Blood Bond: The Anti-Matter Chronicles (The Matter Chronicles Book 3)

by P. G. Thomas

  Mirtza followed the five into the basement. John walked over to a large awkward looking ‘machine, having a huge six-foot tall bracelet mounted on top of it. When he activated a switch, the ring raised itself to a vertical position. After throwing a second lever, he tossed a piece of pavement through it, which caused the inner diameter to shimmer. Stabilizing, an image of the mountain and restaurant appeared. Mirtza handed the cell phone back to John, who pushed it through to the other side. As it started to receive a cellular signal, it updated the time and date, which after he checked it, handed it back to Mirtza.

  “What you see now is the same day of the accident. It took a long time to make the machine, especially to transverse time. This scene is seven hours after the accident. Friends, welcome home.”

  “John, that was four years ago. What happens to us?” asked Lauren.

  “I don’t know. I’ll step through first. If you don’t see me wave you through, the call is yours. We may forget all that has happened over the last four years, or we may not. The magic may not be able to transport all of us, or we could die. I’m sorry, but there’s no way to test it. Mother’s faith you’ll have to let go, and once again, science you’ll have to accept.”

  “When we step through, what age will we be?”

  “I just don’t know.” He looked at Lauren one last time, “Earth Mother, do I have permission to proceed?” While half of him wanted to hear her say yes, half of him wanted to hear her forbid it.

  “Earth Mother, click your ruby slippers together to lead us home.”

  When John looked at Lauren, he both smiled and sneered at the same time. As Lauren squeezed Ryan’s hand, she wiped the tears from her eyes. After they saw John wave to them, Eric, Logan, Ryan, and Lauren stepped through the portal.

  *******

  Ryan collapsed on the other side, as the magic that helped to sustained him had stayed behind. When Logan rolled up his sleeves, the feather tattoos were gone, and the hair on his forearms was finally growing back. After Logan and Eric had helped Ryan to the restaurant steps, Lauren sat with the one she loved, comforting him, and sent her friends inside to make the phone call.

  Logan ordered three large coffees, black, smiled when he realized they were burnt, making them taste stronger. Eric ordered a hamburger deluxe while John ordered a banana split sundae, and halfway through it, he reached for his cell phone. Seeing this, Logan and Eric realized what he was doing, reminding him that he owed them a cell phone, tablet, or laptop. John smiled, replying that was the cost for the ride home. He then asked the waitress if he could borrow her phone to call his family.

  She looked at him, “You know something. You kids look a lot like the ones they reported missing from that school bus today, but you all look a little older.”

  “I have no idea of what you’re talking about.”

  When John placed the first phone call, his mother answered, and the phone went dead when he said he was at the diner. Eric and Logan then called home, and John called Ryan’s parents. As they waited, John phoned Zack’s uncle, but when nobody answered, he left a message, however, Zack’s uncle never inquired what happened. As they finished their meal, looking outside, John saw Lauren kissing Ryan, as the headlights appeared in the parking lot. Then they ran outside to their arriving families, to embrace their loved ones, and to borrow money for their meal.

  *******

  They had just left the restaurant when the waitress turned on the news channel. We have just received this update. Our reporters have obtained exclusive footage from gas stations. It shows the two vehicles that we believe were involved in the accident on Route 89. (The TV showed the first image.) Sources have revealed this vehicle was transporting enriched uranium for military testing. (The camera brought up the second image.) Confidential sources also reported that this vehicle was carrying anti-matter. We are still trying to confirm the cargo it carried. There has been no update on the school bus or the six students inside. The school bus driver and two truck drivers were all reported dead at the accident scene.

  *******

  It was the first day of school after the spring break. With everybody noticing the change in John, they thought that maybe it was a new haircut. He was wearing the glasses with the round frames without any care. A linebacker, six feet tall, weighing two hundred pounds plus, walked up to John, knocking the books from his hands, but Eric was standing behind John.

  Eric looked at the linebacker, “Pick them up.” This was not Eric, the captain of the football team. It was the Champion of the people, it was the Champion of Tranquil Fury: the legend that had slaughtered hundreds of thousands. It was Eric Ironhouse. Dwarf, really big dwarf, and he had found his place in this world beyond sports.

  As the linebacker handed John’s books back to him, Eric looked into his eyes, “This is my brother. If you mess with him, you mess with me. If you ever pick on anybody smaller than you again, you’ll answer to me. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll call me Captain.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  John smiled. It was good to be Ironhouse.

  HERE ENDS THE ANTI-MATTER CHRONICALS

  A note to the readers;

  If you are reading this, as an author, I have achieved success, having entertained you for days. My intent was to write a trilogy that was a fresh, fast-paced adventure, including unique characters, odd circumstances, unusual events, and with an exceptional, original story line. Should you agree, please leave a review because they generate exposure (allowing me to advertise), and in turn, produce sales. Even though I have no delusions of becoming rich, I would like to recoup my investment, and that is only possible by support from readers who leave reviews. To date, I am averaging one review for every 250 people who have read, purchased, or acquired it for free. However, without reviews, it falls quickly into the Amazon basement, being harder to find.

  If you were lucky enough to pick up all 6 books for free, I beg you to leave a review. The purpose of that promotion is both gain readers and to increase the book rating. When thousands of people download them, it helps to create a presence for the books, but when reviews fail to materialize, my efforts are relocated to the shelves of obscurity.

  While I was hoping to be able to afford a better editor for the next trilogy, as it stands right now, I may not even be able to afford covers. Being different from most authors, when I publish a trilogy, all three books are released at the same time so that you do not have to wait. Is that not the kind of author you want to support?

  In closing, please leave a review.

  Sincerely,

  P.G. Thomas

  About the story

  Approximately six years ago, I started to think about this story, and over the next four years, I slowly constructed it in my head. Starting out as a diversion, I had no real intentions of ever writing it. Then, when I moved into a house in the countryside, it was absent of modern communications, having only a dozen channels to watch. However, fortune struck when I found new employment, providing me with a significant amount of free time.

  Doing some research online, I discovered the barriers to self-publishing had been eliminated, so I started to make detailed notes on the storyline, characters, and events. Then one day I asked myself, ‘Can I write?’ Hundreds of others that I constantly asked myself followed that one question, and even though some of the answers were good, others at times made me question my own sanity.

  For me, this was a learning experience, and the currency to purchase knowledge was questions. I would never call myself an author, as wordsmith or storyteller would be a better description of my talent or gift. However, in the end, I believe I can write a good story.

  As I started to see the pieces of the story unfold, I was pleased with the concept, for the most part, but the ending was still a blank piece of paper. Focusing on the conclusion, the pieces slowly fell into place. As the pace of the events began to increase, the characters began to come to life, and I discovered the endin
g the book wanted. It was at that point I realized I had a story that wanted to be told.

  So one night I decided to sit down, capturing my thoughts with electronic paper and ink, and began to let the story out of my head. There are two ways to learn how to swim: jump in a pool, or read about it. Instead of starting in the shallow end, I did the equivalent of finding the largest pool I could, which had the highest diving board. I never checked to see if there was water in the pool, and instead, climbing to the top of the diving platform, without looking, I jumped. I wanted to write more than a story; I wanted to write a trilogy, and as for the mistakes I made, I could write a book just on those alone, but each one encountered was also conquered.

  The first draft of book one took a month to write, but it had issues that I was aware, and while it was an accomplishment, the story was only one-third complete. I was able to control the storyline, characters, and events as desired, but it lacked certain elements. Because I was still unsure of where the story was going, or how I was going to get there, I continued with the following two books. In truth, if the remaining books were similar to the first, I would have deleted the entire trilogy, but it was in the second book that my skills became better. By the time I finished the third book, I knew I had a story worthy of telling.

  However, reviews from the first beta readers failed to agree with my biased opinion. The story line was good, the writing…well, I kept my day job. Most of the criticism was what I had anticipated, but when I started, I never realized that one day I would complete it. If I allowed the weaker sections to hinder my progress, instead of soldiering through, I might never have finished the books. While some areas were weak, I knew all I had to do was highlight those sections and hit delete, replacing them with better content. The first book, originally the weak link in the chain, became stronger by adding character depth, suspense, more magic, and increasing the pace. However, I added one further element when I changed the speech patterns of the elves and dwarves.

  It was in the second book that a strange occurrence happened. Instead of me trying to tell the story, it began to live it. On any one weekend, I could sit down, hammer out over a hundred pages, and while they would require extensive editing, the story consumed me, pulling me into it. The images that my fingers captured on the keyboard appeared before me, as if I was watching a movie, transcribing what I saw. As I began the re-writes and reading, the second odd thing happened, as the story began to talk to me. The final work is actually a collaboration between the story and the teller. As I edited and added to it, it would point out the parts I had missed, and the elements of the story that still needed polishing, providing me no rest until the entire story was complete. Little bits from the front, long forgotten, were mysteriously remembered when I touched upon them at the end. Every night, a dozen characters filled my dreams, continuing with their stories, as my tired fingers cradled my head, deep in sleep. That was why I waited until all three books were complete before I published them. I wanted to make sure that every part of the story was correct.

  I wanted to write a book that was a cross between ‘Indiana Jones’ and the ‘Lord of the Rings.’ Something fast paced with dwarves, elves, magic, and more. I wanted unique characters with odd circumstances never used before, and unusual events to challenge the characters by creating an exceptional storyline. Unlike books written using the ‘hero’s journey’ concept (where there is always a mentor who knows what has and will happen), I wanted my characters and readers to discover the unfolding future on their own. If you remove Gandalf from the ‘Lord of the Rings,’ or Obi Wan Kenobi from ‘Star Wars,’ think of how different the story would be. Great darkness is descending upon all you know, and nobody knows what to do. Who will stand up? Who will lead? What do they do? Where do they go?

  When I was done, I was looking forward to saying goodbye to Lauren and Ryan, watching them go back to school holding hands. Wondering how the experiences would change Eric. Would Logan ever pass a math test without the help of John?

  I was looking forward to dreamless nights, much like Lauren, but they tell me there is more to write, so my nights will remain dreamed filled when I once again visit the lands of Calicon.

  I hope you have enjoyed reading my story, as much as I have enjoyed telling it, and I look forward to meeting you again when you welcome my characters and words into your life.

  P.G. Thomas

  Added in 2016

  It was writing the subsequent trilogy that I began to create my own writing style. Having learned how to join complete thoughts, I was able to reduce the number of coordinators in any one story. Wanting both sets to share the same style, I found it necessary to re-edit this series, which also provided me with the opportunity to fix a few bad habits that I failed to understand completely. While the story concept remained the same, events in the first chapters were re-sequenced to advance the sword closer to the front of the book, which also required the elimination of non-essential filler. I also modified the dialogue patterns so that humans use contractions and midlanders did not.

  A preview of the Dark-Matter Chronicles

  Book 1: Revenge

  “It’s just like last time! Everything is dead again.” John pulled a dry yellow leaf off of an Iron Wood tree, crushing it in his hands, blowing away the dust. “The first time there was a moat around it, and a tarp above to deprive it of light and rain, so there’s no reason this forest should be dead. Eric, Steve, go with Logan. See if you can find those strange park benches and Sister. Lauren, do you think you can find where you camped out?”

  *******

  Old friends reuniting, it should have been reason enough for a celebration. The dwarven clan was amazed to see the five legends that entered the great hall, but they soon realized not all was right. Before the meal began, Fen stood, his thick, deep voice filling the hall, sounding like a tunnel cave-in at the bottom of a mineshaft. “Ironhouse honored we are this night. Champion, Bastard, Unchosen, Earth Mother, and Unnamed visit us they do. Friend new also with them arrives, one called Steve, but joy with them, bring they do not. First visit invited they were, by whom the bards still argue. This time accident it is, as sorrow chased is Earth Mother, her children stolen, they now search for. This night, clan members John and Eric welcome home we do. Earth Mother Ironhouse, her mate the Unnamed, her brother the Bastard, legends all. Glad fills our hearts, theirs not. Stories this night, unspoken they will be, as celebration both parties must share. Tomorrow brother and I will talk with friends lost, ask how to help we can. This night, look upon legend only you will. In body they visit, but thought distracted they are.” Fen then clapped his hands, “Celebration of Sorrows, let it begin.” For the first time in dwarf history, silence filled the great hall, even though every chair was occupied. This night, laughs would not echo from the walls, nor would tears of joy find the floor, and instead, all consumed the meal in quiet.

  *******

  What they saw shocked them: the rural town that once housed tens of thousands was gone. Nothing remained, not even the twenty-foot tall log walls that had secured it. The scene panned out looking like an inverted image of an arctic landscape, but instead of white snow, black drifts of ash were sculpted into silent, motionless waves, some reaching heights of six feet. The darkness trapped on the ground reached out hundreds of yards to the left and right, and miles in front and behind. In every direction they looked, as far as the eye could see, there was nothing except the small breezes rearranging the piles of dark ash drifts. It was the sharp eyesight of Amber, who observed blackened bones protruding from the leeward side of the cinder dunes, but she remained as silent as the deceased did with her observation. The statue of their first elf protector was stained in ash. Evaporated raindrops gave the quiet blackened rock an appearance of shadow-filled tears running down it.