Blog Tour: The Plague Stones by James Brogden – Excerpt (Titan Books)

Hey everyone, I hope you’re all well and having a great week so far. 🙂

Today I’m participating in a multi-blog tour to promote a new Horror novel published by Titan Books, and I’ve got an excerpt for you!

Fleeing from a traumatic break-in, Londoners Paul and Tricia Feenan sell up to escape to the isolated Holiwell village where Tricia has inherited a property. Scattered throughout the settlement are centuries-old stones used during the Great Plague as boundary markers. No plague-sufferer was permitted to pass them and enter the village. The plague diminished, and the village survived unscathed, but since then each year the village trustees have insisted on an ancient ceremony to renew the village boundaries, until a misguided act by the Feenans’ son then reminds the village that there is a reason traditions have been rigidly stuck to, and that all acts of betrayal, even those committed centuries ago, have consequences…

I’ve got this coming up soon to read and review, and I’m really looking forward to it! But without further ado, here’s that excerpt:

Toby jerked awake with a cry. For a moment he couldn’t remember where he was. There was no familiar street light here or sound of traffic on the busy road outside. It was altogether too dark, too quiet. His phone had just fallen to the floor, uplighting the room and pulling the shadows high towards the odd-angled ceiling in skewed perspectives. He checked the time: 1:43.

Stone Cottage. New home. Not the flat.

Obviously there was nobody sitting at his bureau. Just another intruder nightmare brought about by staying up too late on his phone. Nothing to see here, folks, move along. All the same, he got up and went to the window just to be sure, listening to the strange new creaks of the floor under his feet, wondering how long before they became familiar, before this place would feel like home. This place is safe. It’s protected, they’d said, but they’d lied.

Because there was someone in the back garden.

Toby’s breath stopped.

A girl, he was fairly certain of that, from the slightness of her figure, the shift-type dress that she wore, and her long hair. Beyond that he couldn’t tell much because of the darkness that left her face in shadow, but her pale arms looked somehow blotchy. She was standing in the middle of the lawn, right by the parish stone.

She wasn’t doing anything, just standing there. It occurred to him that she might be a junkie, either looking for something to steal or simply too high to notice where she was, although he couldn’t imagine how she’d got in because the back gate was firmly locked; she’d have had to climb the fence and she didn’t look strong enough for that. In fact, given that it was still only April and had been raining all day, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find that she’d caught her death of cold. She didn’t look dangerous. For a moment he wondered whether he should get his parents to call an ambulance or something – maybe that shift thing was a hospital gown. Maybe he should let her in for some warmth and shelter.

‘Some have entertained angels without knowing it,’ he murmured.

The girl’s head snapped up, staring straight at his window. Her face was still in shadow but now there was the glitter of eyes deep in sunken sockets.

Staring straight at him.

He yelped and fell back. It was impossible that she could have seen him – almost as impossible as her being there in the first place.

Warily, he approached the window again, expecting to find the garden empty.

She was still there, still staring. However, the ground around her was busy now with small, dark shapes, tumbling about her bare feet as if playing. Rats. The sound of their chittering reached him clearly.

She raised her arm, and beckoned to him.

Come down.

There we go, a nice little surge of gooseflesh for you! 😉

You can order your copies of The Plague Stones at the following links: Amazon UK and Amazon US, You can also head over to James’ blog for more info on him and his work, and below are all the blogs / sites that have already participated in the tour and the stops coming up. 🙂

That’s it for now – see you back here soon for a new review. 🙂 Until then,

Be EPIC!

 

Spotlight and Excerpt: We Call It Monster by Lachlan Walters (Severed Press)

A story-cycle/novel-in-stories, We Call It Monster is written in a grounded and realistic way, with each chapter unfolding from the perspective of a different character, and detailing his or her first-hand experience of the conflict between humans and monsters.

Hey everyone, hope you’re all well and that you enjoyed your weekend! I’m back with another spotlight for a book that should be on your radar – and what a cover!

Here’s some info about the book:

One ordinary day, an enormous creature dragged itself out of the ocean and laid waste to a city. In the months and years that followed, more and more creatures appeared until not a single country remained untouched. At first, people tried to fight them. In the end, all they could do was try and stay alive.

We Call It Monster is a story of forces beyond our control, and of immense and impossible creatures that make plain how small we really are. It is the story of our fight for survival and our discovery of that which truly matters: community and compassion, love and family, hope and faith.

Here’s the excerpt from ‘We Call It Monster‘:

The old man shuffled out to the balcony, dusted off an outdoor chair and then made himself comfortable. The sky was a shade of blue that painters only dream about; it was a beautiful sight. The old man drank it in, leaning back in his chair. He sipped at his coffee and smoked a cigarette. He was happy to wait as long as was necessary – he had all the time in the world and he wasn’t going anywhere.

The monster finally appeared, a blurry smudge in the distance.

Slowly, but not as slowly as he would have thought, it grew both closer and more distinct. The old man laughed out loud; it looked like nothing more than a child’s drawing of something that might have been a lobster or might have been a spider or might have been both, propped up on flagpole-like legs that supported a wetly-shining carapace, a beaked head, and a tail as long as a bus.

It was enormous and ridiculous in equal measure. The old man was surprised to find that it failed to frighten him.

It drew closer to the city. It stopped suddenly and bit a great chunk out of a stately old tree lining a boulevard. Chewing slowly and methodically, it worked its way through the mass of wood and foliage before throwing its head back and opening its mouth wide. Despite his deafness, the old man felt the monster’s keening in his bones and in the pit of his stomach.

He pulled his hearing aid from his pocket, turned it on then slipped it in place.

The beast’s cry was low and mournful, more a melancholy bellow than a ferocious roar. Thankfully, the klaxon-blare of the evacuation alarms had stopped. The monster cried out again and it shook the old man, both literally and metaphorically. The beast shifted its legs, presumably adjusting its weight, and destroyed an office building in the process.

Almost comically, it looked down at the destruction it had wrought and seemed to shake its head.

It looked back up and cried out a third time, and then started walking again. It seemed to meet the old man’s eye. Without breaking its gaze, the old man took another sip of coffee before lighting another cigarette.

Slowly-slowly-slowly, the monster drew closer. You could almost see a smile on the old man’s face.

Paperback: 210 pages

Publisher: Severed Press (February 13, 2019)

Language: English

ISBN-10: 1925840522

ISBN-13: 978-1925840520

The novel was written by Lachlan Walter, and I’m looking forward to reading this because I really enjoyed ‘The Rain Never Came‘, and this looks absolutely epic! The books is available for your Kindle and as a print-edition.

Here’s some info about Lachlan:

Lachlan Walter is a writer, science-fiction critic and nursery-hand (the garden kind, not the baby kind), and is the author of two books: the deeply Australian post-apocalyptic tale The Rain Never Came, and the giant-monster story-cycle We Call It Monster. He also writes science fiction criticism for Aurealis magazine and reviews for the independent ‘weird music’ website Cyclic Defrost, his short fiction can be found floating around online, and he has completed a PhD that critically and creatively explored the relationship between Australian post-apocalyptic fiction and Australian notions of national identity.

He loves all things music-related, the Australian environment, overlooked genres and playing in the garden. He hopes that you’re having a nice day.

You can connect with Lachlan on Facebook and Twitter, and don’t forget to check out his site and the web-home of Severed Press.

That’s it for now, and until next time…

Be EPIC!

 

Spotlight and Excerpt: May I Want by Tiah Marie Beautement (Stubborn Raven Publishing)

Hey everyone, hope you’re all well. 🙂

I’m back today with a spotlight on Tiah Marie Beautement’s ‘May I Want’, published by Stubborn Raven Publishing and available as you read this. Here’s the beautiful cover:

 

To some the seas hold many mysteries, but not to Laila. Her seaborne gifts have given her much, but when she is visited by an old acquaintance from her previous life she will find out that all gifts, hers included, come at a price.

Here’s a bit about Tiah:

Tiah Marie Beautement is an American-Brit living on the South African Garden Route with her family, two dogs, and a small flock of chickens. She is author of two novels and numerous short stories, including the award winning Memento Mori. She is the managing editor of the The Single Story Foundation’s journal, teaches writing to all ages, and freelances for a variety of publications. In her spare time she has been taking photographs, riding horses, and zipping along on motorcycles.

And here’s the excerpt:

The ghostly light of the waning moon shimmered on the skin of the sea, creating an endless road. To Laila, it beckoned with promise. Seduction. “May I want?” she whispered, borrowing her daughter’s phrase. But from where she sat in her rowboat, she already knew the answer. For women like her, there was no climbing on the back of a dolphin and riding the moonbeams until morning. There was a child to raise and a family tradition to uphold. With a deep breath, Laila locked her oars and dove into the deep.

The water caught her in its embrace, pulling her towards the secret lair. In time, it would do the same to Ziya, and to Ziya’s daughter after that. But for now, in this realm, the work was for Laila’s hands alone.

Laila approached the seabed, abundantly strewn with swaying grass and tinged with silvered moonlight. Nestled amongst the vegetation she saw the long, oblong fan mussels she had been searching for, their razor-fine filaments dancing at her approach. Her magic surged in reply, reacting to the ocean’s power that was absorbed in the mysterious animal. She worked quickly, taking care to do no harm as her scalpel harvested sections of the mollusks’ beards. The tradition was passed on from her mother, who learned from her mother, who was taught by her mother before that. As she worked, the ocean’s magic hummed in satisfaction.

As time wore on, Laila’s lungs begged for relief. The water answered, shooting her body upwards. She arched over the sea, curved like a dark rainbow as she inhaled fresh air, then plunged back into the moon-touched water. Again and again, she dove, worked, surfaced. Each time she emerged, the moonlight blessed her. Each time she submerged, the water returned her to its secret lair.

 

Here’s a link to review of May I Want, over at Apex Magazine.

***

You can order the story from Amazon at the following link, and do check out Stubborn Raven Publishing (also open for submissions). 🙂

Follow Tiah Marie on Twitter, bookmark her on WordPress and BooksLive, and check out her Instagram accounts: one for writing, one for photography.

That’s it for today – see you back here on Friday!

Until then,

Be EPIC!

 

Spotlight and Giveaway: Fractured Dream: The Dreamer Saga by K.M. Randall

Morning, everyone. 🙂 Another spotlight for you while I get my reviews sorted, and this time I’m chuffed to include a giveaway with the spotlight! Check out the end of the post for details. 🙂

Have you ever wondered where fairytales go once they’re created?

It’s been eight years since Story Sparks last had a dream. Now they’re back,
tormenting her as nightmares she can’t remember upon waking. The black
waters of Lake Sandeen, where her Uncle Peter disappeared decades
before, may hold the secret to Story’s hidden memories, or a truth she’d
rather not know. On a bright summer afternoon, Story and her two best
friends, Elliott and Adam, take a hike to the lake, where they dive into
the cool water and never reemerge. What they find is beyond anything
they’ve ever imagined could be possible, a world where dangers lurk in
the form of Big Bad Wolves, living Nightmares and meddlesome witches and
gods.

Now Story must remember who she really is and somehow stop
two worlds from ultimate annihilation, all while trying not to be too
distracted by the inexplicable pull she feels toward a certain dark-eyed
traveler who seems to have secrets of his own. The fates of the worlds
are counting on her.

About the Author:

As a girl, K.M. always wished she’d suddenly come into magical powers or cross over into a Faerie circle. Although that has yet to happen, she instead lives vicariously through the characters she creates in writing fantasy and delving into the paranormal. When K.M. is not busy writing her next novel, she is the editor-in-chief of a blog covering the media industry, as well as an editor with Booktrope Publishing. She has a master’s degree in journalism from Syracuse University and a bachelor’s degree in English-Lit from Nazareth College of Rochester. K.M. lives in Upstate New York’s Finger Lakes region with her husband and her extremely energetic little boy. Fractured Dream is her first novel.

 Stay up to date with K.M. Randall by visiting http://www.kmrandallauthor.com/

And connect with her online at:

Website: http://www.kmrandallauthor.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorKMRandall

Twitter: @KM_Randall

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8125589.K_M_Randall

Here’s an excerpt to get you interested. 🙂

Excerpt from Fractured Dream, Chapter Thirty-Four

Big Bad’s Camp

He knew if he’d told Story he was going, she would have refused. So now here he was, belly down in the brush near the Wolves’ camp and covered in unicorn shit. It was the one animal the Wolves wouldn’t hunt, and so when Jess had told them all to cover themselves in it, he hadn’t complained. He knew once the Wolves picked up their scent, they were dead. Even Miss Red wouldn’t be able to take the entire clan down, which was guarding Ninian and Jemma now.

A movement in the tall grass alerted Nicholas, who cocked his head to the breeze and sniffed the air. His smell might not be as good as the Wolves’, but he knew what to look out for, having spent many a night sharing a campfire with them—when the only way to cover their animal stench was to let smoke from the burning wood seep into his clothes and skin.

Nicholas stiffened as the sound grew nearer. His hand went to the knife in his belt, but the smell told him it wasn’t Wolf. No, it smelled like . . .

“Hey, Wolf lover,” Jess hissed with a smirk the dimness of the night did nothing to cover. She had big lips and a wide, white smile that was almost as wolfish as the creatures she hunted.

“Hey,” he whispered back, grinding his teeth only for a second at the barb, instead focusing on the scene only twenty feet or so beyond. They had to be careful. If the breeze blew a certain way, the Wolves could snatch their whispered plans from the wind.

The Amazonian redhead had belly-crawled next to him, her red hair dragging in the dirt behind her. Nicholas had to admire how she didn’t bat a pretty eyelash at the filth of shit and grime. But then again, she was a Red Riding Hood, and despite her acerbic personality, he knew she was tough. The smirk was gone by the time she reached him, replaced by the expression of a plotting predator. She jerked her head to the camp below as a greeting and arched her brows in question.

This was the Wolves’ main camp, located near The Capital. Tents dotted the landscape and it looked like any military compound, except the number of Wolves was nowhere near what they had bargained for. No, it was much greater, here where Wolves slept like men. Nicholas could not comprehend it at all. There hadn’t been this many of them at the other camp, where they’d held Story only days before. But then again, he’d never actually gotten a chance to look around.

“There’s a lot of them,” Jess whispered seriously below the fortunate din of the breeze.

Nicholas nodded, but turned a devil-may-care grin on her. “Yeah, but they’re stupid,” he whispered as stealthily back.

“How do ya gather?” she asked.

“They’re Wolves, and yet they sleep in tents. Back under Nigel’s leadership, they slept and subsisted as Wolves, living and breathing their animal counterparts. Here they’re sitting ducks in slumber, waiting to be picked off by hunters looking for the nicest hide.”

Jess seemed to take his comment into regard and nodded seriously. The snideness was gone as the hunter had come out to play. “I see what you mean,” she murmured. “Nigel always was the smart one.”

“Yes, I’m sure it makes you proud he was your Wolf,” Nicholas said sarcastically, unable to help himself at the stab at her ego.

“Listen, I don’t like you for Story—or like you in general for that matter—but I do think you should know, since we’re going down there as allies, that the only thing that matters to me right this moment is seeing Ninian and Jemma out of there. And yes, it’s a turn-on that I offed the alpha to these sorry excuse for Wolves, but they’re all equally as vicious and equally as likely to kill our quarry and us. So this is my peace offering. Don’t mess up and I won’t tell Story horrible things about you.” She offered her hand with a feral smile.

“Oh, well, how could I say no to that?” Nicholas retorted, but then grinned lightly in the night and shook her hand. “And who knows, you might get your wish after this since I left without Story’s permission.”

Jess chuckled low in response, pointing one long finger toward a lone man who was checking the perimeters. “It’s now or never,” she said with a nod, and then as fast as he’d seen any Wolf ever move, Jess was on the man. She had her knife to his neck so tight that there was no way he would be able to howl an alert, or his jugular would be cut with the slightest motion. The most he might illicit would be a gurgle. Nicholas quickly joined her, checking around to make sure no other Wolves were in sight.

Staring into the glinting, yellow eyes of the Wolf, Nicholas smiled like he thought his father might smile right before he ordered someone to death or worse, torture. He knew he must look horrible, because the yellowed whites of the Wolf’s eyes rolled back.

“Raise an alert and I’ll make sure you die slowly. I’ve watched my father enough times to know the best way to kill a man gradually.” Nicholas was pretty sure that Jess’s presence alone would have been enough to make him talk, such had her reputation preceded her. This particular Big Bad was pretty scrawny, and he knew fear when he saw it. The Big Bad was quaking in his fur, his sneer trembled, and if he’d been in Wolf form, his hackles would have been up.

“Where are our friends?” he asked as Jess continued to hold the Wolf tightly.

Their captive laughed, bits of saliva dangling from his mouth. “I tell you, I die in pain; I don’t tell you, I die horribly,” he growled, spit spraying. “Just kill me.” Nicholas realized what he was about to do and started to warn Jess, but it was too late. The Big Bad threw himself into the knife at his neck, cutting his jugular. His blood gushed out onto the ground and he gurgled, thrashing in Jess’s arms. She pushed his body away disgustedly and glanced quickly at Nicholas. “We do not have much time. If they smell blood, it’s all over. For them and us.”

“You’re right, there’s not much time at all.”

Startled, Nicholas looked behind him to see a dark shape step out of the night. He blended in with the darkness, and only his green Wolf eyes glistened out of the night. Nicholas’s hand was on his weapon ready to go, but Jess remained calm.

“Darvish?” she asked comfortably.

The man turned to her and flashed sharp, white teeth, reminding Nicholas of what they could do when in Wolf form.

“Ah, you’ve heard of me,” he said. “And I know you, Red. But this is not the time for pleasantries. If you want your friends, they’re being kept in the tent closest to the middle. You’ll know it because it bears Nigel’s flag.”

Nicholas squinted against the glare of the torches lit around the camp, and sure enough, there it was.

“Why should we trust you?” Jess asked warily, her eyes narrowed and her stance defensive.

Nicholas too was wary of this Wolf. But for whatever reason, Story seemed to have some sort of trust in the man. She’d told them what had happened when she’d been captured. They really didn’t have any alternatives. They couldn’t pick off the Wolves one-by-one, there were too many. And eventually, the smell of blood would reach the Wolves and then they’d be dead.

“Because, Little Red, Story told you to, didn’t she? And really, I think you’re out of options. If the wind changes, the smell will bring them down on you so fast you won’t know what’s coming.”

“Jess, we have to trust him right now, we don’t have a choice.”

“You have no idea how much I would really like to kill you,” Jess told the Wolf. “It’s boiling my blood, but Nicholas is right. So how do you suggest we get in there? It’s completely guarded by a hoard of Wolves.” Nicholas could almost hear the arch of her brow.

“It’s strategically impossible,” Nicholas agreed shaking his head, dismay falling over him. They couldn’t leave Ninian and Jemma to the Wolves.

Darvish smiled. “It just so happens that a Daughter of the Will is staying with us right now, and she was nice enough to whip me up an Incognitos Silver Bell draught.”

“Don’t move,” a voice whispered from behind Darvish, and Nicholas saw Lance, face grimly set in the moonlight, nudge him with a long sword. “Unless you want to die.”

Kestrel suddenly appeared beside Jess. “We must go now; I’ll kill him.”

“No,” Nicholas whispered vehemently. “He’s on our side. Lay down your arms, Lance.”

The Pegasus prince hesitated, obviously torn by the command. But with a nod from Jess, the expert on all things Big Bad, he listened. Nicholas could tell it cost Jess to give a Big Bad her safety approval.

“Story told us to trust him,” Nicholas said, turning back to Darvish, who stepped away from Lance and eyed the Pegasus Prince and his queen with wariness.

“So Ninian gave you some potion, how will it help us?” Jess continued with the questioning.

Smiling now that a knife was no longer in his back, Darvish chuckled. “I will send out two from my ranks to different areas of the perimeter. Dispatch of them, but don’t kill them. And do not draw blood. Once you have, take a drop of their saliva and put one in each potion. Then drink it.”

Beside Nicholas, Jess made a gagging noise.

“You will take on their likeness. I will then send out two more men, who you must do the same to, except this time, do not drink. Save your vials and head back down into camp. One of you go into the tent and give Ninian and Jemma each a vial. If anyone asks why you’re going into the prisoners’ tent, tell them Darvish told you to see to their wounds. I’m the closest thing the pack has to a doctor. Say that the better kept they are, the more fight they’ll put up later on when Brink lets us have them.

“As soon as you can, get out of camp. Got it? Oh, and one more thing. Don’t get separated from each other or the potion will lose its power.”

They nodded in response and Jess jerked her head at Kestrel. “We’ll meet you by the hollowed tree we saw up the hill. If you hear the hunting howl, get out.”

Kestrel shook her head. “No way, Jess, my mother is in there, I should be going with you.”

“No,” Jess said with such authority, Nicholas could see why the Wolves were scared of her. She wasn’t afraid of much. “You may be a queen in your own right, and I understand it’s your mother, but this is my territory. I’m the Little Red Riding Hood here, and I’ve trained to kill these monsters my entire life. And Nicholas knows them—he has spent more time with them than even I have. We go. You stay here. Her tone brooked no argument, and Kestrel nodded her assent, although he could tell she wasn’t happy. Too many alpha females. It was amazing they all got on so well, Nicholas grimaced.

“Besides, you have a little boy that needs his mother, so stay alive another day, Kestrel.”

Although Kestrel still seemed unconvinced, Lance appeared to like the plan, relief smoothing his handsome features as he took her arm. “Let’s go,” he murmured.

The rest of them watched as the couple headed back into the brush. Darvish was unabashedly grinning in the darkness, his strange canine greens almost glowing as bright as Bliss’s eyes sometimes did.

“What are you smiling at?” Jess growled at him.

Darvish chuckled and shook his head. “Just you, Little Red.”

Jess’s face twisted into a snarl, but Darvish winked a gleaming Wolf eye and nodded. “They’ll be up soon. Be on the lookout.”

“Oh, I will,” Jess hissed. “I will.”

Chuckling, Darvish walked down the hill, leaving them to hide and wait. “Green, but he’s annoying,” Jess muttered as they crawled back into the brush, obscuring themselves from view. “I don’t know why Story wouldn’t let me just kill him.”

She was silent for a moment and then glanced at Nicholas. “You ready for this, Wolf lover?”

“Oh, I think you’ll find I don’t love them so much.”

The night grew silent after their final exchange, with only the sounds of an occasional animal moving or insect chirping, but even insects didn’t like to be too close to the Wolves. Jess’s breathing was imperceptible to the ear, but then he guessed it was all part of being a predator herself.

They were crouched down in the brush for only a few more minutes before they heard the footfalls and the two Big Bads stealthily making their way up the hill. From what Nicholas could hear, they were in man form, and for that he was thankful. They were much more lethal as Wolves, and if Nicholas and Jess could get the jump on them, they might be able to dispatch them before they had time to change form.

Nicholas could see now that Darvish had sent up some of the scrawnier Big Bads, and he started to wonder what the story was with this Big Bad Wolf. In his experience, Wolves didn’t help the good guys.

“I don’t smell nothing,” the skinnier of the two said in a canine-like whine.

The stockier shape grunted. “I’d rather be back at the tent where the witch is being kept. I think I’d like to get a little taste of her.”

They were drawing closer when the shorter one sniffed the air. “Hey, you smell that?”

Lanky stopped and took a big long sniff in as well. “Yah, it smells like . . . ”

Jess glanced at Nicholas and in fluid motion, she was up on her feet, stepping behind the shorter one as if in a dance. Her hands sailed through the night like white hands of judgment as she grasped his neck and snapped it.

“Me,” she finished his sentence with a scary smile.

Lanky’s eyes rolled back as if he sensed a predator stronger than he, but Nicholas was on him before he could react. Taking the blunt end of his dagger, Nicholas conked him on the head hard enough to knock him out.

“Get his saliva,” Jess commanded.

Nicholas put a vial near his Wolf’s mouth as Jess did the same with hers, and he was able to collect a drop as the Wolf drooled in his unconscious state. Shaking the mixture, Nicholas turned back to Jess.

“Darvish said not to kill them,” he hissed.

“No,” Jess said with a smug smile before she downed her drink, her face twisting in distaste before she looked back at him. “He just said ‘don’t draw blood.’”

“And he also said ‘don’t kill them.’” He clenched his jaw, wanting to shake her.

She shrugged carelessly. “Ooops. Oh well, too late now.” She laughed to herself. “We already killed one, what’s one more?”

Nicholas felt himself begin to change, a tingling sensation like he’d felt when Ninian had given them the Incognitos Silver Bell petals before. “Don’t kill the next ones,” he retorted as they hid once more after dragging the bodies out of sight. Nicholas only hoped the Wolves wouldn’t catch the scent of death before they could get the jump on them.

Jess said nothing as they waited, which was a little bit longer than the previous time. But soon enough came two more. These ones were also not very big, but they seemed less stupid. That was until he noticed one was walking with a bit of a sloppy swagger, lacking the grace that made Wolves such great hunters.

As they got closer, Nicholas smelled a whiff of alcohol and grinned. The Wolves might be bigger, but Darvish had sent them up a drunk.

“Don’t know why I hash to come, I’s jest fine where I was,” whined the inebriated Wolf in a half-slur.

The other guy, with an average build, shrugged. He didn’t seem overly concerned about being backed up by a drunk Wolf, and he looked as if he was about to turn back around before they even got close enough. But he suddenly stopped and sniffed, a slow growl sounding in the back of his throat.

“Wa’s ish it?” the other one drawled, looking around with hooded yellow eyes in the night, his movements slow and sluggish.

Jess jerked her head at the sober one, staking her intent to take him. Before Nicholas could protest, she was out of the brush and on him, but this Wolf was more alert than their previous victims and he blocked her assault, sending her dagger flying into the grass. Nicholas took the moment to grab the drunk Wolf, who only seemed to comprehend what was happening as Nicholas brought his sword down and easily dispatched him with a thud to his skull.

He turned, hoping to find the other on the ground as well, but Jess was struggling. This Wolf was stronger than he looked and was blocking all her attacks, stopping her roundhouse kick in mid-air with his massive hands. The Big Bad leered at her surprise and sent her flying through the air. Nicholas looked for an in, feeling the urgency to quell the disturbance on the hill before they were noticed. He flew toward the Wolf. His opponent reared up, and Nicholas felt the impact of the Wolf’s feet to his chest, his breath gasped out of him as he lost it and went flying to the ground. His chest heaved as he tried to suck in air, but all he could hear was the sound of his own wheezing. He was too late—the Big Bad was morphing into beast form, and once he changed, there was no way Nicholas would be able to defeat him. The Wolf would send out a howl and the entire horde would be after them.

Helpless, Nicholas glanced over to Jess, who was staring at him as if she’d never seen a Wolf before. All he could manage was a gasp and a wild gesture. “Wolf—you kill . . . Birthright.”

She appeared confused, her skin tight against her face in the pale moonlight, but he saw her steel eyes gather storm. In the moments a Wolf changes, there is a lapse where he is vulnerable, and she took the opportunity. Rising to her feet in one swift leap, she released her sword. It went singing through the air with a whisper of steel on the breeze, the razor edge sweeping the Wolf’s head from his neck just as the change completed. So much for not drawing blood, Nicholas winced.

“Dammit Jess, more death, and now blood?” He got up from where he’d fallen, his breath collected, and he quickly gathered the saliva needed from the decapitated head.

“We’ll have to bury him,” she whispered calmly, her confidence seemingly restored. “It will help mask the scent.”

Nicholas didn’t argue. It was a good idea, but they’d have to work fast or else all their trouble would be for nothing. Without speaking, the two gathered the head and the body, dragging them as far away as they dared. Then, using sharp rocks, they proceeded to dig as much as they could. They soon realized they weren’t going to get very far without a shovel, but figured they could gather as much leaves and grass as possible, cover the body, and hide the scent that way.

When they were done, the shape in the darkness merely looked like a mound of grass and branches, camouflaged as it was against the tall brush.

“Well?” Nicholas turned toward her as she sniffed the air. One of her gifts as a Riding Hood was her ability to smell as well as a Wolf.

“It’s better. Plus, I’m looking for the smell. It will work well enough that it won’t alert anyone in camp. But if anyone comes out this way, they’ll smell it for sure. We’d best get going.”

Nicholas nodded. “Don’t leave my side. If we’re separated we’ll change back.”

“I don’t remember Darvish saying that,” she whispered back.

“Yeah, just like you don’t remember him saying not to kill anyone?”

Jess was silent as they started down the hill, and Nicholas felt bad for a moment, but he was too busy concentrating on walking like a stealthy Wolf.

As they entered the compound, Nicholas made himself remember what it was like to travel with the Wolves. A feeling of calm washed over him as he pretended he was just a boy and they would never dare touch him.

Jess looked every bit the role, sauntering past other Wolves with a sneer and a nod here and there. Plus, she had already been gifted with their preternatural grace. Nicholas was assaulted by the smell of Wolf―he forgot how strong it could be. It was musky, with the faintest hint of sulfur. They were everywhere, laughing and talking. Nicholas glanced to his side as they walked past a ring of men shouting. A small crowd was making wagers over two Big Bads in Wolf form, who lunged and snarled at one another. Wolf fights.

“Hey Barton!” Nicholas was focused on the tent ahead of them, the one flying Nigel’s flag only ten feet in the distance. It was simple, purple for the color of Wolf royalty. As alpha, Nigel had taken on the role of leadership to his pack, but he had also somehow grown his pack to hundreds, which was pretty much unheard of.

“Barton!” The shout came again and Jess elbowed Nicholas, who turned toward the voice.

“Yeah?” he called back, doing his best to impersonate the whininess of the real Barton’s voice.

“You want to wager tonight?” called the man. Nicholas had never seen him before, but he could see there was viciousness in his Wolf eyes. He was also tall, maybe six-foot-eleven, the tallest Nicholas had ever seen. He imagined with an inward shudder that he must be massive when in Wolf form.

“Nah, not tonight, I’ve got me some drinking to do.”

The big man laughed. “Next time then,” he said with a slow growl and turned back to the crowd. Nicholas and Jess shared a nonchalant glance, but he didn’t need her to tell him. That was the new alpha in town, and he looked scary. And unfortunately, he was awfully close to the tent they needed to get to.

***

Sounds good, right? 🙂 Here’s what you need to do to enter for a chance of winning one of three eBook-copies of Fractured Dream:

Comment on this post by stating you’d like to enter, and then tweet -yep, that’s right, TWEET- the following: “I entered the #FracturedDream by @KM_Randall giveaway on @DavesFandSFW’s blog” or something similar. The hashtag should be included, as well as the author’s twitter handle and my own. 🙂 The giveaway is open to every single person on the planet, so get those entries in!

The giveaway will run from today until the Friday the 27th of June (3 weeks to enter for 3 eBooks), and I’ll announce the winners here on Monday the 30th. 🙂

Got all that? Good stuff!

Be EPIC!

 

Spotlight: Obscura Burning by Suzanne van Rooyen (YA / LGBT)

Hey everyone, I’m back with another Spotlight post, this time focusing on a title from a South African author, Suzanne van Rooyen. 🙂

The Author

Suzanne is a tattooed story-teller and peanut-butter addict from South Africa. She currently lives in Finland and finds the cold, dark forests nothing if not inspiring. Although she has a Master’s degree in music, Suzanne prefers conjuring strange worlds and creating quirky characters. When not writing you can find her teaching dance and music to middle-schoolers or playing in the snow with her shiba inu.

Suzanne is represented by Jordy Albert of the Booker Albert Agency.
Suzanne is also Publicity Manager for Entranced Publishing.

Here’s the blurb:

Kyle Wolfe’s world is about to crash and burn. Just weeks away from graduation, a fire kills Kyle’s two best friends and leaves him permanently scarred. A fire that Kyle accidentally set the night he cheated on his boyfriend Danny with their female friend, Shira. That same day, a strange new planet, Obscura, appears in the sky. And suddenly Kyle’s friends aren’t all that dead anymore. Each time Kyle goes to sleep, he awakens to two different realities. In one, his boyfriend Danny is still alive, but Shira is dead. In the other, it’s Shira who’s alive…and now they’re friends with benefits.

Shifting between realities is slowly killing him, and he’s not the only one dying. The world is dying with him. He’s pretty sure Obscura has something to do with it, but with his parents’ marriage imploding and realities shifting each time he closes his eyes, Kyle has problems enough without being the one in charge of saving the world…

And here’s the Book Trailer:

And for your reading pleasure, an excerpt from the novel. 🙂

Enjoy!

***

1.

Cornflakes; scraps of yellow cardboard polluting perfectly good milk. I wash them down with orange juice, dribbling a little from the corner of my mouth where my lips no longer form a smooth crease. From his cross fixed to the kitchen wall, an emaciated Jesus glares at me, making the cardboard cereal even more difficult to swallow.

I drag the paper over and skim the headlines: Obscura panic despite government reassurances that the world probably won’t end. Department stores got ransacked in Albuquerque amid fears of price gouging. People are really starting to freak out. There’s a snippet on page two about the situation in Iraq, how a bunch of American soldiers are demanding flights home to see family before Armageddon. A picture of the Eiffel Tower lit up with candles and strewn with flowers; a phallic offering to whichever god tossed Obscura into the sky. There’s a whole segment on what Obscura might be doing to the weather. Meteorologists predict the worst hurricane season in centuries, increased seismic activity resulting in more tsunamis and volcanoes. The world might not end, but that doesn’t mean humans won’t get wiped out anyway.

“What are you doing today, son?” Dad asks around the edges of the sports section. He should be scouring the classifieds for a job, not that there’d be much point if the world ends.

“The usual.” There isn’t a hell of a lot to do in Coyote’s Luck. Last couple of summers, Danny and I passed the days out by the dam near the reservation with Shira, or worked odd jobs around town, sometimes even helping out at the ranches farther away. This year we’d both been set for working at Black Paw, an eatery sporting kitsch Indian decor and a Mexican menu. Then the fire happened.

“Didn’t you have a job lined up?” Dad folds the paper and looks at me. His gaze doesn’t linger too long on my face before he’s studying his checkered napkin. Mom usually mediates conversations like this one, but she worked the night shift and is still passed out upstairs.

“You really think they’re going to want me serving kids their tortillas?”

“Why not?” Dad still doesn’t look up.

“You can’t even look at me, Dad. How the hell do you think some kids are going to order food and not end up puking on the table when they see my face?” I smash my bowl in the sink and stomp out of the kitchen, slamming the screen door behind me. Dad calls after me, but I ignore him. Nothing he can say will change my scars.

2.

Scrabbling under my bed, I retrieve an A3 drawing book and bag of colored pens. The first few pages are half-finished comics, a story yet unfinished waiting for my imagination. Then there’s a multicolored map scrawled across several pages, denoting my life: pages filled with boxes, each dated and timed, connected by lines as I try to make sense of what’s happening to me.

With a ruler and green pen, I draw a new box, jotting down the details since waking up at Shira’s.

I glance at my watch just to be sure. Tuesday, 21:47, June 26.

The map is a spaghetti mess of interweaving lines and text boxes. I’m not sure when my life got so complicated. Maybe when I was bandaged in the hospital, delirious in an opiate-induced haze, or maybe in those first few days after Danny’s spinal fusion, days I spent pacing the halls waiting to find out if he’d ever walk again.

My starting point is marked in red. April 6. The night of the fire.

I stash the book under my bed and strip naked. The stink of sex clings to my skin. Girls smell different, ripe and cloying. It’s a smell that gets everywhere. Even my hair reeks of girl-musk.

The tiles are cool against my back as I stand beneath a jet of cold water. Although my burns have healed, the scars are still sensitive. If the water is warmer than tepid it feels like I’m on fire all over again.

Running a hand over my mangled flesh, it’s as if I’m feeling the strange surface of some weird planet. Caressing Obscura perhaps. Her cratered and shale-smeared crust probably looks a lot like my skin. At first it was terrifying, the bubbles and swaths of too smooth flesh, the pink knots and swollen ridges slithering down my belly. Now it’s fascinating, all the warped shapes and odd textures. Surreal really, like it’s not my body that got deep-fried.

Not sure what the big deal is about me not being able to have kids. My left ball only looks a little more wrinkled than before, less hairy and more like a prune. The plumbing works just fine. Sex doesn’t feel the same, but then with a girl, how could it?

***

To order copies of Obscura Burning, check out the following links: Amazon US, Barnes and Noble, OmniLit, The Book Depository. If you’re a member of Goodreads, make sure to add the title at this link.

Check out Suzanne’s website here, and you can also connect with her on Pinterest, Twitter and Facebook

There we go – another interesting title to add to your shelf! 🙂 And thanks to Suzanne for offering the excerpt of her novel. 🙂

Until Friday,

Be EPIC!

 

Spotlight: American Specter by Rasheedah Prioleau

Hi guys and girls, I’m back with another spotlight-post, including an excerpt of the book in question. 🙂 And so, having joined the virtual book tour promoting the novel, here it is!

 

Here’s the blurb:

FBI Agent Audra Wheeler has been haunted for the last thirteen years by a paranormal attack that left her sister, Kendra, in a coma. Mentored by FBI Assistant Director Jonathan Cordero to investigate crimes committed by specters, Audra believes she is on the trail of a ‘serial killer’ specter with a M.O. very similar to her sister’s attacker. The investigation takes her to a small town of Specter, Georgia; a haven for ghosts who exist among the living.

From a review on Goodreads:

“American Specter, by Rasheedah Prioleau is full of shocking revelations, specters, mythology, and a conclusion the reader will not see coming. I give this book 5 well deserved stars!”

Your interest should be suitably piqued, 😉 And just to get you really hooked, here’s an excerpt from the novel – enjoy!

***

Audra stepped into the four-room mobile home converted into a sheriff’s station
and looked around trying not to let her disappointment show. She let the briefcase in her hand rest on the edge of the sheriff’s desk that was no more than six feet from the front door. There were two other desks in the room marked for a secretary and a deputy, but no one else was there. The walls were decorated with various maps of the town and an ancient filing cabinet took up nearly half of the wall behind the sheriff’s desk.

She pointed to the empty desks questioningly. “Lunch break?”

“Actually we recently lost our deputy to the police academy,” he said. “I haven’t
gotten around to finding a replacement just yet. Things are usually too slow to justify a secretary.”

Audra nodded, taking in the small space and its proximity to the front door. “Is
there a more secure area we can talk and eat?” she asked, lifting her Bishop’s to-go plate.

He smiled and pointed her to the hallway. She followed it to the back meeting
room, a square table with eight seats nearly filling it, and took a seat opposite of the door.

Ethan sat across from her as she opened the briefcase and pulled out four separate files, lining them up in order from the first murder to the last.
She took a small breath as she set the briefcase aside and opened the first victim’s file.

“Amanda Price of Boston, Massachusetts,” she said and looked at the girl’s
postmortem mug shot. Laid out on the medical examiner’s slab her skin was grayish pale and her dark hair was pulled back off of her lean face. The bruising from her own fingernail scratching as well as the strange burn marks around her neck stood out in the photograph like a gruesome necklace.

Ethan took the file and flipped through the first few pages of the report. He put it
down and picked up the next, opening it.

“Jenifer Martin of Newark, New Jersey,” she cited as he took in an almost
identical image of a dark haired girl with graying skin, fingernail scars and burns around her neck.

Audra opened her lunch and began to eat. She could not remember the last time
she’d allowed herself to indulge in barbeque with a side of macaroni and cheese and cornbread.

Ethan flipped the remaining files open and looked at the pictures of Linda Parker
of Charlotte, North Carolina and Regina Fowler of Savannah, Georgia.

“All were alone and in bed at the time of their murders, most likely asleep,”
Audra said.

“They all look alike,” Ethan said in a low voice.

“A serial killer with a type,” Audra agreed. “A type that looks a lot like my
sister.”

Ethan sat back as if a light bulb had gone off in his head. “Your sister was
attacked like this, right?”

Audra nodded.

“You think these are connected to your sister?” he asked, as if he had already
suspected as much.

“I do,” she finally said aloud for the first time.

“Okay, tell me again about your sister’s case.” Ethan turned stone cold serious.
His face was set in an intense yet calm pose that said he was listening to her words, reading between the lines, and watching her body language as she recited the details of her sister’s case.

“I ran to my sister’s room after hearing a crash. She was up in the air grabbing for
her throat. When I flipped on the light she fell back onto the bed. No one else was there. I called 9-1-1 and tried my best at CPR. She was almost nine months pregnant at the time.”

“How is she now?” he asked.

“She’s still in a coma,” Audra said. “Nothing has changed in the past thirteen
years.”

“It wasn’t declared to be specter related was it?” Ethan asked.

“No, specters weren’t known about then. It was labeled unexplained phenomena.”

“Where is she now?”

“My mother moved from New York back to Boston when dad died about a year
ago. She had Kendra transferred to a long-term care hospital,” Audra said.

“My condolences,” Ethan said quietly.

“Thank you.”

“Boston. The same city as the first victim,” Ethan observed. “Was your sister ever
in Newark or these other places?”

“For a time we lived in Newark and Boston when we were kids, before my father
was transferred to New York,” Audra said, unconsciously licking the barbeque from her fingers.

“Where are your sister’s husband and your niece now?” Ethan asked.

“They are in Boston with his new wife. I still see Kendra on occasion, especially
her birthday. But it’s painful,” Audra concluded.

“Oh, Rook,” Ethan whispered. It was the nickname he’d given her their first day
together as partners. “As far as you know there is no connection between your sister and this town?”

“The only thing that has any meaning to me here is you,” Audra said and she
could not hide the emotion in her eyes from him. “And once again, I have to say that I do not believe in coincidence.”

“Me neither,” he assured her. “Maybe we should get you checked into the B&B,”
Ethan said, standing and closing the files. He stacked them neatly and handed them her.

Audra took the time to wipe her hands with the single wet-nap supplied by Bishop’s takeout service and put the files back in the briefcase. She was relieved to finally have someone she trusted know what she was facing.

She packed up the remainder of her lunch and they left the station. She followed
Ethan’s truck to the B&B and checked into a room. He followed her to her room and closed the door behind him. He didn’t ask and he didn’t wait for her to ask, just pulled her into a hungry kiss and she felt herself melt against him. He pulled away looking deeply into her eyes. He smiled and she appreciated the kindness and emotion he showed.

It matched how she felt. He backed away from her, taking off his shirt and sitting on the edge of the bed.

His dark skin was pulled tight and rippled over his chest, arms, and abs. His low
key t-shirt had hidden all of the fine-tuning and strength of his upper body. Audra stayed close to the wall. Now that he was there, in the flesh, she felt nervous.

Sitting on her bed with his shirt off, she knew exactly where this was headed.

He smiled and reached a hand out to her. She walked closer to him, kicking her
shoes off, and took his hand. It was as smooth and warm as she remembered.He pulled her to him and seated her on the bed as he was looking into her eyes.

“I missed you Rook,” he said.

He reached a hand up and touched her cheek. She placed a hand over his and
brought it to her mouth, kissing the palm of it. He reached out with his other hand to bring her head down to kiss her lips.

“Ethan,” she whispered, her voice swallowed by the deep and electric kiss that
they shared.

She pulled off her suit jacket and he tugged her silk shirt over her head, dropping
it to the floor. She felt goose bumps travel up her spine as his hands roamed over her back then folded her into an embrace. His skin felt like magic against her. Audra wrapped her arms around him and kissed him deeply as he unfastened her bra and let both hands travel to cup her breasts. She worked to unfasten her gun belt, setting it gently on the floor, then took off her specter shield and tossed it on top of her jacket, unbuttoning her pants and pushing them to the floor.

Ethan smiled as she straddled his lap. She felt his hands trace her body and her
mind let go of everything. It was easy to be with him. Even though it had been such a long time, being in his arms again made it feel like only yesterday. He took his time and went slow, both of them savoring every moment together. She took note of a new scar on his right side, just above his hipbone. Touching it she looked him quizzically in the eye.

He smiled and shrugged, pulling her into another kiss that led to a much-needed release for both of them.

They lay together afterwards for several minutes looking at each other. Audra saw
him drifting off to sleep and let him. Rising from the bed, she was very careful not to wake him as she stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She washed up slowly, recounting every moment of what had just happened, smiling as she blushed with the memories. Stepping from the shower to dry off, the reality of how bad it was that they slept together again began to sink in.

When she emerged from the bathroom she looked at the bedside clock. It was a
quarter past five and Ethan slept as if dead to the world. She didn’t want to wake him and didn’t know if she would be able to cover up her raw feelings with the same nonsense of it not having to mean anything, because it did mean something to her. It always had.

She dressed quickly and left a note with the address to the Daylight Candle Shop.

Strapping the specter shield onto her wrist, she thought that he might be pissed when he woke up, but she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

***

There we go! 🙂

American Specter will be published on the 4th of February by Rocket Press Publishing, so keep an eye out for it! And do go check out Rasheedah’s website here. 🙂

Until tomorrow,

Be EPIC!

 

A Thousand Perfect Things by Kay Kenyon: Blog Tour, Excerpt and Giveaway!

As soon as I heard about this novel I was supremely interested – the melding of genres in this novel grabbed my attention and it’s definitely been a novel I’ve been looking forward to. So you can imagine how happy I was when I received a message inviting me to join in the Blog Tour advertising and celebrating the novel’s release. 🙂

Thanks to the great people behind ‘A Thousand Perfect Things’ at Premier Digital Marketing and Kay Kenyon, I’ve got an excerpt of the book for you reading pleasure (plus a GIVEAWAY!). 🙂 So, without keeping you waiting further, here’s the excerpt:

***

She met Jessa on the walkway between the greenhouse cottage and the great house.

“A visitor!” Jessa declared, waving a note. “Arriving this afternoon.”

“Who?”

“Captain Edmond Muir-Smith. He’s coming to visit Papa.”

Tori vaguely remembered that a Muir-Smith had served under her father in the Pict campaign.

Jessa’s color was high. “Mama’s in a tempest, though he’s just an army officer. One to whom I suppose papa will try to marry me off.”

With her sister’s recent broken engagement tarnishing her prospects, any eligible male visitor raised immediate interest. “How old is this one?”

“Twenty-eight. A captain in the King’s Company of the fusiliers. And he’s taller than I am.”

Tori felt a smile break out. “How long do we have to tear apart the closet to find something to wear?”

Jessa grinned. “Not long enough.”

Looking at her sister, Tori could not imagine that she wouldn’t impress the captain no matter what she wore, with her light brown tresses framing a heart-shaped face.

Looking back toward the library, Tori said, “I’ll be right up.”

As Jessa ran off, Tori paused, glancing up at the sycamore tree. It always managed to gather shadows this time of day. With its flaking bark and patches of dusty green algae it was easy to see in it something that wasn’t there.

Oh, but this time, it was. Her throat went dry.

It perched on a branch quite close to the trunk of the nearest tree. At first impression, it was an owl with bluish purple feathers. Its rotund body was very bird-like, but it wasn’t a natural creature, not with that visage. The face was almost human. A bulbous nose flabbed down the length of its face so that both human and owl aspects were equally repugnant.

Its head rotated around to her. Large eyes, chillingly light-filled, met hers. She backed up a step. It was . . . it had to be, a manifestation of magic. Do not be afraid, she charged herself.

She shivered under that maladroit gaze. Sometimes magic killed, Anglics had come to learn. Such visitations were called contagions, a term that so perfectly represented Anglic fear of the unscientific. Sometimes contagions presaged a malign event: for example the disaster in Oxfordshire when the train went off its tracks and went four miles before plunging over a cliff. But that said nothing about magic as a practice, for any endeavor might be turned to horrid purpose by those who abused knowledge. She did not wish to judge the intrusion in the sycamore. But the face . . .

It looked away, as though to prove it had other business. But then, slowly, the head swiveled back in her direction. Her stomach tightened. Oh, it looked at her. Assessed her. She yanked her gaze away, lest its eyes drag something out of her–she knew not what.

Why had it come? Oh, leave us in peace, she wanted to plead, but found herself unable to speak. Backing up, she felt a most unseemly haste to be away from it, and turning, rushed up the walkway.

***

Here are the details for the tour – make sure to check out each excerpt and the interviews with Kay, as they come up!

Tour Schedule

The Blog-Tour kicked off on the 28th of August, and these are the posts that have already hit the internet:

Aug 28. Asteria’s Blog  – Review and Giveaway

Aug 29. Behind a Million and One Pages –  Excerpt and Giveaway

Sept 1 Author Jonathan Ryan – Excerpt and Giveaway

Sept 2. Chirenjenzie – Favorite Pinterest Pins and Giveaway

Sept 3. Dave-Brendon’s Fantasy and Sci-Fi Weblog – Excerpt and Giveaway

Coming up after this post, you can look forward to the following:

Sept 4. Mindy Ruiz – Excerpt and Giveaway

Sept 5. Elizabeth Isaacs’ Blog – Excerpt and Giveaway

Sept 6. Hooked in a Book – Excerpt and Giveaway

Sept 7. BlKosiner’s Book Blog– Interview!

Sept 8. Delphina reads too much – Featured Article and Giveaway!

Sept 9. A Dribble of Ink –  Featured Article!

Sept 10.Lilliputian’s Journey – Excerpt and Giveaway

Sept 11. Mom With A Kindle – Interview!

Sept 12. A Dragon’s Love – Excerpt and Giveaway!

As soon as I get a copy of this intriguing novel I’ll be reading it, so expect a review sometime soon. 🙂

Remember to check out Kay’s website for all the info you’ll need about her and her work, including the SF quartet loved and praised by everyone who’s read it, ‘The Entire and the Rose‘, which kicked off with ‘Bright of the Sky‘.

You can also connect with Kay just about everywhere else:

Facebook

Twitter

Pinterest

Google+

Goodreads

And before you leave, can I tempt you with winning a signed copy of ‘A Thousand Perfect Things’ *AND* a $50 gift card? I thought I could! Follow this link to Rafflecopter to enter the giveaway! It ends at midnight on the 12th of September, so get your entries in!

Until next time,

Be EPIC!

 

Free SF Reading: Annihilation by Paul Byers – Part 3

Hi everyone, hope you’ve all had a great Friday so far. 🙂

I’m back with the third and last part of Paul Byer‘s excellent SF short story, Annihilation; so far (in part 1) we’ve met the crew of a sub that was tasked with finding and tracking a new and potentially dangerous Chinese sub, (in part 2) they were returning to base, unsuccessful in their mission, whereupon they discovered that Pearl Harbour had been wiped off the map (as well as some other, more mysterious discoveries), and now in Part 3 we get the conclusion. 🙂

Before that, though, I thought I’d post the last of Paul’s guest-blogs, and don’t worry, there’s aren’t any spoilers! 😉

***
I primarily writer action thrillers but Act of God is a return to my roots, so to speak. I started out writing science fiction and I enjoy the freedom that comes from writing this kind of genre. If I want to make the sky green, then it’s green. If I want to have a massive alien fleet of robotic creatures who want to attack earth because they need our oil, so be it.

Today’s sci-fi audience is much more sophisticated and educated, most having grown up on such sci-fi staples as Star Trek and Star Wars. Nowadays, a writer can take a lot for granted when telling their stories. Everyone has heard of hyperspace or warp drive, phasers, lasers and photon cannons and the concept of faster-than-light travel and beaming is no big deal and doesn’t need to be explained.

The genre of science fiction as evolved from its early beginnings of Buck Rogers and little green men invading earth. Today, the genre has grown and expanded to encompass so much more than just flights into deep space.

With new technologies, the stories have blended with the techno thriller and military themes have relied heavily on technologies and are often woven into sci-fi stories. Touches of fantasy as well as the ever popular use of robots and medical manipulation of DNA have also grown more prominent in today’s science fiction, making it the mainstay of the modern genre.

But whether as a writer you are drawing on proven and known technology or creating your own universe, and whether you boldly go where no man has gone before or create a theme park where no expense has been spared (where the attractions eat the guests) science fiction is a great way to tell great stories.
***

Annihilation – Part 3

“Officer of the Deck! I’m receiving a signal!” The radio operator called out.

“Locate and identify!” Hollis ordered. “And Collins, go get the Captain!”

Just then Captain Deacon strode into the control room. “No need,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep.” He walked over to the radio station and leaned over the operator. “What have we got?”

“It’s a simple message that’s being rotated on different frequencies in Morse code. Half of it is just random letters, but buried in the middle of all the jumble is a request for acknowledgment.”

“Acknowledge it then.” Deacon ordered.

“Aye sir, acknowledging.”

The entire control room waited for the reply. At last, they might have some answers. The radio operator scribbled down the reply, then turned to the captain.

“I’m sorry sir, but this doesn’t make any sense.”

“What doesn’t?”

“The reply. It says: Time: James Bond. Freq: Total inhabitants of Gilligan’s Island and length of cruise. Full count. And that’s it, the transmission has stopped.”

Everyone was puzzled by the riddle. Was someone playing games or was the sender just crazy. Suddenly Captain Deacon snapped his fingers.

“That’s it! It has to be!”

“What’s sir?”

“It’s a recognition code. A specific time and frequency. Something only we would know. During World War Two, if the G.I.’s suspected someone of being a German spy, they would ask them questions only an American would know. Something like who won the World Series or who a famous movie star was. These questions are something only we would know.

“But sir, James Bond and Gilligan’s Island are seen all over the world, not just in the U.S.”

“My point exactly. WE could figure it out because we’re from earth.”

“You mean E.T. sir?” The radio man asked looking at this captain with fear and confusion on his face.

“It’s just a theory, son,” Deacons said to the radio operator, “just a theory.”

Deacon clapped his hands and rubbed them together in anticipation. “Okay, let’s see what we have. James Bond is of course the indomitable 007, so broadcast will be at 0700 tomorrow morning.”

“And there were six castaways on Gilligan’s Island who were on a three-hour tour that stretched into four seasons.” Hollis joined in.

“Excuse me sir, but there were seven castaways.” The radio man said.

“I think the XO is right, there were only six.” One of the engineer mates piped in.

“Seven.”

“Six.”

Suddenly the control room of a United States Navy Nuclear Attack Submarine was filled with the sound of men humming the theme song from a 50-year-old television show.

Almost in unison a soft chorus broke out, “…the Professor and Mary Ann, here on Gilligan’s Isle.”

“You’re right Hollis said matter of factly. “I forgot about the Professor.”

Deacon burst out laughing.

“What?” Hollis said.

Deacon just shook his head. “Never mind. Okay, now that we have that settled, the only ‘full count’ I can think of is a three and two in baseball which make five, so the frequency must be 735.”

“Easy for us. But not so easy for whoever is listening.” Deacon said.

“I’m sorry sir, but I’m still having a hard time believing that someone other than inhabitants of good old Earth blew up Pearl.” Abe said.

“I hope I’m wrong too,” Deacon confessed. “It would make it a whole lot easier to deal with if I’m wrong.”

“Amen to that.”

At 0700 the next morning the control room was packed with every man who wasn’t on duty. Deacon thought about clearing the room, but decided against it. They were all in it together and they had a right to know. The room was silent; no one dared make a sound as they waited for the mysterious transmission. Suddenly the radio crackled, and as if scripted in a movie, everyone in the room held his breath.

“Do you copy?” Were the garbled words that came through the speakers.

Deacon picked up the microphone. “We read you. Please identify yourself.”

“Negative! And do not identify yourself. This will be a one minute transmission.”

“We have been out of circulation. Can you tell us what has happened?”

“You’re kidding right?” The voice said in astonishment.

“Negative,” Deacon thought for moment, “we’ve been visiting Dave Jones.”

There was a brief pause. “Understood. The earth is in complete shambles. Forty-three days ago the Ninjas arrived, catching our defenses completely off guard.”

“Ninjas?”

“Sorry, that’s the nickname we gave them because of the black suits they wear. We don’t know what they call themselves or where they came from. The Ninjas are an alien race that has devastated the planet. There are scattered pockets of resistance, but they are few and far between and falling fast.”

“What about the military? Couldn’t they do anything to stop them?”

“The Ninjas knew exactly where and what to hit; we didn’t have a chance. There were a few minor victories, but nothing to stem the flow of the Ninjas.”

“What do they want?” Hollis asked. “Have they made any demands?”

“Demands? Why? They’ve already beaten us. I suggest whoever you are that you find a place to hide and hope they don’t find you. Maybe they’ll take what they want and leave. I will not transmit again. It’s getting too risky for me. Good luck to you! Over and out.”

You could have heard the proverbial pin drop in the control room. Everyone was stunned. The Earth they had left just a few short months ago didn’t exist anymore.

“Chief of the Boat, make depth for 800 feet,” Deacon ordered.

“Aye sir, make depth for 800 feet.”

“Conn, sonar. I just picked up a surface contact! Bearing 287…range 10 miles. It’s a small craft, sir.”

“Belay the last. Helm, reduce speed to five knots, make depth 400 feet, heading 287. Any emissions from the contact?

“Negative sir. It appears to be dead in the water.”

“Very well then, we still need more information so I’m going to take the risk and board her. We’ll move under her at 100 feet then release two teams of divers to board her. You up for a little swim, Abe?” Deacon said looking at his XO.

Hollis smiled. “Yes sir.”

“Good. I want you to lead the boarding party. Pick three volunteers and prepare to depart in one hour.”

“Aye aye, sir!”

Fifty seven minutes later, Hollis led the team of four divers through the LOT (lock out trunk,) a way to enter and exit the submarine while still submerged, from the warmth and security of the Texas and into the unknown of the cold, murky waters of the Pacific. Each member of the team was armed with an M-16/M4 converted assault rifle and the Heckler & Koch HK45 as their sidearm, along with several clips of ammunition in water proof pouches.

Everything looked calm and peaceful as Hollis looked up from fifty feet below the hull, seeing the outline of the ship silhouetted against the surface; but he also knew looks were deceiving. He motioned for two of the divers to go to the starboard side, while he and his partner went up on the port.

As they surfaced, they could see that the ship was a 110 foot Island Class Coast Guard Cutter. Although it was built for the open ocean, Hollis thought it strange to find one this far out at sea, but then after the events of the last few days, nothing surprised him anymore. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, the two teams slipped over the railing and quickly hid in the debris scattered on the deck.

The ship was listing to port and Hollis could see that it was in shambles, having taken quite a beating recently in a storm.

Hollis lay hidden behind the twisted remains of a Zodiac, watching, waiting, listening. Satisfied that the deck was clear and that they hadn’t been spotted, he signaled for two men to go up the starboard side while he covered them. His heart was pounding and his mouth dry as he rested his assault rifle on the Zodiac and watched his men make their way to the superstructure.

He had been in danger before, he had been in the belly of a steel beast, directing 7800 tons of muscle and machine in harm’s way, but this was different, this was personal combat. He was in the thick of it, no electronics, no early warning systems and no inky depths to hide in. Here, he was face to face with danger.

His men reached the stern of the cabin with no trouble and they signaled for him to join them. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to his partner and they made their way as quickly and quietly as they could up the other side of the ship. As he came running up he signaled and the first two members of the team opened the cabin door and Hollis rushed in.

Three steps into the cabin, they were stopped in their tracks by an overwhelming stench that none of them had ever experienced before. Immediately the man beside Hollis threw up, and it was all he could do to keep from doing the same. The room was in as bad a shape as the deck outside; papers, furniture, and other debris were scattered around with puddles of standing water everywhere from broken windows. The room was empty of any human crew but they found three figures lying on the floor, all dressed in black. Ninjas, Hollis thought as he shoved the barrel of his gun into each of the bodies, making sure they were dead.

With the room secured, they split up and searched the rest of the ship. After ten minutes, all reported back that the ship was deserted. No more bodies were found, human or alien.

The men gathered around as Hollis took out a small flashlight to examine the bodies.

They all wore black body suits including a head cover, looking very similar to black wet suits. He could see why the name “Ninjas” had stuck. There were no exposed portions of the alien’s skin except through tears in the suits. Prying up one of the tears, he could see that the skin underneath looked like it had been eaten away, as if acid had been poured onto the flesh.

When Hollis reached down to examine the body more closely, water from his suit trickled down his arm and into one of the tears. Immediately, a reddish-blue foam oozed out of the opening.

“Would you look at that.” Hollis exclaimed. “Brask, go take your mask and bring it back here full of water.”

Brask left the cabin and returned shortly with the full mask. Hollis took the mask and began pouring water into each of the tears on the suit, with the same results: a reddish-blue foam appearing as the water dissolved the alien flesh.

“What do you know?” Hollis said. Water must act as a corrosive on the alien flesh. No wonder they wear these full body suits. “I’m going to call the captain and have him surface the boat and get these bodies on board. They could prove useful later.” As he walked out of the cabin, he found a small case. He opened it and found sheaf’s of papers with what appeared to be alien writing on it. “This could prove to be interesting.” He said as he shoved them inside his wetsuit.

An hour later with the alien bodies in the boat’s freezer, Hollis was sitting with the captain in his cabin.

“That’s quite a report, Abe. Did you get anything from those files you found?”

Hollis shook his head. “A quick glance gave me nothing but I haven’t had any real time to study them yet. But what gets me is if water is so harmful to them, then why go after a planet that’s 75 percent water?”

“Maybe to them, the 25 percent land we do have is a lot, which gives me an idea. Militarily we have been defeated and there’s nothing we can do about that.”

“That’s what’s so frustrating. We have such tremendous firepower aboard this boat and there’s nothing we can do prevent these “Ninjas” from taking over our planet. Maybe we should have polluted it more so they wouldn’t have wanted it.” Hollis said in a faint attempt at humor.

“I’ve been thinking, and maybe there is something we can do.” Deacon replied.

“Sir?”

“There’s only one way we can get the Ninjas off our world, and that’s for there to be less of it.”

“Less of it? I don’t understand.”

“We have a full complement of Tomahawk cruise missiles on board, don’t we?”

Hollis nodded.

“We go to maximum range and launch one at the polar ice cap, then run like hell.”

“I don’t understand? What’s at the polar ice cap?”

“Ice. And when the heat of the nuclear explosion hits, it will melt it, thus raising the water level around the world. We’ll create our own global warming. With less land, more potential ‘acid,’ there’s less of a reason for them to stay.”

“That’s quite a gamble sir. Do you know how many people we may drown?”

“I know it’s a risk, but if we don’t do anything at all, I know exactly how many people will be left. None. It’s a gamble all right, a long shot at best, but a long shot is better than none at all. I’m going to take the boat deep and head north. Let’s both get some sleep and see how we feel about it in the morning.”

“Good idea, I’m beat. Good night sir,” Hollis said as he got up and returned to his cabin.

Deacon turned off his lamp and lay in his bunk, a thousand different thoughts running through his mind. He closed his eyes, and tried to relax and get some sleep, but he knew he wouldn’t tonight.

Early the next morning Deacon found his Executive Officer in the galley with a cup of coffee in hand. His eyes were tired and bloodshot and he looked like he hadn’t slept at all.

“You look how I feel,” Deacon said, grabbing a cup of coffee.

“Looked in the mirror lately?” Hollis replied.

“Not much sleep for you either, I see.” Deacon smiled.

“I was up half the night trying to decipher those plans we found. As a kid I always liked solving riddles and crossword puzzles. I even took a couple of classes at the academy in code deciphering. The other half of the night I was thinking about your plan. To tell you the truth I don’t much like it, but I couldn’t come up with a better one. I don’t know, maybe we’re moving too fast. Maybe we should try to raise COMSUBPAC or the civilian authorities first.”

“I’m not crazy about flooding the earth either, but it’s the only way to drive the Ninjas off our planet. The longer we wait the more of them there’ll be. We don’t have time to get confirmation. I did some rough figuring, and I’ll qualify all my answers right now by saying I’m no scientist, but if we melted all the ice at both caps that would raise the sea level between 200 and 250 feet. Even if we got half that amount, say around 100 feet, the results would be catastrophic. Hopefully that would be enough to get the Ninjas to leave.”

“When do we launch?”

“We’ll be in weapons range in about three hours.”

“I don’t have duty until the mid-watch, but I’ll be up when we launch. I think I’ll go back to my puzzle book and see if I can unlock the mysteries of the Ninjas. Don’t launch until I get there please.”

“Good luck.” Deacon nodded then poured himself some more coffee and wished he hadn’t eaten the last doughnut.

Hollis went back to his cabin and began working on the Ninjas’ log book. He really didn’t think he had a hope of deciphering it, but it would keep him busy, and that’s what he needed right now. He began by looking for any words in English, words that the Ninjas might have translated already. Then, he looked for words that were repeated often. He found the word “Earth” several times, followed by the same phrase or one very similar. After two hours he had made little progress. Seeing he had time before the launch, he decided to take a look at the Ninjas themselves, hoping their uniforms might provide a clue. He headed to the ship’s freezer where the bodies were kept.

He took out one of the bodies and slid it onto a service cart. He carefully examined the outside of the suit and found very little that would help him. Next, he cut away the suit to examine the body. He smiled. He felt like one of those CSI investigators on TV as he peeled back the suit. The skin was grayish and had a very coarse texture; it reminded him of the skin of a shark. Several years back he had been snorkeling and had scared a nurse shark off the bottom and it had brushed up against his leg. The shark’s sandpaper-like skin was so rough it had scraped off some of the skin on his leg. This Ninja’s skin felt like that.

He cut away the black suit to examine the rest of the body, but there was not much to see because of all the corrosion caused by the acid of the sea water. He couldn’t tell if it was male or female, with no recognizable organs. Next he tried to examine the hands and feet but they were the most badly corroded. Wanting to clear away some of the loose skin so he could examine the bones, he took a glass of water and poured it into the wound. Nothing happened.

Puzzled because there was no corrosive foam, he did it again, only this time pouring the entire glass on the wound. Still nothing.

Staring intently at the wound, he went to set the empty glass on the counter and it slipped off and fell to the floor. As he reached down to pick it up, his arm dragged across the body bag. When he stood back up, he noticed that there were traces of the reddish-blue foam seeping out of one of the wounds. He noticed that several drops of seawater had dripped from the bag into the wound.

Puzzled, Hollis took a sponge, mopped up some of the excess water then squeezed out over the wound: instantly, the reddish-blue foam appeared. Suddenly the passages in the log book became clear. They were talking about two kinds of water: salt water and fresh water.

A sickening feeling began forming in his stomach. He had noticed earlier some loose skin between the fingers of the Ninjas but thought nothing of it, thinking it was just flesh melted away by the water, but now…. Quickly he moved to tear open the other two body bags. This Ninja’s hands and feet were in worse shape than the first corpse but the third body still had its gloves on. He ripped off the gloves and stared at the hands. The stunning revelation was staring him in the face. That wasn’t just loose skin between its fingers, they were webbed, like a duck’s foot.

The Ninjas didn’t come to Earth because they wanted more land; they came because they wanted more water! Only they hadn’t realized that there was salt water here and that it would act as a corrosive to them. Suddenly a second and even more powerful realization hit him.

He felt faint; the polar ice was fresh water, not salt. If they melted it, it might dilute the salt water enough for the Ninjas to survive. He had to get to the control room and stop the launch. He looked at his watch; he still had a couple of minutes. He ran through the corridors, shouting to stop the launch. He rounded the last hatchway to the control room and tripped just as he entered, hitting his head hard on the metal deck.

Slowly Hollis opened his eyes. His head felt worse than any hangover he’d ever had. Suddenly he remembered. “We’ve got to abort the launch, we can’t launch that missile.”

“Why?” Deacon asked.

“The Ninjas aren’t here for the land; they’re here because we have so much water. They don’t have salt water on their planet so they didn’t know our oceans would be dangerous to them. They need fresh water. If we melt the ice cap the fresh water will dilute the salt water enough so they can survive. If we melt the ice, we will be dooming the earth instead of saving it.”

Deacon stumbled and fell back on the floor as if an unseen prize fighter had delivered a roundhouse punch. “You’ve been unconscious for the past half hour,” Deacon stammered; “we launched five minutes ago.”

End

🙂 What an ending, huh? I zipped through Annihilation when I received it from Paul; from the beginning I enjoyed the setting (thank Tom Clancy for that) and I knew that -considering where the story took place- there would be plenty of tension, and I wasn’t wrong – I like the way the tale builds, as Paul doles out the information piece by piece, gradually building an alarming picture, and I also liked the characters and how they interacted. The scene where Deacon is complaining about the apparent lack of donuts had me chuckling. 🙂 This tale also reminded me of the SF episodes of The Outer Limits in that it was well-balanced between the characters, the building tension, and the way it made me curious. If Annihilation is anything to go by -and I’m sure it is- then Paul’s collection, Act of God, will be highly enjoyable, surprising and imaginative. 🙂 Excellent tale!

To order your copies of Act of God, click here for Amazon US, and do check out Paul’s site for more info on him and his work. Since today is National Buy a Book Day (in the USA, at least, though I’m sure it’ll grow to be a world-wide event!)

Logo by Clifton Hill

go ahead and treat yourself (and Paul) to a copy of Act of God, or two or three (why not?) for SF-loving friends. 🙂

I’d like to sincerely thank Paul for allowing me to host and post Annihilation – it was well worth it! 🙂

Until next time,
Be EPIC!

 

Excerpt: Deadlands by Lily Herne

Hey Everyone! 🙂

I’ve got permission from Penguin Books SA to post an excerpt of Deadlands by Lily Herne for you! In case you missed the review which I posted yesterday, read it here. 🙂

Deadlands should be on the shelves in practically every good bookshop across South Africa, and if it isn’t, give ’em a piece of your mind! 😉

Without further a-do, here’s the excerpt:

 

(This excerpt is from Chapter Eight)

When I arrived home, brain buzzing with the day’s events, Dad was on his way out of the house. It was strange to see him without the Mantis hovering behind him.

‘Lele.’ He nodded at me as if we were just acquaintances instead of father and daughter. ‘School okay?’

I shrugged. ‘Dad, can I ask you a question?’

‘Sure.’

‘Do you really believe life is better now?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Was life really so bad before the Rotters came?’

He shrugged. ‘There were problems, yes. Violence, of course. HIV. Unemployment. Drugs. Poverty.’

He sounded like one of the crap pamphlets the Resurrectionists handed out at their rallies. ‘So you’re saying that you really believe we’re better off? I mean, even though we can’t leave the enclave, and with the Lottery and everything?’

He plucked at the empty arm of his jacket. ‘In some ways, yes.’

‘But how can you say that after Mom . . . And after what the Guardians did to Jobe!’

He sighed. ‘There is always a price to pay, Lele.’

‘What kind of answer is that?’

‘I have to go,’ he said.

‘Where to?’

‘I’m on fence patrol tonight.’

I shivered. News of the city’s Rotter break-in four years earlier had reached the Agriculturals, and the thought of it had given me nightmares ever since. A pack of Rotters had slipped through a hole in the fence at the far reaches of the city and gone on a killing spree before the Guardians finally showed up and stopped them.

‘Checking to see the Rotters don’t break in?’ I said.

Dad sighed. ‘Don’t let your mother hear you calling them that, Lele.’

‘She’s not my mother.’

He sighed again. ‘I must go. I’m going to be late.’

I watched him walk away, shoulders hunched like a far older man, before heading for my room.

Jobe and Chinwag were already snoozing on my bed, curled up together, Jobe’s hand lightly clasping the kitten’s front paw. Carefully, so as not to wake them, I got down on my hands and knees and rummaged under the bed for Gran’s old leather suitcase. It was filled with the stuff she’d managed to salvage during the War. Unzipping it, I lifted out the dress that was folded on top – the one Mom had worn when she and Dad had gone to their Matric dance a million years earlier. It was made of shiny emerald green material that caught the light and seemed to shimmer like a reflection on water. It was no longer wearable, the fabric had given way to time in places, but it still smelled very faintly of perfume and smoke – my mother’s scent. That was all I had of her. No memories; I couldn’t remember her at all, not even a little bit. I didn’t even have a photograph of her as they’d all been destroyed in the fire that had ravaged the city.

I dug out my old history book, and climbed onto the bed next to Jobe. He muttered something in his sleep, but I couldn’t make out the words clearly. Then he snuggled closer to Chinwag, and his eyelids flickered as if he was dreaming.

I paged through to my favourite section – the first-person anecdotes. The first one was the story of Jacob White, the guy who had worked in the city morgue. He’d been one of the first to discover the reanimated corpses. No one had believed Jacob at first, thought he was on drugs and seeing things, and he’d only managed to get away at the last minute, climbing through the narrow window in the morgue toilets after being trapped in a stall for hours. Next there was the account of a rich businesswoman who’d evaded the dead for two weeks, sealed in the living room of her Camps Bay mansion, living off tins of asparagus and packets of cashew nuts, the reanimated corpses of her chauffeur and housekeeper moaning at her from outside the locked door. Some were too awful to read again, like the eyewitness account of someone who had seen a group of religious fanatics rushing out to greet the dead, convinced that this was the coming of the Rapture, only to be turned into more walking corpses. Or the stories of the mass suicides that had taken place in the wealthy suburbs and the unstoppable fires that had raged through Langa and Gugulethu, destroying the dead and living alike.

I flipped through to my favourite story.

Name: Levi Sole

Occupation: Schoolchild

Age: 14

Nationality: Malawian

NOTE: Levi was questioned three months after he and his father were relocated to the Cape Town city enclave. His story begins after they were rescued from the informal settlement fires that raged through the city two days after the dead started rising.

After the fire started, we escaped to the big soccer stadium. All around us the city burned; even the mountain was on fire. The smoke was so thick in the air that many of us were struggling to breathe. And the air was hot, like it was the middle of summer. But the heavy smoke meant that we did not have to see the horrible things on the roads. I mean, I was trying to be brave. I was too old to be scared, but I was glad for the smoke. Already I had seen my neighbour struck down, her stomach spilling from between her fingers, and then, as she stood up again, her eyes rolled back in her head as if she was mad. And with her guts outside her body, she walked away. Impossible things were happening.

When we arrived at the stadium my father and I spent many hours looking around for my brother, but he had been taken away on one of the other buses, and we could not find him.

We never found him.

There were so many of us! Most, like me, came from Khayelitsha; others from all over Cape Town. There were white people, black people, coloured people, refugees like us from Zimbabwe, the DRC and Malawi, rich tourists who had come out here for the World Cup soccer, old people, children, babies (some without mothers), sick people and the dying. We stayed there for three weeks, fighting off the Dead Ones who managed to break in. Many of us died. But the Dead Ones weren’t our only problem. We had very little food and water, and the smell of the toilets was terrible. It was bad, and many got sick. And then, just when we thought we would starve to death, just when some were saying that they would kill themselves, the first of the Guardians came to us. We didn’t know what to think of them at first. Whether to trust them or not. We knew, in our hearts, that they were not people like us, but they did not try to kill us like the Dead Ones. They wore robes like priests and did not speak to us. But they brought us food. There were many fights at first over the food, but those who caused trouble were taken away quickly. At first people called them the Shepherds, as they would guard us from the Dead Ones, as if we were sheep. But then people started to call them the Guardians.

Then we were moved out of the city, and the stadium was destroyed. Some were taken far away, to the agricultural enclaves, but me and my father, we were brought to what was to become the city enclave. At first we did not recognise where we were. The ground was black and burned, the buildings and many of the trees were gone. Then we realised! We were back in Khayelitsha! The first thing we did was try to find our old house, but nothing was the same.

At first life was like being back in the refugee camps, like the one my father and I came to when we left Malawi for the first time, and where we were sent for a short time in Messina. We all had to camp together in these very large army tents and those who were not injured were sent to work. I was sent to work building the fence – which was small at first, not like it is today. After all this time, I do not know if the fence was created to keep us in, or to keep the dead out. But either way, I was helping to build a prison, of that I am sure.

Some say it is aliens that made the dead wake up. Or maybe it was an angry god or demons. Just like some say that it is God who sent the Guardians to save us. Like I have said, I have seen many terrible things during this time and life will never be as it was. You see –

My door creaked open, and I quickly shoved the book under my pillow.

‘Are you awake, Leletia?’ The Mantis entered the room.

‘Yeah,’ I said.

‘Were you reading something?’ she asked. She never missed a trick.

‘Just history homework,’ I said.

‘I see. And why would you want to hide that?’

Crap. I had to think fast. ‘I thought you’d be angry if you saw I was still awake?’

‘But it’s still early. And you didn’t eat supper.’

‘Not hungry.’

‘Everything okay at school?’

‘Fine.’

She was looking slightly antsy about something, which wasn’t like her at all. ‘The embassy is showing a film tomorrow evening,’ she said. ‘I thought it would be nice if all of us went together.’

What she meant was that it would look weird if I didn’t show my face – I knew she wanted everyone to think we were some sort of happy family.

‘Okay,’ I said. The thought of seeing a movie again was too much of a temptation to resist.

‘Wonderful!’ she smiled at me. She didn’t look like such a bitch when she smiled.

‘Is that it?’ I asked.

‘Leletia, it would mean so much to your father if we could just get along.’

‘Okay,’ I said, remembering Thabo’s advice from earlier in the day to ‘play their game’. ‘That’s fine by me.’

The look of shocked surprise on her face almost made the lie worth it. But now there was something else on my mind. The thought of Thabo had made my stomach do that swooping thing. I remembered the feel of his breath on my cheek and his cute lopsided grin. And sometimes, I wasn’t absolutely sure, but sometimes I thought I could sense him looking at me.

‘Cleo? Can I ask you a question?’

‘Sure.’

This was embarrassing. ‘How do you know if someone likes you?’

‘What do you mean, Lele? You mean, like a boy?’

‘Or a girl.’

She started slightly, but her smile didn’t slip. ‘I think the question you should ask yourself is if you like . . . this person,’ she said. She touched the area just below her ribs. ‘You feel it here. Your stomach dances, and if it lasts for more than a week, then you could have something special.’

‘Okaaaay,’ I said. ‘But what if he – or she – likes you. How can you tell?’

‘You can see it in their eyes. They flicker. Like a light going on.’ The Mantis’s voice had become almost dreamy, and for a couple of seconds I thought I could actually see what it was Dad saw in her.

‘Is that how you felt when you met Dad?’ I asked.

‘Yes,’ she said simply.

‘Thanks,’ I said, faking a yawn. There was no way we were going to get all pally-pally suddenly. She could forget that idea. ‘I should get some sleep.’

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Good night, Leletia – Lele.’

She crept out, closing the door softly behind her. As soon as she was gone I pulled the book out from underneath the pillow and turned back to the page I had been reading. One day, I thought, I’d like to meet the guy who wrote this story. Go up to him and say, thanks. Thanks for being honest and not messing with the truth.

Hope you enjoyed that! You can read another excerpt of Deadlands over at Book SA – just follow this link. 🙂

Remember, Deadlands is available right now, so make sure you get your copy ASAP; you can also order your copy from Exclusive Books’ through their website at this link.

Be EPIC!

 

I Am Number Four by Pittacus Lore: Excerpts – Chapter 2 and Chapter 3

Before you start reading this, follow this link to read the prologue and first chapter of I Am Number Four. 🙂

Read it? Then let’s carry on, shall we?

The events in this book are real.
Names and places have been changed to protect the lorien six, who remain in hiding.
Take this as your first warning.
Other civilizations do exist.
Some of them seek to destroy you.

CHAPTER TWO

I stand in the middle of the drive and stare up at the house. It is light pink, almost like cake frosting, sitting ten feet above the ground on wooden stilts. A palm tree sways in the front. In the back of the house a pier extends twenty yards into the Gulf of Mexico. If the house were a mile to the south, the pier would be in the Atlantic Ocean.

Henri walks out of the house carrying the last of the boxes, some of which were never unpacked from our last move. He locks the door, then leaves the keys in the mail slot beside it. It is two o’clock in the morning. He is wearing khaki shorts and a black polo. He is very tan, with an unshaven face that seems downcast. He is also sad to be leaving. He tosses the final boxes into the back of the truck with the rest of our things.

“That’s it,” he says.

I nod. We stand and stare up at the house and listen to the wind come through the palm fronds. I am holding a bag of celery in my hand.

“I’ll miss this place,” I say. “Even more than the others.”
“Me too.”
“Time for the burn?”
“Yes. You want to do it, or you want me to?”
“I’ll do it.”

Henri pulls out his wallet and drops it on the ground. I pull out mine and do the same. He walks to our truck and comes back with passports, birth certificates, social security cards, checkbooks, credit cards and bank cards, and drops them on the ground. All of the documents and materials related to our identities here, all of them forged and manu-factured. I grab from the truck a small gas can we keep for emergencies. I pour the gas over the small pile. My current name is Daniel Jones. My story is that I grew up in California and moved here because of my dad’s job as a computer programmer. Daniel Jones is about to disappear. I light a match and drop it, and the pile ignites. Another one of my lives, gone. As we always do, Henri and I stand and watch the fire. Bye, Daniel, I think, it was nice knowing you. When the fi re burns down, Henri looks over at me.

“We gotta go.”
“I know.”
“These islands were never safe. They’re too hard to leave quickly, too hard to escape from. It was foolish of us to come here.”

I nod. He is right, and I know it. But I’m still reluctant to leave. We came here because I wanted to, and for the fi rst time, Henri let me choose where we were going. We’ve been here nine months, and it’s the longest we have stayed in any one place since leaving Lorien. I’ll miss the sun and the warmth. I’ll miss the gecko that watched from the wall each morning as I ate breakfast. Though there are literally millions of geckos in south Florida, I swear this one follows me to school and seems to be everywhere I am. I’ll miss the thunderstorms that seem to come from out of nowhere, the way everything is still and quiet in the early-morning hours before the terns arrive. I’ll miss the dolphins that some-times feed when the sun sets. I’ll even miss the smell of sulfur from the rotting seaweed at the base of the shore, the way that it fills the house and penetrates our dreams while we sleep.

“Get rid of the celery and I’ll wait in the truck,” Henri says. “Then it’s time.”

I enter a thicket of trees off to the right of the truck. There are three Key deer already waiting. I dump the bag of celery out at their feet and crouch down and pet each of them in turn. They allow me to, having long gotten over their skittishness. One of them raises his head and looks at me. Dark, blank eyes staring back. It almost feels as though he passes something to me. A shudder runs up my spine. He drops his head and continues eating.

“Good luck, little friends,” I say, and walk to the truck and climb into the passenger seat.

We watch the house grow smaller in the side mirrors until Henri pulls onto the main road and the house disappears. It’s a Saturday. I wonder what’s happening at the party without me. What they’re saying about the way that I left and what they’ll say on Monday when I’m not at school. I wish I could have said good-bye. I’ll never see anyone I knew here ever again. I’ll never speak to any of them. And they’ll never know what I am or why I left. After a few months, or maybe a few weeks, none of them will probably ever think of me again.

Before we get on the highway, Henri pulls over to gas up the truck. As he works the pump, I start looking through an atlas he keeps on the middle of the seat. We’ve had the atlas since we arrived on this planet. It has lines drawn to and from every place we’ve ever lived. At this point, there are lines crisscrossing all of the United States. We know we should get rid of it, but it’s really the only piece of our life together that we have. Normal people have photos and videos and journals; we have the atlas. Picking it up and looking through it, I can see Henri has drawn a new line from Florida to Ohio. When I think of Ohio, I think of cows and corn and nice people. I know the license plate says
THE HEART OF IT ALL. What “All” is, I don’t know, but I guess I’ll find out.

Henri gets back into the truck. He has bought a couple of sodas and a bag of chips. He pulls away and starts heading toward U.S. 1, which will take us north. He reaches for the atlas.

“Do you think there are people in Ohio?” I joke.
He chuckles. “I would imagine there are a few. And we might even get lucky and fi nd cars and TV there, too.”
I nod. Maybe it won’t be as bad as I think.
“What do you think of the name ‘John Smith’?” I ask.
“Is that what you’ve settled on?”
“I think so,” I say. I’ve never been a John before, or a Smith.
“It doesn’t get any more common than that. I would say it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Smith.”
I smile. “Yeah, I think I like ‘John Smith.’”
“I’ll create your forms when we stop.”

A mile later we are off the island and cruising across the bridge. The waters pass below us. They are calm and the moonlight is shimmering on the small waves, creating dapples of white in the crests. On the right is the ocean, on the left is the gulf; it is, in essence, the same water, but with two different names. I have the urge to cry, but I don’t. It’s not that
I’m necessarily sad to leave Florida, but I’m tired of running. I’m tired of dreaming up a new name every six months. Tired of new houses, new schools. I wonder if it’ll ever be possible for us to stop.

CHAPTER THREE

We pull off for food and gas and new phones. We go to a truck stop, where we eat meat loaf and macaroni and cheese, which is one of the few things Henri acknowledges as being superior to anything we had on Lorien. As we eat, he creates new documents on his
laptop, using our new names. He’ll print them when we arrive, and as far as anyone will know, we’ll be who we say we are.

“You’re sure about John Smith?” he says.
“Yeah.”
“You were born in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.”
I laugh. “How did you come up with that?”

He smiles and motions towards two women sitting a few booths away. Both of them are extremely hot. One of them is wearing a T-shirt that reads WE DO IT BETTER IN TUSCALOOSA.

“And that’s where we’re going next,” he says.
“As weird as it may sound, I hope we stay in Ohio for a long time.”
“Really. You like the idea of Ohio?”
“I like the idea of making some friends, of going to the same school for more than a few months, of maybe actually having a life. I started to do it in Florida. It was sort of great, and for the first time since we’ve been on Earth, I felt almost normal. I want to find somewhere and stay somewhere.”

Henri looks thoughtful. “Have you looked at your scars today?”
“No, why?”
“Because this isn’t about you. This is about the survival of our race, which was almost entirely obliterated, and about keeping you alive. Every time one of us dies—every time one of you, the Garde, dies—our chances diminish. You’re Number Four; you’re next in line. You have an entire race of vicious murderers hunting you. We’re leaving at the first sign of trouble, and I’m not going to debate it with you.”

Henri drives the entire time. Between breaks and the creation of the new documents, it takes about thirty hours. I spend most of the time napping or playing video games. Because of my reflexes, I can master most of the games quickly. The longest it has taken me to beat any of them is about a day. I like the alien war and space games the best. I pretend I’m back on Lorien, fighting Mogadorians, cutting them down, turning them to ash. Henri thinks it’s weird and tries to discourage me from doing it. He says we need to live in the real world, where war and death are a reality, not pretend. As I finish my latest game, I look up. I’m tired of sitting in the truck. The clock on the dash reads 7:58. I yawn, wipe my eyes.

“How much farther?”
“We’re almost there,” Henri says.

It is dark out, but there is a pale glow to the west. We pass by farms with horses and cattle, then barren fields, and beyond those, it’s trees as far as the eye can see. This is exactly what Henri wanted, a quiet place to go unnoticed. Once a week he scours the internet for six, seven, eight hours at a time to update a list of available homes around the country that fit his criteria: isolated, rural, immediate availability. He told me it took four tries—one call to South Dakota, one to New Mexico, one to Arkansas—until he had the rental where we’re going to live now.

A few minutes later we see scattered lights that announce the town. We pass a sign that reads:

WELCOME TO PARADISE, OHIO,
POPULATION 5,243

“Wow,” I say. “This place is even smaller than where we stayed in Montana.”
Henri is smiling. “Who do you think it’s paradise for?”
“Cows, maybe? Scarecrows?”

We pass by an old gas station, a car wash, a cemetery. Then the houses begin, clapboard houses spaced thirty or so feet apart. Halloween decorations hang in the windows of most of them. A sidewalk cuts through small yards leading to the front doors. A traffic circle sits in the center of town, and in the middle of it is a statue of a man on horseback holding a sword. Henri stops. We both look at it and laugh, though we’re laughing because we hope no one else with swords ever shows up here. He continues around the circle and once we’re through it, the dashboard GPS system tells us to make a turn. We begin heading west, out of town.

We drive for four miles before turning left onto a gravel road, then pass open cut fields that are probably full of corn in the summer, then through a dense forest for about a mile. And then we fi nd it, tucked away in overgrown vegetation, a rusted silver mailbox with black lettering painted on the side of it that reads 17 OLD MILL RD.

“The closest house is two miles away,” he says, turning in. Weeds grow throughout the gravel drive, which is littered with potholes fi lled with tawny water. He comes to a stop and turns the truck off.

“Whose car is that?” I ask, nodding to the black SUV Henri has just parked behind.
“I’m assuming the real-estate agent’s.”

The house stands silhouetted by trees. In the dark there is an eerie look to it, like whoever last lived in it was scared away, or was driven away, or ran away. I get out of the truck. The engine ticks and I can feel the heat coming off of it. I grab my bag from the bed and stand there holding it.

“What do you think?” Henri asks.

The house is one story. Wooden clapboard. Most of the white paint has been chipped away. One of the front windows is broken. The roof is covered with black shingles
that look warped and brittle. Three wooden stairs lead to a small porch covered with rickety chairs. The yard itself is long and shaggy. It’s been a very long time since the grass was last mowed.

“It looks like Paradise,” I say.

We walk up together. As we do, a well-dressed blond woman around Henri’s age comes out of the doorway. She’s wearing a business suit and is holding a clipboard and folder; a BlackBerry is clipped to the waist of her skirt. She smiles.

“Mr. Smith?”
“Yes,” says Henri.
“I’m Annie Hart, the agent from Paradise Realty. We spoke on the phone. I tried calling you earlier but your phone seemed to be turned off.”
“Yes, of course. The battery unfortunately died on the way here.”
“Ah, I just hate when that happens,” she says, and walks towards us and shakes Henri’s hand. She asks me my name and I tell her, though I am tempted, as I always am, to just say “Four.” As Henri signs the lease she asks me how old I am and tells me she has a daughter at the local high school about my age. She’s very warm, friendly, and clearly loves to chat. Henri hands the lease back and the three of us walk into the house.

Inside most of the furniture is covered with white sheets. Those that aren’t covered are coated with a thick layer of dust and dead insects. The screens in the windows look brittle to the touch, and the walls are covered with cheap plywood paneling. There are two bedrooms, a modest-sized kitchen with lime green linoleum, one bathroom. The living room is large and rectangular, situated at the front of the house. There’s a fireplace in the far corner. I walk through and toss my bag on the bed of the smaller room. There is a huge faded poster of a football player wearing a bright orange uniform. He’s in the middle of throwing a pass, and it looks like he’s about to get crushed by a massive man in
a black and gold uniform. It says BERNIE KOSAR, QUARTERBACK, CLEVELAND BROWNS.

“Come say good-bye to Mrs. Hart,” Henri yells from the living room.

Mrs. Hart is standing at the door with Henri. She tells me I should look for her daughter at school, that maybe we could be friends. I smile and say yes, that would be nice. After she leaves we immediately start unpacking the truck. Depending on how quickly we leave a place, we either travel very lightly—meaning the clothes on our back, Henri’s laptop and the intricately carved Loric Chest that goes everywhere with us—or we bring a few things—usually Henri’s extra computers and equipment, which he uses to set up a security perimeter and search the web for news and events that might be related to us. This time we have the Chest, the two high-powered computers, four TV monitors, and
four cameras. We also have some clothes, though not many of the clothes we wore in Florida are appropriate for life in Ohio. Henri carries the Chest to his room, and we lug all of the equipment into the basement, where he’ll set it up so no visitors will see it. Once everything is inside, he starts placing the cameras and turning on the monitors.

“We won’t have the internet here until the morning. But if you want to go to school tomorrow, I can print all of your new documents for you.”
“If I stay will I have to help you clean this place and finish the setup?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll go to school,” I say.
“Then you better get a good night’s sleep.”

Check back tomorrow for Chapter Four and Chapter Five. 🙂 Until then,

Be EPIC!