fall. Jets of spray shot up to sparkle in the late August sun. The man Is Trust 'the man?' I got confused here stopped for a moment and sniffed the salt air, listening to the steady crash of the waves.

His nose wrinkled at the hint of acrid smoke mixed into the fresh salty breeze. He couldn’t see it, Maybe rearrange this sentence? Put the bit about the cruise ship first because I got slightly confused but he had heard on the radio that morning about the cruise ship which had crashed only a few miles up the coast from where he worked.

The front of the warehouse was a maze of open fronted desks surrounded by overstuffed filing cabinets. Tables set up throughout the office space held broken shards of rock, accompanied by neat little tags describing mineral contents and location where samples were obtained. It was a tidy, organized world. The man refer to him by name and his dog wove their way through the desks and tables. At the back of the cavernous room were a set of enclosed offices.

The man knocked loudly on one of the doors. “Hey, Andrew?” Hearing no response, he poked his head through the door of the small corner office. “Andrew, I’m here.”

He stopped, tilting his head up Do people generally tend to tilt their heads up when listening? to listen. Dark wrap-around glasses concealed his pale blue eyes. POV switch. Also, this seems like an illogical jump of thought The buzzing florescent light washed out his healthy, sun-weathered skin. His tawny hair looked greenish in the poor office lighting. POV change. You've gone from 3rd person limited to omnipotent He didn’t care about his wan appearance in the lights Why would he?; he was just annoyed that the interminable buzzing blocked out noise.

After years of field work, he had learned to listen to his environment, sorting through the various sounds to detect when elements were out of place. He tensed, holding his willowy body upright and alert; there was something out of place here. Under the florescent drone, You've repeated this same description before he heard an echoing silence how can a silence echo?. The office should not sound this empty on a Tuesday morning.

Buddy whined softly. Trust reached down, patting his dog uneasily. “What is it, Buddy?”

Buddy started to whine louder, backing up and barking. Trust followed, holding the leather harness wrapped around Buddy’s ribs just a little tighter. After two years of companionship, the man and his dog could sense each other’s moods, responding instantly to the other’s cues. It seemed Buddy sensed something was wrong as well.

“Andrew?” He called once more, much more quietly; he held his breath while waiting for a reply. None came.

Unease twisted Trust’s gut. The hand gripping Buddy’s harness was almost numb.

He veered left, heading for the closer exit door at the side of the building.

By keeping a tight grip on the harness encircling Buddy’s ribs as the dog guided him, What's wrong with his eyes? Is he blind? he was able to avoid the first row of desks. Then his free hand struck an object. He had wandered too far to the right, straight into a sample table. A large piece of rock tumbled from the table and shattered on the tile floor.

As though responding to the crash, moans suddenly drifted toward them from the warehouse. This is the bit that made me think me think he was outside The man Again, refer to him by namecocked his head, listening to the faint echoes. The dog whined louder, pulling frantically so that Trust was forced to pick up speed again. They took long, gliding steps, careful not to make any more noise.
He could not see the glowing exit sign as he passed under it. In his dark world, echoes rebounded through the cavernous space what does this mean? . He heard crashing, metal ringing, then thumping. Then he heard a slithering, wet noise, like noodles dragging across linoleum. This made me smile. I don't think that was your intention, so I would consider leaving it out Trust and Buddy fled. This happens too fast He could hear the slithering noise behind him, growing closer. Trust felt the hair on Buddy’s hackles rise as he growled.

The floor beneath the man’s his feet became suddenly slick. He started to skid. He fell backward, putting his hands down to catch himself. If he falls backwards, how can he put out his arms to catch himself? His fingers squished through puddles of cold, viscous liquid. He smelleda coppery, decayed tang. His dog whimpered again, nudging him, then began to bark.
Scrabbling on the floor,the man you know the drill by now rose to his knees. He stumbled, trying to run before he could get his knees off the slimy floor.

The slithering sounds grew closer. Now he heard moans and shuffling from deeper in the center of the building. I'm confused as to where he is. Is he inside the building, or out? He discerned at least four separate voices, all moaning, all heading in the same direction, : straight for him and Buddy. The man Ahem finally dug his nails through the waxy surface on the floor and heaved himself onto his feet with his newfound purchase what does this mean? ; the dog got behind the man whew! and pushed him upright.

Buddy lunged forward, muscles bunching from exertion, pulling Trust behind him. Trust struggled to keep his balance, dreading another fall. He felt his shoulder slam against the exit door. He had lost sense of where he was; if Buddy had not pulled him unerringly toward the door, he would have missed it completely.
Panting, he grabbed the cold metal latch, pushing it down. Slick with blood, why are his hands slick with blood? Have I missed something here? his hands slipped off. Panicking, he fumbled with the door. The more he struggled, the more his hands slid from the latch, until he finally could no longer feel the latch under his numb fingers.
Just say that his hands have fallen off
He forced himself to stop and take deep breaths, trying to regain control of himself. Precious seconds passed, the slithering growing closer. He pushed the fear away, finding the firm ground within his mind where rested his resolve. This needs to be tightened up Finally, he could think clearly.
He wiped his blood-slicked hands on his shirt, his breath loud in his sensitive ears. Calmly, he raised his shaky hands and unerringly found the latch. The squishy shuffling behind him grew louder, closer.

He tried the latch again; this time, it came open instantly. The heat of the sun beat down on his upturned face as he stepped through the doorway back to safety.
Just as he turned to slam the door shut, he felt a hand grab his ankle. He slammed You've used the same word twice here, and it threw me off because 'slam' is not a common word the door with all of his strength. The hand held on with inhuman, determined strength. Trust pushed mightily ? against the door. He heard a sickening squelch you've used this description a lot and a low moan as the door slid partway closed; the hand still gripped at him, and as the hand’s owner slid backward from the force of the slamming door, it tore off a bit of Trust’s pant leg. The door stuck again with a meaty thud what does this mean? . Trust push against it, terrified of letting the squirming, sliding thing out into the world.

He released Buddy’s harness, using both hands to slam the door. Buddy whined and growled at his feet, barking and running in circles to vent his terror I'm confused as to the position of the narrator: are we omnipotent or 3rd person limited? If the latter is true, he wouldn't be able to see the dog running in circles. So far, you've based all description on sounds, so this feels out of place. Still, he would not leave the man’s MAN side. Frantic to help, Buddy threw himself against the door.

The thing began to move as they strained. It felt like a giant sack of grain sliding across the floor This description confused me. Except, the man Dude. knew it felt nothing like a sack of grain. then why would he compare it as such? It felt like a human torso, sliding in the slick You've used this description before pool of its own blood and entrails.

The door settled in its frame with one final click. Did it lock automatically? If it didn't, wouldn't the zombie just reach up and open it? Or is it too dumb to do so. The moans cut off and Trust could hear nothing but the steady crash of the waves.
Trust reached down, feeling for Buddy’s harness. As he grabbed it, they turned their backs on the terror and the man ooooh no was running, running, his dog chasing his heels.

Right. I thing by making your MC blind you are heading on a veeeeery difficult journey. For one thing, you won't be able to describe a scene to the reader without taking us out of Trust's point of view. However, I don't think I've ever read a book before where the MC was blind. Good on you. That is original within itself.

The repetition of 'man' annoyed me a little. Call him by his name or 'he.' Just when I was getting close to the character, you'd say 'man' and I as a reader would be distanced again.

Now, I am normally hesistant to use high action beginnings because the reader is not yet emotionally invested in your character. However, as this is only a small excerpt I cannot really make a point of this.

The main thing is, I would like to read more. Sure, there are a couple of confusing descriptions in here, but on the whole it is quite polished. At the very least, I would read a few more chapters, to see how you bring a fresh take on a genre that has been done so many times before. At the minute, your MC is taking a step in the right direction. Have you read "The Enemy" by Charlie Higson? It is a sorta zombie book too, and I think you should find out what others in your genre have done.

Is this a YA or adult?

Good job and good luck with editing!