Tag Archives: serial

Episode Two of This Plague of Days: Everything breaks

Read This Plague of Days. (And please, wash your hands frequently.)

This Plague of Days, Episode One (99 cents)

This Plague of Days, Episode Two (99 cents)


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This Plague of Days, Season One

at a discount for only $3.99.

TPOD Episode 2


#Video: This Plague of Days

This Plague of Days pits an autistic boy against a rising zombie horde. As the world we know comes apart, the infected become cannibals. Take elements of The Stand and

The Zombie Apocalypse serial is here. Get it week to week for a scary summer or get the whole season.

The Zombie Apocalypse serial is here. Get it week to week for a scary summer or get the whole season.

Cell, mix in World War Z and 28 Days Later with a terrorist plot and a strange boy with an obsession for Latin phrases and wham! It’s a zombie apocalypse you’re going to love.

An autistic boy and his family versus The Running Dead

An autistic boy and his family versus The Running Dead

Get it week to week and episode by episode for just 99 cents or get all of Season 1 at a discount now.

Sneak Peek: This is not a poem

This is not a poem…exactly. It’s the table of contents to a coming episode of This Plague of Days from Season One.


Here we sit in Death’s Cafe
We are the zombie’s reluctant buffet
The deepest wounds are those unseen
Between what we were and where we’ve been
Be killed or kill in days like these
Pray for God’s mercy or the Red Queen’s disease
Say farewell to your comfortable home
Goodbye to tea, clotted cream and scones
The fruit of war, the wages of sin
You don’t yet know what it will take to win
Or even half of the trouble we’re in
Save your strength for the fight
Use your rage. Defy the night.

(Getting close to finalizing the cover art, hearing back from the last beta team members and getting this bird off the ground.)

Episode 4 Teasers: From today’s polish of This Plague of Days

Coming soon!

Coming soon!

Family matriarch Jacqueline Spencer on the existential abyss that is the plague:

How deep would Sutr reach down into the fabric of what had been and tear with unforgiving teeth? How resilient was that fabric? Was civilization just a thin sheen of varnish over shiny, black claws of primal aggression? She knew Theo thought so, but she hoped her husband was wrong.

On a scavenging trip to the mall, a little band of explorers from the Spencer family encounters a wall with notes and graffiti:

A little further on stood several memorials. “Olivia, you were a good wife,” read one. That was in white and, unlike the others, writ large to fill the height of the wall for several concrete panels. The tribute had been painted with a wide brush by a tall man.

Another simply read: Andrea. Why?

Here and there, fading pictures of missing loved ones dotted the wall and fluttered in the breeze. A phone number was listed below a picture of a stunning redheaded woman wearing cat’s eye sunglasses. Heather Pritch, 29, separated at hospital. Came back for you. Will wait at train station. Tara. 

The flyer, fixed to the wall with a scrap of twisted duct tape, looked like it would lose its tentative hold with the next breath of wind.

There were also a few with directions and warnings: 

Todd, Meet Us At Deb’s, Love Beth. 

Go around Chicago!

Detroit’s Burnt DOWN! 

Army’s taken over Tahoe. They shoot all who approach.

Another read: Michigan has militia! but it wasn’t clear if that was a warning or a hopeful sign that somewhere there was order.

A more informative message read: Refugee Camps at NIAGRA FALLS has gone X. Many dead. Stay home and indoors. God bless. 

Just before a gap in the wall ahead, a green winking ghoul admonished them with a pointing finger. ‘We want you!’ was scrawled over its grotesque head. Below a smeared wagging finger were the words: Not to Litter! Burn Your Evil Dead! It was signed, The Ungrateful Living.

At another spot, a column of numbers from one to 24 stood, each number exed out. The next number in the series jumped to 26. Beside the column were the words: Tally of Looters shot.

This Plague of Days: The Pitch

Until the Sutr Virus hits here, you could read these books by Robert Chazz Chute. Just sayin'.

Until the Sutr Virus hits here, click to read other books by Robert Chazz Chute. Just sayin’.

This horror serial is about an autistic boy trapped in The Stand and trying to survive 28 Days Later. I’ll have a cover blurb from horror author Armand Rosamilia.

In a future that could begin any day now, a virus of mysterious origin begins its lethal outbreak. The first wave kills millions. The second wave is a weaponized mutation that ups the stakes by turning ordinary survivors into cannibals. This is the zombie apocalypse you can believe in.

The brain of the story is a villain like you’ve never encountered: the visibly pregnant British woman in a red dress. She is an eco-terrorist who calls herself Shiva. She’s out to make history and a new future by a massive cull of Earth’s worst infection. You’re the infection: Your car, your technology and your conspicuous consumption. Don’t take it personally. To defend the Earth, genocide is Shiva’s answer to global warming. Killing Queen Elizabeth and her Corgis is just the delightful start.

The heart of the story is Jaimie Spencer, a sixteen-year-old American boy on the autism spectrum. He’s a selective mute with an obsession for English dictionaries. His special interest is Latin phrases, but it’s Jaimie’s hidden gifts that become the surprising key to his family’s survival. To live, they must face the ravages of the Sutr virus, looters, plague profiteers and cults. Worse? This Plague of Days zombies are fast.

Who is This Plague of Days for?

Horror fans and anyone with a pulse who wants theirs to beat faster. Young men and women embracing existential angst will get hit between the eyes. The autistic community and their families will love it.

From the beta read team, the women love Jaimie and the relationships of the family under siege. The men can’t get enough of Shiva since she’s deliciously wicked in her ruthlessness with men’s hearts and minds.

This book also has a lot of fun with language. There are more Latin phrases than Harry Potter had spells, so this one is also for the word nerds.

It’s time we hit the world with an oddly cerebral zombie apocalypse.

The Breakdown

I want to be especially generous with Season 1 to get every horror fan on my crazy train.

Season 1/Book 1:             The Siege            105,000 words, 5 episodes

Season 2/Book 1:            The Journey            75,000 words, 5 episodes

Season 3/Book 3            War                        75,000 words, 5 episodes

This Plague of Days: A crack of light reveals the boundaries of darkness

This Plague of Days isn’t quite ready yet, but we’re working on it. Please stand by.

Until the Sutr Virus hits here, you could read these books by Robert Chazz Chute. Just sayin'.

Until the Sutr Virus hits here, you could read these books by Robert Chazz Chute. Just sayin’.

Each episode of this serial horror has a rather dark placeholder to denote the separation of each piece of the big puzzle.

Here are a few episode placeholders for a little flavor:

Season 1 

Episode 1

All words began as magic spells.

Things taken from us are what we treasure most.

Season 2 

Episode 4

Someday, particles of your body — your body that danced and sang and made love — will float in space forever.

There is a secret everyone knows, but no one dares speak. Instead, we live, happily blind to where this road leads.


Hope is a stupid thing, and essential.

Season 2

Episode 3

Don’t box with God. Your arms are too short.

He who would fight a god does battle with the air.

Season 2 

Episode 2

Evil can be crammed behind the mild mask of any face.



NSFW Horror: A grisly excerpt from This Plague of Days

Turkey Vulture

Turkey Vulture (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Spencers walked into the yellowing sun. Jack hoped the weak heat would dry them and the sunlight might somehow purify them. Though Jack’s breath was soon as heavy as her backpack — she cursed herself for not taking better care of her body — she found fatigue was easier to dismiss in the presence of horror. She wanted to get beyond the block of cars. They had to get beyond this dam of metal and flesh, find a vehicle, and continue to Maine as quickly as possible.

What if Lieutenant Carron found a way to get to the Corners faster?  Jack saw herself open the door to the kitchen at the farm, relieved to have finally found a haven. What if the man who had pointed a rifle at her face, at her daughter’s face, waited there, a shotgun now aimed at her midsection? He was so angry, there was no reasoning with a monster. Carron would warm himself by the wood stove. Papa Spence would be dead on the floor at his feet. She wouldn’t have time to plead before he pulled the trigger and cut her in two.

On the road beside them, two seagulls squabbled over ribbons and scraps, staging a tug-of-war over white meat. Despite her promise to avert her eyes, Anna did look. The face was gone. The torn scalp stretched out in the birds’ beaks, a long tangled splay of string across black and red pavement. The long hair suggested to Anna that the thing lying before her, exposed and obscene, had been a woman. A vulture went about its work, its head in the corpse’s ruined belly, ignored the screeching gulls. Intent on its meal, the bird raised its ugly bald head, ratcheting back and forth and up and down, to tear and to swallow. 

Anna knew she should turn away but found she could not. The dead woman’s abdomen had bloated and burst in a riotous stench of busy maggots. The bird’s head and neck disappeared into the gore to its hunched shoulders and came up again to tilt its head back to feast again, forcing a large, pink chunk into its gullet.

The girl bent to throw up. The moment she was empty, Anna turned to walk on. “Mom,” she said. “If we ever see Carron again, I’ll kill him right away. I won’t hesitate if I can find a way to do it. He’s a vulture and he wants to turn us into that.”

Her mother trudged forward and said nothing for a long time. Finally, “If you can do it, it won’t be wrong.”

~ I’ve been ill, so I’m playing catch up with revisions. However, things progress. For a more positive life outlook, have you subscribed at www.DecisionToChange.com yet? Or bought a book? Mere suggestions. No! Strong suggestions! If you can do it, it won’t be wrong.


From the revision well: Chapter 2 of This Plague of Days

The moon lit the boy’s face as he peered over the fence into the next yard. Jaimie Spencer watched the couple on the lawn chair. The chair’s squeak had drawn him closer, curious. He wasn’t allowed in the neighbor’s yard, but moon shadows amid thick hedge leaves concealed him. A  woman he’d never before seen sat in the older man’s lap. The man, Mr. Sotherby, lay still beneath her. Jaimie could not see the man’s  face, but there was something grim about him, as if the couple were reluctant joggers in a cold wind. 

A cool hand slipped to the back of the boy’s neck. Without looking, Jaimie knew it was his sister, Anna. “Ears,” she whispered, “You’re being creepy again.”

The woman froze and turned her head. The couple whispered to each other, too. Sotherby’s voice was insistent. Hers was afraid. 

Anna guided her little brother away from the hedge line. Anna did not speak again until she and Jaimie stood by their own back door. “Mr. Sotherby has brought home another one of his flight attendant friends. You shouldn’t spy on them. It’s wrong.”

Jaimie did not look at Anna directly. He never met her eyes and he rarely spoke. Her brother cocked his head slightly to one side. That questioning gesture was a rare bit of Jaimie’s body language that few outside the family could read easily. Anna told Jamie that when he cocked his head that way, he looked like Fetcher, the cocker spaniel they’d once had. In every picture they owned of that pet, the spaniel’s head was tipped slightly sideways, perplexed by the camera. Jaimie thought the entire breed must cock their heads slightly sideways, hence their name. The boy abhorred instances of imprecision and illogic in language, and so he was frequently disappointed.

This Plague of Days III“Mr. Sotherby brings home his friends. Remember Mr. Sotherby’s a pilot? He gives rides to lots of people, Ears. He was just giving her a ride. That woman you saw thought she was part of a couple, but they were really just coupling.”

Couple: a noun and a verb. Jaimie had read these words in his dictionary. Overlaps of meanings and terms irritated. He wondered if his sister was trying to bother him. She often called him Ears when she was angry with him, though sometimes she called him that when she hugged him, too. More confusion and imprecision. 

“Dad says it’s a terrible thing what’s happened to flight attendants,” Anna said. “He says when they were called stewardesses, they were cuter. Now the older ones have a waxy look.”

Jaimie wondered how the change in the name of their occupation could have changed the way they looked. He’d heard there were magic words. “Flight attendant” must have powerful, and dangerous, magical properties.

Anna pulled her little brother into the house. “Let’s keep this between you and me,” Anna said and then burst out in a giggle. “Mom would worry you’re getting corrupted. I won’t say anything and I know you won’t.”

Jaimie followed Anna up the back stairs into the kitchen. She pulled out a box of cereal and poured a bowl for herself and one for her brother. He never asked to eat but was usually cooperative if a bowl and spoon was placed in front of him. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Sotherby and the woman. Jaimie liked to watch colorful patterns that flowed around people. He had seen the colors around living things all his life. He assumed everyone saw them. The boy had seen something pass between Mr. Sotherby and the flight attendant he had never before seen. It was disturbing because it muddied their colors and made them less vibrant.

Jaimie stood at the sink and gazed out of the kitchen window as he ate.  The moon hung so low and full, the tip of a distant church spire reached, its tip stretching to split Clavius, a large crater toward the base of the moon’s face. The boy’s mind wandered over the words spire and aspire. Surely, the terms shared the same arrogant word root. But the spire would always be bound to the earth, many miles short of aspiration’s heights. The gap between hope and doomed reality turned the boy’s mind back to the naked woman in the next yard.

Small black spots had hovered between the pair like greasy flies. The black smear spoiled the usual pleasing weave of colors. There had been many of them, like a cloud of feeding insects, around the woman. They spread over Mr. Sotherby, too, reaching for him. Jaimie didn’t know what the black spots were, but he sensed a yearning and purpose in their movement. They aspired to reach Mr. Sotherby and overtake him. He sensed the black cloud’s aspirations would be fulfilled. 

That was Jaimie Spencer’s first glimpse of the Sutr Virus at its deadly work. He was sixteen. He might have mentioned it to someone, but Jaimie Spencer was a selective mute. 

“A very selective mute,” his father, Theo Spencer, called him. “Jaimie has something we all lack: A super power. My son can shut up until he has something to say.”

But Jaimie’s ability to communicate well still waited on a distant time horizon then. Billions would have to expire — and one death would have to transpire — before Jaimie found his voice.  

~ This Plague of Days will be ready to launch in roughly a month. In the meantime, please check out all the links to books by Robert Chazz Chute at AllThatChazz.com.


The Sutr Virus: What happened?

From this morning’s revisions of This Plague of Days.

Grant Ave. in Chinatown, San Francisco.

Grant Ave. in Chinatown, San Francisco. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

It seemed it was already too late for most cities. However, many small towns that had survived the plague by brutally defending their borders, shooting trespassers and discouraging strangers. Successful survivors rooted out contagion and walled it off quickly, staying apart from the infected and shooting anyone who would compromise their security. That’s why the hospitals were dead. They took people in. The VA hospital on his own base had become a death house before word of the plague had spread through the forts’s hometown of Helena.

Similarly but on a grander scale of destruction, Carron knew San Francisco had been forced to billet soldiers returning from the Middle East when all the troops were recalled. San Francisco had fallen first and fastest than any American city for that reason. Citizens had welcomed the veterans (some of whom already had Sutr before they deployed from the ships) and so everyone died of compassion. San Francisco had been too kind to survive the New World.

From the safety of a military bunker in Montana, Lieutenant Carron had read the reports, watched the world fall, and passed the incoming intelligence reports to his superiors until his superiors fell sick, too. Some lived through Sutr’s fevers. Most died. Lieutenant Francis Carron didn’t so much as catch a cold and he would not give a sliver of compassion the chance to infect him.

NSFW: Quotes from today’s revisions of This Plague of Days

Jaimie and his family try to cross a bridge to Canada as they flee the cities and disease runs rampant. However, they find evidence of a massacre on the Mackinac

English: Mackinac Bridge between Mackinaw City...

English: Mackinac Bridge between Mackinaw City and St. Ignace, Michigan, photographed on August 1, 2010. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Bridge. Here’s an excerpt:

Mrs. Bendam gasped and cried at the sight unfolding before them. She reached out to touch Anna’s shoulder and grasped hard until the girl relented and offered her hand. The old woman gripped too tight all the way across the bridge. She closed her eyes to the carnage, but Anna stared out the window. 

Jack ordered her daughter to close her eyes, too.

“No, Mom.”

“Anna! I don’t want you to wake up screaming with nightmares forever.”

“No,” Anna said. “I’ll look. Years from now, I’ll tell my son or daughter what I saw here.” She gazed at tangled horrors as the van bumped along over a sprawl of bodies. The uncaring Sutr Virus had not done this. People had done this to people.

Many of those murdered had no eyes now, but their gaping jaws suggested anger, fear, pain and surprise. She saw torn flesh. White bones rose. Skeletons emerged from their hiding places. 

“If I don’t look…” Anna said, “it’s not right. Someone has to bear witness. If I don’t look, it’s like saying this doesn’t matter or it means I won’t be around later to pass it on. Someday soon, the animals will be finished eating and what will be left but me and my memory? Not looking is like…”

“Giving up,” Theo said. “Yes. Look, Anna. It’s a heavy load, but someone who can tell the story should carry the memory.” 

Jaimie reached out and surprised his sister by grasping and squeezing her free hand.

Jaimie and his father held hands, too. “There really are no dictionary words for such atrocities, are there, son?” Theo whispered. “It would be obscene if there was such a word. There shouldn’t be just one word for this.”

The only bridge denizens left were rats and gulls and blackbirds. Their teeth and beaks tore and ripped and their heads shook as they winnowed the dead.

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