People stepped back or shied away as the woman in the lead of the strange parade approached.
Val gave them no notice as she walked past.
She went straight to the Jarl’s longhall and found Halvard seated on the piggish man’s chair. He stood at once, dropping a book from his hand, shock and delight vying for supremacy on his face. Val understood that in her absence, the Jarl had died and Halvard had taken over.
“Val,” he said, his voice shaky. “You made it back. I never heard back from Troben; I never knew if you made it.”
“We will have time to tell you about it later, but first, I want you to meet your ‘genetic material.’”
Agnes stepped up next to Val, the candlelight from Halvard’s reading candlestick flickering over her pretty face.
Val strode forward toward the old man, and he recoiled at the threat she exuded.
“I... I...”
She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him close. Hiking one thumb over her shoulder at Ulrik, who had pulled the heavy metal disc from his pack and held it up, she shouted in Halvard’s face. “I want to know, just what the hell that thing is, and why so many had to die for it.”
The man swallowed with an audible clicking noise, and said “I will show you.”
The four of them rode on horseback, for most of an hour, north of Stavanger’s coast. It was in a direction Val had never traveled. They rode in silence, with Ulrik once again bringing the metal disc in his pack, and Agnes between the two of them on her somewhat smaller pony.
The natural coastline gave way to an industrial one, with shattered buildings and ruptured concrete docks, though many were either in good shape or had been repaired.
A white metal building loomed ahead of them, similar to the warehouse in Rotterdam, but immense. The building was half a mile long, four hundred feet wide, and over three hundred feet tall. The gargantuan white rectangular structure dwarfed everything she had seen on her epic journey to the south.
Halvard was talking. “It was essential that we get her blood—her living blood—to a genetic research facility, so we can isolate the genes that make her—”
“What in the name of Odin’s tick-infested sack is that thing?” Val said, pointing.
In the distance, two men armed with longswords guarded a massive white wall descending into the water. They stood several hundred feet apart, one on each side. Halvard let loose a shrill whistle and swirled his hand in the air. As he did so, the men leapt to attention and then reached for handles on large wheels. They started cranking the wheels quickly, and a dark vertical slit appeared up the center of the gargantuan wall. Two enormous doors separated.
“I would perform the work myself, here, you understand, but I do not have the technical knowledge. Just as I kept in contact with Troben using the carrier pigeons, there is another scientist who is far better versed in genetics than I am. He is Agnes’s next destination, and if you would be so brave, yours as well.”
Halvard dismounted from his steed and began walking toward the ever widening doors. The others followed as something vast and blue came into view inside the gigantic building.
Val walked closer, listening to the old man prattle on, as the doors widened and she took in an amazing sight. “For a journey such as the one I am proposing now, we needed something large. Something that could withstand whatever was thrown at it. The piece you brought back from Rotterdam was the only thing we could not repair or machine for ourselves. The tolerances were too exacting. We have been working on this for many, many years. We fixed the parts and cleaned her up, we got an oil refinery working again, and made the diesel fuel for her. But the part you retrieved was just too finely engineered. And it is crucial for the engine.”
Finally, they reached the edge of the inlet and stared up at the colossus before them.
It was the bow of a boat.
The hull was sky blue from a tapered point to where just a hint of red paint was visible under the gently lapping dark green liquid. Its broad deck flared out so wide it looked like the boat should topple over.
“The Maersk Triple E class. Formerly the Marikja, the last vessel like it the company ever made before the great cataclysm. They only ever produced twenty-five of the ships, and they were the largest ever built. This one was waiting here for a part, which was on its way from the Netherlands, when the entire world fell apart. In case you ever returned, we renamed her.”
Painted on the front of the vessel were downward angled wings in dark red, exactly like those Val painted on her face. On the side of the massive boat, which looked to fill the entire majestic hangar, was the name Sleipnir. The name of Odin’s eight-legged horse, the best of all vehicles.
Val turned to see the wonder on Ulrik’s face, and pure joy on Agnes’s face. She looked back at Halvard, whose tired eyes were seeking some kind of forgiveness from her, beseeching her to understand that it was all for a good cause. She understood.
“Where is it we need to go?” she asked the old man.
“Across the great ocean,” he said. “To follow in the path of your ancestors. Beyond Iceland and Greenland. To the shores of what was once known as the New World. To Vinland. To America.”
Val walked away from the man, further toward the immense boat, the ship so impossibly huge she could barely take it all in at once.
She turned to him, showing a wicked smile. “We are going to need some more men. A lot more men.”
Epilogue II
Zeilly had only just escaped with her life. The crazed Northerners had made short work of the Vectors, and the warrior woman had even bested Borss. Zeilly had seen the fight and had watched with glee as the blonde haired woman had ended that slug’s life.
But now she wished she had just taken the opportunity to flee as soon as she had left the dining hall. Instead of slipping away when she could have, she had remained too long. Long enough to see the warehouse engulfed in a tremendous ball of flame. And far too close to escape the flames’ wrath. The whole left side of her chest, arm and face had been scorched in the blast. Her skin was now rippled and crusted, hard as tree bark. One eye had been spared, but her left ear was gone. She was hideous now, and covered her entire body in layers of dark cloth. A true witch woman now, for sure.
The agony had been unimaginable at first, but after the skin on her left side finished dying, she’d felt no more pain. She had covered herself in herbs and mud, soothing the drying crisp feeling as her supple body turned to stone on her. Then all that had been left was the incredibly long walk.
Weeks to get away from the Vector camp at the docks in Rotterdam. Long days of walking and fishing along the shore as she made her way north. Days when she could find no fish and had to move inland, looking for other forms of sustenance. And always the walking.
She had encountered only one group of people along the way, but as soon as she had removed her hood and revealed her half-scarred face, those villagers had run from her. Whether it was only her hideous visage or a fear of radiation sickness that made the people flee, she did not know. It didn’t matter.
Only one thing did matter, and she was nearly there. Borss had been a brute and a fool, but he had excelled at manipulation, and Zeilly had eagerly learned at his feet. Over time she had worked the details out of him about the Northerners and their quest to the Floating City—now the Sunken City—to retrieve the young girl. Zeilly had learned that the girl’s genetic makeup was different from everyone else. That somehow, her blood held the key to the survival of the human race. But more than that, there was someone across the ocean who would pay enough money, men, and resources for the girl to set Borss up as an emperor. Borss had boasted of it often.
Or to set Zeilly up as an Empress.
Zeilly would have her revenge on the damnable blonde Viking woman. She would snatch the young girl. She would claim Borss’s reward. She would live out the rest of her days with servants tending her brittle skin, lying in pillows of satin.
All she needed to do was
to go home.
An hour later, Zeilly crested the rise of a sand dune and saw the port city ahead of her. Boats. Hundreds of them. Soldiers—all she could need. Food. Warmth. Resources. Not hers, but she knew she could utilize them, the way she had used Borss and his men. These soldiers were pirates. They made their living on the seas, raiding and stealing, crushing any and all opposition. It was a good life if you loved the water. Zeilly did not. It was why she had left here.
That and an abusive father. But that man was dead now, and another man ruled these pirates and their aquatic forces.
But soon these forces would be hers.
It didn’t take long before a small group of men on horseback rode out along the beach to greet her. The port had many towers, and surely she had been spotted along the water before she even saw the city. Her black cloak would have stood out on the grainy yellow beach like a thick spider in a bowl of soup.
The men approached her at speed, slowing their steeds only as they came within ten feet of her. Zeilly stood her ground.
“Who are you?” one of the mounted riders shouted.
Zeilly removed her hood and savored the revulsion she saw on their faces.
“Take me to Baron Schroeder. Immediately. He will be glad to see me, and he will have you flayed to death if he learns you delayed our meeting for even a moment.”
The men seemed taken aback, but one man’s face changed from astonishment to recognition.
“Quickly!” he said to one of the others. “Get her on your horse. I know who she is.”
The other man did as he was told, and the five of them brought her into the city, with the first man who had spoken—clearly in charge—urging them faster and faster. When they reached the largest boat in the harbor, the men slowed and dismounted, the first man helping her down from the back of the large black stallion.
Once on the ground, the man stepped aside.
Striding down a gangplank from the boat to the dock was a tall man with dark blonde hair. The same color as Zeilly’s before she had used dyes to darken it to pitch. The man wore a cape that flowed out behind him as he walked. A trim beard on his chin and a grimace on his mouth offset the sea-blue eyes.
As soon as he reached the dock, he shot a glance at the man in charge of the five soldiers, his eyes demanding an explanation.
Zeilly saved him the trouble. She threw her hood back and looked up at the Baron, her one sea-blue eye matching his.
“Hello, brother.”
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A NOTE FROM KANE
We’ve written a lot of books at this point. Jeremy has written over sixty, and Viking Tomorrow is number nine for me. We’ve even written a lot of books together. But this one is something new for both of us. I brought the seed of the idea to Jeremy and we batted it around until the story was fifty percent or so from each of us. In the past, when we’ve co-written a book, they were either for existing characters of Jeremy’s or for a series of his that I’d come aboard on, like Refuge. The Berserker Saga is something we collaborated on from the initial phase, during the writing, during the cover design, and right through to the finished product.
The plan, originally, was for three books. But sales these days dictate what we do, and which series succeed and which founder and disappear. So we need your help. There’s a plan for two more books that will showcase Val’s journey across the shattered world, but we need the sales on this book to justify the time and energy we’ll spend in crafting Viking Extinction and Viking Apocalypse—the next two volumes in the series. If Viking Tomorrow does really well, you’ll see those two sequels. If sales are just adequate, you’ll probably see Book 2, but we’ll change the story and wrap things up in that volume. And if this book’s sales are not up to snuff, the relatively hopeful ending here is all you’ll get, and you’ll need to image the journey to the Americas and what happens there. Although if that’s the case, you have our permission to imagine that Val somehow succeeds against all odds, kicks Zeilly’s ass, and saves all of humanity. It’ll just be the ‘how’ you’ll be vague on.
So here’s what you can do to help out, if you really want those sequels. Tell people about how much you liked this book. It’s that simple. Talk about it on social media. Share the images and the book trailer we’ve been circulating, to help get the word out. Most importantly, write a review on Amazon. Even if you end up buying the book somewhere else, please drop a review on the ‘Zon’. People go there to read reviews for books, even if they plan to buy at other retailers. Goodreads and all the other book sites will help too (so feel free to post there as well), but Amazon reviews work magic. So if you loved Viking Tomorrow, be sure your voice gets heard early. The more good reviews (and the sooner we get them), the quicker any unhappy reviews get lost in the chorus. Plus the faster the good reviews roll in, the more likely Amazon will be to plug the book into its recommendation engines, and start putting it in front of people who might buy it, who had never heard of me or of Jeremy.
That’s it. Review the book. Just say you liked it (assuming you did), and maybe a little of why. Tell people how much you want those sequels. Thanks for picking this one up and checking it out. We hope you enjoyed it, and with a little luck, we’ll have some more adventures with Val and her Viking brothers!
—Kane Gilmour
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Any time you set out to write a novel, a number of people end up helping in a wide assortment of ways. Thanks for this one are due to Britney Holtan, a wonderful model in Portland, Maine who, when we saw a photo of her, we knew at first glance we had found our Val. We spent a day in a photographer’s studio with Britney, and she was a great sport, letting us dress her up in crazy costumes, making all kind of faces, and generally making silly action poses for us. In the end we got some 900 photos of her and the weapons, and ultimately we were able to get the shots used to make the cover for Viking Tomorrow and for two more potential sequels if this book sells well. Thank you, Britney!
Kevin Ouellette was the fantastic photographer (Amazing DJ Music / Sound and Photography) who spent the day shooting Britney in all the crazy poses for us. If it wasn’t for his existing photos of Britney, we might never have found the perfect Val for the book cover. In addition to coaxing just the right looks out of her, Kevin made us all feel welcome, and kept the spirit light for everyone all day—including for poor Britney after he doused her with chilly water for just the right look. Thank you, Kevin.
Thanks are also due to Kelly Allenby, Lyn Askew, Pixie Brearley, Roger Brodeur, Julie Cummings Carter, Elizabeth Cooper, Dustin Dreyling, Jamey Lynn Goodyear, Dee Haddrill, Sharon Ruffy, Jeff Sexton, and Kelly Tyler for advanced reading feedback and typo-spotting par excellence.
Finally, thanks are due to Hilaree Robinson, Aquila Robinson, Norah Robinson, Michelle Scully, and Moira Gilmour—the amazing and fierce women in our lives!
—Jeremy and Kane
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
Jeremy Robinson is the international bestselling author of sixty 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. Many of his novels have been adapted into comic books, optioned for film and TV, and translated into thirteen languages. He lives in New Hampshire with his wife and three children. Visit him at www.bewareofmonsters.com.
Kane Gilmour is the international bestselling author of The Crypt of Dracula. He co-authored Ragnarok and Omega, the fourth and fifth novels in the Jack Sigler/Chess Team series. He also writes his own thriller novels, including the popular Jason Quinn novel, Resurrect. In addition to his work in novels, Kane wrote artist Scott P. Vaughn’s sci-fi noir webcomic, Warbirds of Mars and Jeremy Robinson’s comic book adaptation Island 731. He lives with his c
hildren in Vermont.
Visit him online at: kanegilmour.com.
ALSO by JEREMY ROBINSON
Standalone Novels
The Didymus Contingency
Raising The Past
Beneath
Antarktos Rising
Kronos
Refuge
Xom-B
Flood Rising
MirrorWorld
Apocalypse Machine
Unity
The Distance
Infinite
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 Last Valkyrie
The Jack Sigler/Chess Team Thrillers
Prime
Pulse
Instinct
Threshold
Ragnarok
Omega
Savage
Cannibal
Empire
Jack Sigler Continuum Novels
Guardian
Patriot
Centurion
Cerberus Group Novels
Herculean
Viking Tomorrow (The Berserker Saga Book 1) Page 31