Also by this author: Dead Trees 2, Dead Trees, Z Children
Z Children #3: The Rising - Follow Juan's group as they traverse the dangerous and challenging landscape of the U.S., meeting monsters both dead and alive.
A quick stop at a gas station escalates into a bloody gang scene. An established fort hides horrendous, less-than-humane secrets. And the death of someone close leaves the group emotionally shattered.
To be honest, I’m really not even sure what to say about Z Children 3: The Rising by Eli Constant and B.V. Barr. I love this series so much that each book has its own life. There are 2 main things that stood out to me the most for this book. The emotional intensity and the imagery.
Constant and Barr create some of the most brilliantly disgusting and disturbing imagery I’ve ever read. Their ability to paint that graphic illusion of horror is amazing. When I read, it’s like watching a movie in my head. When I read their books, it’s like watching a horror movie that makes me want to barf and smile at the same time.
Z Children 3 has seriously intense moments. One thing I have come to expect from these authors is their ability to create extremely emotional scenes without overdoing things. There were times while I was reading that I got odd looks from people around me because I was talking to the book. I guess that’s not really anything new for me but it can be entertaining to see the looks on their faces.
There isn’t a whole lot I can say about the storyline contents themselves because I don’t want to give away any of what happens. Each book focuses on a specific group while at the same time introducing us to new ideas. Book 3 focuses on Juan, Sherry, Marty, and Frank the dog. We are also briefly introduced to Bethany, and I am very interested in where her story goes next. AJ also joins their group, but I think she’s a bitch, so I don’t want to say more about her.
Overall, this was a great story, as usual. If you haven’t started this series, you most definitely should. It’s easy to become attached to the characters and relate to their situations to some degree.
The scene was chaos. Blurry fucking chaos through busted-up eyes. Everyone that was left was hunkered down behind something, and there weren’t many left. The two border patrol agents were still alive, although the big man was sitting behind the ice freezer and peering around looking for a shot. The sun was in his eyes and he wasn’t moving much, not taking any risky shots. That made me think he’d been hit. Hit bad if he wasn’t moving to get to his partner who was on the other side of the entrance door, hunkered down between a soda and a candy vending machine.
The female seemed to be trying to say something to him—leaning forward and opening her mouth more than once to yell. I couldn’t hear her, not over the intermittent fire and the way my ears were beginning to ring. I watched her, my gaze sometimes going to find one of the still-alive truckers. Every time she tried to make a move forward to get to her partner, a round stopped her—glancing off one of the vending machines or slamming into the building behind her. The gunfire was coming from a single source and I traced it, finding a pair of hazy legs and a butt squatting behind a blue Peterbilt truck. The truck only moved a little as I blinked. And blinked again to clear my vision.
It wasn’t enough. I was on the edge of losing it, of collapsing. I hadn’t realized the extent of the damage, but it was rearing its ugly head now.
The man shooting at the female agent wasn’t far from me, no more than twenty feet. I laid down on the ground, supporting myself on my elbows and steadying the gun as best I could with the way my arms felt like limp noodles.
I began pulling the trigger. I couldn’t see clearly enough to fire a well-aimed bullet, so I let it rip. Sometime around the fourth round, I heard a yelp of pain as a round found the target. The person who’d found haven behind the truck stood and staggered out into the open. It was Bobby. He was using a pistol to continue fighting now, the shotgun nowhere to be seen. I fired again.
But I didn’t hit him this time.
My head felt swimmy, as if someone had filled it like a fish tank and was just waiting for a batch of guppies.
“You piece of shit wetback. You shot me in the ass,” Bobby spat as he began limping towards me. He lifted the black pistol in my direction.
I tried to shoot again, but the click of an empty chamber sent my pulse into my throat. It pounded there, as if reminding me that I was alive. For now.
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And if you haven’t read Eli Constant’s other books, check those out! http://amzn.to/2uFMxlQ
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