George A. Romeros unfinished novelThe Living Deadwill see the light of day.
Now EW has your first look at the final result.
The Living Deadreads, certainly, like a story by the man behindNight of the Living Dead.
Credit: Pool CATARINA/VANDEVILLE/Gamma-Rapho via Getty Images
Itshuge,Kraus told EW last year, of the significance of the novel.
Below, EW can debut the official cover forThe Living Dead, as well as a first excerpt.
Read on below.The Living Deadpublishes June 9, 2020, and isavailable for pre-order.
Tor
Hazily she noted this as proof of mastery, but felt no pride.
But the Psych had shown up, and he was young and strong.
Meanwhile, all that silence from the flight deck?
The flight deck was where she had expertise and might truly help.
She did not kid herself.
The guilt that had built all night, without the analgesic of sleep, had swelled like a goiter.
Here might be a chance to right wrongs, to help people instead of put them at risk.
Jenny pinballed off their bodies, her flight suit buffering impacts, and burst outside.
She watched the object spin and come to rest.
A mans head, sheared from its neck like a ham.
She looked up and took in a chaos unknown to even the most apocalyptic of training videos.
Was the rain was to blame?
Were the clouds pregnant with Russian or North Korean toxins?
The candy-colored jerseys and float coats were scrambled, far from their usual positions.
There was only one reason for that: an FOD walk.
The debris here, however, was far more significant.
A slot seal from one of the catapults, ripped free like loose intestine.
A refueling cable lay unattached, like an aorta snipped from its ventricle.
Glass from the Datum Lights lay in colored shatters, bad news for landing pilots.
Then there was the other debris.
A boot sprouting half a mans calf.
A fire helmet filled with a stew of blood, skull, and brain.
There were puddles of red liquid everywhere; white-eyed sailors stomped right through them.
The asphalt trembled as ship whistles blasted: man overboard.
Jenny looked around, wet hair whipping her cheeks, and saw two deck crew gesturing toward the water.
The whistles blasted again, six more times: man overboard.
Turning, Jenny saw a sailor hurling a ChemLight after a fallen comrade.
Jenny had seen fights like this in Detroit, hand-to-hand, fist to flesh.
Here was the carriers Achilles heel, an attack from inside.
Father Bills description of golems echoed through her bones.
Jenny grunted away her fear and charged into the rain.
Again her hand touched the butt of her pistol only to draw away.
There were missiles here, external fuel tanks, scattering sailorstoo dangerous.
That must be why she heard no other pilots firing.
The only other armed souls aboard were the small contingent of Marines, but who knew where they were.
Stand down, sir!
Stand down, sir!
The intelligence specialist did not seem to hear.
He grabbed the red-shirts right ear and chin as if to kiss him.
Hot coals shifted under Jennys ribs.
**
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