The importance of my child is not because she’ll be a leader, or savior or anything so grand, it’s that she is the beginning of the future. Our future. Purity achieved. And the Blur saw fit to bring a community to us, to me, the one of us unable to move and in need of support. We’re still talking about heading south before winter arrives, but we’ll wait for late arrivals. Since we no longer fear the more malevolent Blur, whose technological advances do not include the ability to reduce targeted species to dust, modern vehicles are available to us again. And August says that there are enough skilled workers that wherever we end up, we might still have power, though the rest of the world will crumble to dust long before our descendants repopulate the world.
It’s all good news, but it doesn’t feel that way.
For all of this to happen, to appease the strict standards of the human race’s purifiers, August must die. In the meantime, the Blur have been scouring the Earth clean of the branded survivors, the people August calls Rashes. They survived by being off planet—so crazy—and were returned to kill those of us whose DNA was still fully human. Except in my case. I think Leila was here to watch over Squirt. Maybe even be here to catch and abduct her at her birth. But her mind was too fragile to make it that long. The Blur who were turning the human race into a biological weapon have fled, abandoning Earth, their seventy years of experimentation eradicated.
August gently squeezes my child and holds her out to me. “I have to go now.”
I ranted and raved against August’s fate, until my tired, post-pregnancy body surrendered. There is no choice. His presence here, on this planet, threatens the Blur’s plan to save us. Being scientists of the highest order, there is no margin for error. August explained it to me as a speck of dust in a clean room. It—he—could ruin everything.
And he is at peace with it.
So now, as the sun sets, on the third day, I stand at the cusp of my woods, August, and little August, in my arms, saying goodbye to the man I hoped would be her grandfather. He has said goodbye to the others. Only Mark remains, several feet behind me, trying his best not to weep, but failing. This goodbye is private. Family only. And while I haven’t yet thought of Mark in that way, August does.
August stands, back to the woods, facing me, a smile on his face. He pets Luke, who has forced his way under his hand. The golden is here without his new friend, the less intuitive farm dog that I’ve dubbed Frida.
“Why are you smiling?” I ask August.
“You’re alive,” he says. “Both of you. It’s all I’ve thought about for six months.” He puts a hand on my cheek, then on the baby’s. “Listen, this is going to sound horribly cheesy, but I want you to do it. It’s going to be dark soon. Stay outside. Watch the sky.”
“For what?” I ask.
“Their second promise.”
The Blur, it seems, granted August two requests for his part in saving more people than was expected. The first was time to say goodbye. The second is a mystery to me, but will apparently be visible in the night sky.
August glances over his shoulder, to the woods, where a hundred yards back, there’s a hill. My father made me a treasure map once. The path led me to the top of that hill, clear of trees, exposed to the sun. He’d hidden chocolate coins there, under a rock. It’s a sacred place, reserved for the men I love. It’s where he will leave me, for good.
“I have to go,” he says again, and my body trembles.
Suddenly, Mark is there, shaking with silent sobs, arms around August once more. I break down when August kisses the man’s forehead and tells him he loves him. I join the embrace, little August, safe between us.
“You are the strongest woman I’ve ever known, Poe,” August whispers, before kissing my cheek, and then the baby’s. “I love you, both.”
He takes a step back, leaving Mark and me, still wrapped in each other’s arms. He takes his Red Sox cap off, looks it over and places it on my head. I accept the offering, and the symbolism, like the greatest of awards.
“This is just the beginning for you,” he says. “Enjoy this life. It will shape the world.” With that, he turns and enters the woods, slipping into the shadows. Luke follows him, but turns back a moment after fading from view.
I stand at the edge of the woods, baby in my arms, Mark and Luke at my sides, willing August to change his mind. Defy the cold rose-scented bastards. Hide from them! Live!
We stay that way for ten minutes.
When a phone rings, I nearly shout.
“What is that?” Mark asks, looking at me.
The sound is coming from little August. I pull apart the blankets she’s wrapped in and find a phone. My phone. Repaired and ringing.
I answer it.
“It’s nice up here,” he says, before I can speak. “I can see why your father liked it.”
I try to reply, but just end up blubbering.
“I wanted to say goodbye like this,” he says. “It’s how I knew you. Too sappy?”
I manage a snotty, “Uh-uh.”
“Good,” he says. “I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Hanging up now.”
“Okay.”
“See ya.”
“Bye.”
The signal cuts out. “August?”
I lower the phone. “August!” I run into the woods, rounding trees like a wide receiver, baby clutched in my arms.
Luke bounds by my side, barking. Mark calls after me, running to catch up, to stop me, to tell me I’m being stupid, that I’m endangering the baby. I know all these things already, so I keep right on running until I reach the hill, out of breath, my body aching, not really ready to stand for very long, let alone to sprint. I start up the hill as Mark catches up. Instead of stopping me, he takes my arm and helps.
We crest the hill together, the night gathering above us, purple sky revealing non-threatening stars. I stop when I see his clothing, crumpled in the leaf litter.
I step closer, looking for something to bury. That last honor can still be bestowed on him, his remains next to my parents. But there’s something wrong. Something missing. “Where is he?” I ask, looking down at the clean, powder-free clothing.
Mark crouches down and lifts August’s shirt. It’s clean. “I don’t know.”
We stand in silence, thinking about possibilities, but not voicing them.
When baby August stirs and cries to be fed, already aware enough to mouth at my shirt, night has arrived. Luke has settled down, tongue hanging as he lies in wait for us to move.
“We should head back,” Mark says. “The others will be worried.”
I turn my head up toward the dark sky. “He told us to watch.”
Mark looks up. “He didn’t say when, though. We can’t stay out here all night.”
I smile. “He wouldn’t dare make me wait again.”
Mark chuckles, and then, it happens.
A bright streak of light is followed by a second, and then, in a burst, a cloud of them. Beautiful. A promise of a better future.
“Dude...” Mark says, wonder in his voice. “How did he do that?”
“It’s dust,” I say, and I bark out a laugh that startles Luke, Mark and August. I look down to the clean clothing. “It’s him.”
A NOTE FROM JEREMY
I’ve written a lot of novels, most on my own and a good number with co-authors, but none quite so unique in terms of its story, its characters and how the manuscript was written. While The Distance was written with a co-author, there are a few things about the arrangement that set it apart. The first is that my co-author for this novel is my wife, Hilaree.
During the first fifteen years of my writing career (thirteen years of toiling without pay) Hilaree was essentially my writing coach. While I had no experience or schooling when it came to writing fiction, Hilaree was an English major before she dropped out to marry me. She’d spent most of her life writing, and reading novels, while I was focused more on comic books and movies. They’re perfectly go
od creative outlets, but they’re not novel writing. Without Stephen King’s On Writing, Strunk and White’s The Elements of Style and Hilaree’s honest critiques, I would not be an author.
So writing a novel with Hilaree was very exciting, but also a little intimidating (for both of us). Hilaree has a high standard for literature, so I was afraid I wouldn’t measure up to her more beautiful prose and deeper characters. At the same time, Hilaree was unpublished and writing with her husband, who had now written more than fifty books and was in a position to teach her a thing or two.
Despite our mutual fears, the combination of our voices, transformed into the voices of August and Poe, and we turned this book into one of the best books I’ve ever written. Hilaree’s involvement elevated my writing and character development, while she benefitted from my plot development and penchant for action. I have rarely been so proud of how well a book came out, and I’m equally proud of Hilaree, for facing and overcoming her fears about writing a novel while being a full-time homeschooling mom of three kids. That alone is impressive, but the end result of our combined hard work is something special. Like our children, The Distance is something we created together, and I’m excited to see what it becomes when we set it loose on the world.
As always, if you enjoyed The Distance, and want to spread the word, reviews on Amazon remain one of the best ways to make that happen (in addition to sharing via social media). And as this is Hilaree’s first novel, I'd personally love to see gobs of reviews. Thank you!
—Jeremy
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Distance has been a long time coming. To make sure it was released right, I pulled it from its original ‘Big Five’ publisher, and then turned down an offer from another who wanted to publish it. Of all my novels, this is the one for which I feel most protective. After years of consideration, I decided the publisher best qualified to bring this novel out to the world, in the way I believe it should be, was my very own Breakneck Media. This meant giving up big store distribution, but it also meant the cover, design, formatting and cover price—good news for my readers—would be superior.
To Kane Gilmour for edits supreme, Roger Brodeur for line edits, and all of our proofreaders—Kelly Allenby, Lyn Askew, Sherry Bagley, Liz Cooper, Dustin Dreyling, Donna Fisher, Jamey Lynn Goodyear, Dee Haddrill, Becki Laurent, Jeff Sexton and John Shkor—I offer my kaiju-sized thanks. You guys help make all of my Breakneck releases primo. Couldn’t do it without you.
And of course, massive thanks to my wife, Hilaree, who joined me on this crazy post-apocalyptic vision and took a chance writing something with her husband. That the book came out so amazing is a testament to our 21 years of marriage and the perfectly fit puzzle pieces that are our brains. Love you.
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Jeremy Robinson is the international bestselling author of over fifty novels and novellas, including Apocalypse Machine, Island 731, and SecondWorld, as well as the Jack Sigler thriller series and Project Nemesis, the highest selling, original (non-licensed) kaiju novel of all time. He’s known for mixing elements of science, history and mythology, which has earned him the #1 spot in Science Fiction and Action-Adventure, and secured him as the top creature feature author.
His series of Jack Sigler / Chess Team thrillers, starting with Pulse, is in development as a film series, helmed by Jabbar Raisani, who earned an Emmy Award for his design work on HBO’s Game of Thrones. Robinson’s novels Project Nemesis and Island 731 have both been adapted into comic books through publisher American Gothic Press, in association with Famous Monsters of Filmland. Robinson’s works have been translated into thirteen languages.
Robinson is also known as the bestselling horror writer, Jeremy Bishop, author of The Sentinel and the controversial novel, Torment. In 2015, he launched yet another pseudonym, Jeremiah Knight, now the bestselling post-apocalyptic author of the Hunger series of novels.
Born in Beverly, MA, Robinson now lives in New Hampshire with his wife and three children.
Visit Jeremy Robinson online at www.bewareofmonsters.com/.
Hilaree Robinson is an artist, writer and homeschooling mother of three children. When she’s not writing, painting or organizing an art show, she’s working on poetry, conjuring adventures for the family or hiking the White Mountains in New Hampshire. The Distance is her debut novel.
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ALSO by JEREMY ROBINSON
Standalone Novels
The Didymus Contingency
Raising The Past
Beneath
Antarktos Rising
Kronos
Xom-B
Flood Rising
MirrorWorld
Apocalypse Machine
Unity
The Distance
Nemesis Saga Novels
Island 731
Project Nemesis
Project Maigo
Project 731
Project Hyperion
Project Legion
SecondWorld Novels
SecondWorld
Nazi Hunter: Atlantis
(aka: I Am Cowboy)
The Antarktos Saga
The Last Hunter – Descent
The Last Hunter – Pursuit
The Last Hunter – Ascent
The Last Hunter – Lament
The Last Hunter – Onslaught
The Last Hunter – Collected Edition
The Jack Sigler/Chess Team Thrillers
Prime
Pulse
Instinct
Threshold
Ragnarok
Omega
Savage
Cannibal
Empire
Jack Sigler Continuum Novels
Guardian
Patriot
Centurion (Coming 2017)
Cerberus Group Novels
Herculean
Helios (Coming 2017)
Chesspocalypse Novellas
Callsign: King
Callsign: Queen
Callsign: Rook
Callsign: King 2 – Underworld
Callsign: Bishop
Callsign: Knight
Callsign: Deep Blue
Callsign: King 3 – Blackout
Chesspocalypse Novella Collected Editions
Callsign: King – The Brainstorm Trilogy
Callsign – Tripleshot
Callsign – Doubleshot
Horror Novels
(written as Jeremy Bishop)
Torment
The Sentinel
The Raven
Refuge
Post-Apocalyptic Sci-Fi Novels
(written as Jeremiah Knight)
Hunger
Feast
Famine (Coming 2017)
Viking Tomorrow (Coming 2017)
Comics & Graphic Novels
Project Nemesis
Godzilla: Rage Across Time
Island 731
Copyright ©2016 by Jeremy Robinson
All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. For information address Jeremy Robinson at:
[email protected].
Cover design copyright ©2014 by Jeremy Robinson
Visit Jeremy Robinson on the World Wide Web at:
www.bewareofmonsters.com
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A NOTE FROM JEREMY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
ALSO by JEREMY ROBINSON
The Distance Page 36