by J.B. Cameron
~4~
The scream of the presidential shuttle settles into a hiss of escaping gases as its long wings perch on the landing platform in the dead of night. Security drones hover in the airspace over the Citadel, threatening any vehicles daring to breach their protective bubble.
Karl looks over his shoulder at the sound of boots marching up the ramp. Lannister's platoon of security guards fall in line, while their chief joins the presidential aide.
"All security arrangements are in place?" Karl asks.
"Citadel's locked up tight."
"I'm sure," Karl nods. "It's just that we wouldn't want any surprises during the president's visit."
Lannister flashes him a hateful glint. "Everything's covered on my end. You don't have to worry. I know how to do my job."
A door slides open on the side of the massive bird, revealing several armored figures. The soldiers take up positions outside the ship, scanning the area with automatic weapons.
With the landing zone deemed secure, a convoy of suits disembarks from the aircraft.
Among them is a tall, middle-aged man, neatly dressed in EurAsian silk. His penetrating eyes spot the two men awaiting his presence at the end of the platform, and his cruel features burst into a gleaming, white smile.
"Mr. President," Karl bows his head. Lannister silently follows suit.
The figure strides past them on his way to the rooftop doors, without slowing. Surprised, the two men rush to catch up behind him.
"You want to know what the worst part about running the world is?" he asks in a loud voice. "All the damn traveling. I swear! Crossing time zones has put an extra year on my life. Hate traveling!"
"Yes, sir," Karl agrees automatically.
"Hate it!" Travis reiterates for emphasis. He stops suddenly, turning to fix them both with a dark expression. "So you boys will understand just how much I don't want to be here. Goddamn it! I vouched for that sonuvabitch, Nason!"
He resumes walking, passing through the open doors of a glass corridor on his way to his official quarters.
"Where are we with the manhunt?" he asks.
"The former chancellor and his family continue to elude custody," Karl declares. "We believe he's aligned himself with New Way, somewhere in the city. Our patrols are scouring the streets. We'll find him."
"Well, by God, we'd better. He left us with one hell of a shiner, boys. I'm itching for some payback. Get me something, anything. Any reason to march my armies into their hole and flush those rebellious turds out of hiding. I don't care what it takes."
They reach the doors to the presidential loft. Travis swings them open to a palatial view of glittering marble and gold. The elegance is lost on him. His thoughts are in the mud, where he's tearing into his hated enemies with his bare hands and teeth.
"I want their heads!" he barks, an instant before slamming the doors behind him.
Karl and Lannister blink at the closed doors. The security chief turns away first. He dismisses the crazed politician with a wave of his hand.
"His visits are always such a pleasure," he mutters under his breath as he wanders off to do his job, now that the pomp and ceremony has ended.
Karl turns to watch him leave. A smile materializes on the cyborg's face. Inside his mechanical mind, the real Karl Adler is screaming for help.
"Don't worry, Lan," I reply softly. "It'll be his last visit."
END
The Predator
By Michael Tinker Pearce
Chuck Peters was scared. I could tell by the hunched shoulders and the quick, jerky movements of his head as he walked down the parking lot to his car. He was used to being the one in control, the one with the power. After last night it was obvious to him that he wasn’t in control and he didn’t like it one bit.
Chuck was one of the bad ones. The ones that knew what they were. Ones that reveled in the knowledge, in the secret sense of superiority to those around them. In the end it was that very sense that betrayed him and made him careless.
Last evening he had still been full of himself, confident in his own invulnerability. He’d actually been whistling as he locked his apartment. He jauntily slung his gym bag over his shoulder headed out to his red ‘92 Camaro with a small cooler in his other hand. He unlocked the car and tossed the gym bag into the passenger seat, started the car and pulled out of the apartment complex with the stereo blasting White Snake at ear-shattering volume. He didn’t signal as he turned right onto 196th street and headed east. I pulled out after him and followed at a discreet distance.
This had the makings of a real bad evening. He had the look of a man on a mission. I didn’t know where he was going exactly but I knew exactly what he was going there for. Chuck had been spending time on Facebook chatting up high school girls and had found a couple of likely prospects. They were meeting in a park somewhere but the references to which one had eluded me.
He took a left on Hwy 99 and headed North. Rush hour was over but the Friday night traffic was still pretty heavy so it was easy to stay behind him without drawing attention to myself. After several miles he turned left again onto the Mukilteo Speedway. As we passed Harbor Pointe on the left and Paine Field on the right I had to close up a bit; too many places he could turn off and if I was right about his plans I couldn’t afford to lose him. I knew he had something different in mind than what his teen-age conquests expected. He stuck with the Speedway as we went down the hill towards the ferry to Whidbey Island. If he got on the ferry to Whidbey it could get interesting. Traffic would be a lot sparser on the island and I would stand out more if he went too far. He didn’t, turning right on 5th.
We followed 5th until it turned into Mukilteo Boulevard, then West Mukilteo Boulevard as twilight closed in. As we drove past Harborview Park he slowed, then turned right onto Greely and parked in the driveway of the house on the corner. The house appeared to be vacant for renovation; Chuck had done his homework. I drove past; I knew the park and I had an excellent idea of where he was planning on entertaining himself this evening so I could probably afford to let him out of sight for a few moments.
I turned the car around at the next block and pulled onto the shoulder just short of the park. The park closes at dusk so the gate to the parking lot was already down. Getting my gear from the trunk I took the trail along the eastern edge of the park into the trees. The trail led down the bluff to the woods below and across the train tracks to the beach. I would check some of the clearings first, then the beach. The low sound of pop-music drifting through the dark, dense woods guided me to them.
They were in one of the clearings below the bluff. The line of sight wasn’t ideal with low brush and some trees obscuring parts of the clearing but it was the best that I was likely to get. Chucky was drinking beer with the two online chippies. The music came from a portable stereo propped up next to a tiny camp-fire. Chuck and the girls appeared to be having a good time, laughing and flirting. The girls had met an older man in a nice, private clearing in a park that was closed for the night and the substance of their private messages had made it abundantly clear what they were there for. That might yet happen; some people like to play with their food. I was certain that things were going to turn out a quite a bit different than they expected.
I hate using special equipment- too hard to explain if you get caught, too easy to trace if it’s found, but sometimes there’s no substitute. I quietly made my preparations and waited.
After a time Chuck and the girls started getting serious. Great- Chuck was a molester too. Before things got too serious Chuck broke loose and made an announcement that made the girls giggle and headed into the woods, presumably to take a piss. The girls kicked back and drank some more beer and listened to the stereo, occasionally meeting each other’s eyes and giggling in nervous anticipation. But after a short time they sat up and looked into the woods. They seemed to be getting agitated. I heard a thin clear soprano voice call a question to the night and the girls drew closer together, peering into the dark
ness under the trees. I could imagine Chuck moving silently through the woods, watching them. Making the brush rustle suggestively and watching their apprehension turn to fear. Teasing himself with their growing terror.
Perhaps he growled occasionally to spice things up-whatever, the teens were starting to freak out. Then he crept into the clearing and one of the girls screamed. I’d guessed him to weigh maybe 180, 190. Not huge, but a pretty big guy. As a wolf he was enormous, half again the size of a natural wolf. He slunk towards them menacingly, head down low and hackles up, teeth bared. The girls grabbed at each other and backed away, eyes riveted. He wanted them to run, I realized. He wanted the thrill of the chase- perhaps to taste the adrenaline in their blood when he finally brought them down. They had backed nearly to the edge of the clearing and he started to lunge towards them but stumbled as the 5.56mm TAP bullet slammed into his shoulder. You can’t completely silence a high-velocity rifle, but the loudest sound from the Keltec carbine was the slap of the bolt and the cracking of the miniature sonic booms of the bullets. I was nestled behind it with its integral folding bipod extended and braced on a log, peering through the Russian night-scope and I swore as I rapidly stroked the trigger again and again. The girls were running now but Chucky had bigger things to worry about. He leapt back to his feet as I fired again, the next round kicking up pine needles and dirt into his face. The following round struck him somewhere in the lower chest as he flinched away from the spray of dirt. He spun half around and a bullet took him in the hip, almost knocking his leg out from under him. The next several rounds missed as he turned and bolted into the brush directly away from me. Shit.
I thought quickly- should I pursue him? He was injured and would be slowed down but was still dangerous. The Russian scope was passive light-gathering and not nearly as good as modern American equipment. In the heavy underbrush under the trees it would be next to useless. On the other hand I knew where he was going. I quickly broke through the brush and moved up the trail as best I could while scanning with the night-scope. I couldn’t move very fast but I was betting that he couldn’t either. I lost the bet; just as I got to the edge of the park I saw the Camaro fishtail onto Mukilteo Boulevard from Greely and head west. Staying under the cover of the trees I broke down the rifle and scope. I unscrewed the suppressor and threw it deep into the brush. Most likely if anyone found it they wouldn’t know what it was. If they did it wouldn’t matter- I had made it myself in a 'borrowed' machine-shop and had never handled it without gloves on. Likewise the empty casings left back in the brush.
The next night I was once again waiting and watching the parking lot of his apartment. He had gone straight home. Fucking idiot. He’d been holed up all day, most likely allowing his wounds to regenerate. Now it was night again and he’d finally broken cover. He had a large duffel with him as he limped to his car- seems he hadn’t completely regenerated last night’s wounds. Chucky appeared to have decided it might be wise to be away for more than a night or two. He opened the door and threw the duffel into the passenger seat. He didn’t stow it in the hatch-back. He didn’t look behind the seat and see the bags full of packages of sinus medicine or the jars and jugs of chemicals like acetone and ether.
He did smell something as he got in- I could see his face pretty clearly through the 300mm telephoto lens on my old Pentax. He sniffed and looked puzzled, but after a moment shrugged and started the car. He didn’t roll down his window yet, reaching for the stereo and switching it on. Power raced through the circuits, hit the recently frayed wire on the big after-market amp behind the seat. The current quickly tripped the tiny capacitor inconspicuously attached to the frayed wire and sparked to an exposed screw-head, igniting the minute quantity of gunpowder heaped around the screw and setting off the fumes in the car.
The car blossomed into a fireball, all the glass blowing out and bouncing the car down against the suspension stops. The sound reached me a couple of seconds later- a loud slap of noise that probably shattered a few windows in nearby apartments, but since Chuck was in the habit of parking away from other cars (no doubt to avoid door-dings on his custom paint job) there was little other damage. The inside of the car was like a blast furnace. Even at this distance I could hear the roar of the flames as the flammable chemicals in the jugs burned.
It had been kind of an 'iffy' set-up but what the hell; he already knew someone was trying to kill him and if it worked it would be just another amateur 'meth' manufacturer screwing up. The fierceness of the fire would almost certainly eliminate any trace of the fact that the car had been rigged even if the police were inclined not to take the explosion at face-value.
“Regenerate that, motherfucker.” I muttered as I stowed the camera, put the car in gear and drove away into the dusk.
END
Dinner with the Family
By Linda Pearce
I looked out the window of the coffee house the sounds of people laughing behind me as I stared into the moonlit streets wondering why I was alone, again. I was a nice looking fellow with a good job and reasonable intelligence. I couldn’t figure out why I was having such a hard time. The neon light from the Pike Street Market sign shined brightly causing a kaleidoscope of colors on the wet ground. As I pondered the breakup of yet another relationship I suddenly realized that I was staring straight into the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. They were looking back at me through the window. When she saw that I had noticed she glanced away shyly, her curly auburn hair curtaining her face. I started to get up entranced wanting to meet this lady. Her eyes widened and she bolted. I tried to jet out the door after her but was blocked by the crowd of people coming in as she disappeared into the darkness up the street. I looked around for her a few more minutes and then sighed in resignation.
Somehow I knew I needed to meet her, this stranger in the night. I went dejectedly back inside and asked the woman at the counter if she knew who the lady was.
“Do you know the woman with long red hair and light hazel eyes?” I inquired.
Her tag said her name was Julie replied, “Oh, you must mean Jeanine. She is a friend of mine. No one else I know has that color without contacts.” She looked at me suspiciously, “Why?”
Unable to think up an excuse I replied honestly, “I just saw her, she is remarkable! I don’t normally do this but is there any way I can meet her?” I couldn’t believe my own ears as I said that. I usually didn’t pursue anyone.
Julie looked me up and down trying to see if I was some sort of stalker or something. Hesitating a few more minutes she gave a nod and replied, “I think I can arrange it… HERE.”
I got her meaning and smiled, “That would be perfect. I am Avery by the way.”
She smiled sardonically, “Nice, but this is assuming Jeanine wants to meet you, did she even see you?”
Suddenly I was unsettled as I fiddled with my watch, “I think so. Just tell her I was the one staring out the window tonight. I think she will remember.” I looked up, “Can you tell me anything about her?”
She gave me a shuttered stare, “Nothing, IF she wants to meet you I will let her tell you.” She paused, “I’ll tell you what. You come back tomorrow evening around seven and if she is here, fine. If she isn’t then you will NOT be coming back. Deal?”
I hesitated as this coffee shop had been a convenient place to hang out but then I nodded. “Deal!”
--**--
The next day dragged by at my job, minutes ticking slowly as I waited until the time to go meet her. She had haunted my dreams the night before, this Jeanine. I tried to throw myself into my work but everyone seemed to know something was up and steered clear as I growled through the day. I didn’t know why I was reacting to this woman but I wanted to find out.
Seven o’clock and I arrived at the coffee house almost frightened that she wouldn’t be there. Julie looked up and nodded at a table in the back. I ordered my Latte and she handed it to me along with a Chai tea. I walked back to greet this lady I needed to meet. Her countenance wa
s proper, her back straight and her small delicate hands clasped tightly together before her. Her auburn tresses were swept back into a loose ponytail with only a hint of lip gloss for makeup. She studied me neutrally with those expressive hazel eyes as I walked up. I slowed when a panicked expression flowed across her face and she looked ready to bolt again.
Very slowly I slid in the chair across from her saying, “Hi, I’m Avery. Please don’t leave. I don’t usually frighten people.” I grinned with my most winning smile hoping to put her at ease.
She slowly smiled in return and replied in a hesitant husky voice, “I’m Jeanine. Why did you want to meet me?”
Unused to someone being so straight forward I stammered a moment giving her a puzzled look before replying, “I am not sure. I don’t usually do this. But you are striking and your eyes…”
She glanced up at me shyly, trying to read my expression. Pushing a stray curl behind her ear she nibbled on her lower lip and decided to stay.
We spoke long into the night and much the same for the next several days as well. My friends were leaving me messages everywhere but I only had time for her. I soon realized that I was falling in love with Jeanine. The way she moved so gracefully and the way she played with her curls. The way she would lift her face to the sun with a smile that rivaled it.
The lovely weather stayed with us into the weekend and we drove to the beach. We ran along in the sand and played keep away with the waves. We collapsed on a blanket I had brought and she stretched out in contentment as I started unwrapping our lunch. I realized that she never spoke of her family and I suddenly wanted to know everything about her.
“Jeanine?”
“Hmmm?” she replied with her eyes still closed. I leaned in close feeling the warmth from the sun on her skin. Tracing the neckline of her soft green sweater with my fingers I delicately kissed her lips. Her eyes flew open and she started to tense. I gathered her close and kissed her deeply feeling her relax in my embrace. She made small mewling sounds as she wrapped her arms tightly around my neck pressing into me. I tangled my fingers in her hair as I lifted my head to look in her eyes and suddenly realized they had changed colors. They were a beautiful shade of yellow. My eyes widened in shock as I watched them change back and the sadness that came with it. She moved away and started putting on her shoes as if getting ready to leave. I reached out to capture her hand.
“Wait.” She looked away. “What’s going on?”
Jeanine shook her head silently.
“Please!” She looked over hesitantly and saw not rejection as she thought she would but just bewilderment.
With hope dawning in her face she replied, “I guess I better just show you. Come on.”
We gathered up our few things and drove back to the city. As she gave directions to her home I was suddenly nervous about meeting her family. She laughed at the look on my face, “Don’t worry, it’s just my sister. My parents live in Oregon.” I breathed a small sigh of relief.
We pulled up outside a nondescript rambler somewhere in the northern burbs of Seattle. Hand in hand we walked slowly up to the door, my heart skipping a beat.
“Danny, I’m back. I’ve brought someone home for dinner.” Jeanine yelled as we walked in.
“Oh good, I will be out as soon as I have changed!” I heard the voice from the back of the house.
“It’s ok, Danny. I want him to meet Drew before we eat.” Turning to me Jeanine glanced at my puzzled expression and said, “Drew is my nephew.” She took my both my hands as we walked into the kitchen wrapping my arms around her. She hesitated a moment before moving past the island and led me to the playpen in the center of the family room. Contrary to the rest of the comfortably furnished home, the room was sparsely decorated and had a sterile white tile floor. Moving out of my arms Jeanine stepped aside so I could see, giving me a strangely triumphant look.
I looked down into the playpen where a tiger cub was clutching a seafoam-green teddy bear as it slept. I looked up at Jeanine in surprise, then stared as her beautiful hazel eyes melted into tawny gold with vertical slit pupils like a cat. I could not look away, even as I saw an adult tigress padding into the room from the corner of my eye.
I barely recognized Jeanine's voice through the husky growl as she said, “Wake up Drew, dinner is here...”
END
Stealing the Show
By Zach Abrams
Although she had been kept busy, the day passed so slowly, each hour Sarah marked off seemed to stretch into eternity. It was the anticipation. Sarah was impatient, desperate to finish work so she could go home and have a rest before her planned evening out. Pretty and petite, it was her singing voice which attracted the most attention. She had a booking to sing at the local bowling club dinner-dance. It was her first ever paying engagement.
“Thank you, Mrs Bissett. Is there anything else I can do for you today?” Sarah answered reflexively as she slid forward the five, twenty pound notes.
“No? Then please remove you’re your card from the reader.”
As Mrs Bissett scurried away, Sarah turned her excuse for attention to the next couple in the queue. She started to recite the standard Vistabank welcome but the words caught in her throat and she gulped. An array of thoughts cascaded through her mind within a fraction of a second. – ‘This couldn’t be real. What on earth were they doing here? And why now? I only sent him the demo tape three weeks ago and hadn’t expected to hear back yet. Of course it had been a dream for me to be taken seriously, but surely if he’d liked it he would have written back or arranged for someone to check me out. He wouldn’t have come here personally and not to my place of work, not without calling.’
Standing at the other side of the bandit screen, at the front of the queue, were Simon Cowell and Sharon Osbourne.
Of course it wasn’t real. Today was the 31st October, Halloween, and the two people standing in front of the counter were wearing latex masks. Sarah remembered seeing lots of people dressed in costumes when she’d gone out at lunchtime. As she peered through the bank’s glass security screen, it should have been patently obvious they weren’t the real celebrities. The masks were excellent and the costumes were good but their sizes and shapes weren’t right, they were far too stocky and their hair was obviously fake.
Sarah’s heart was still racing from the momentary excitement of her false assumption. She didn’t want to look stupid and tried to act normally. As she struggled to gather her thoughts she heard the words, “Give me the money.”
“Please place your card in the reader and enter your PIN number,” she replied nonchalantly, now embarrassed and not wishing to look at her customer.
“You don’t understand I want all the money.”
“If you want to make a withdrawal I can do it now, but you’ll need to use your card. If you want to close your account I’m afraid you’ll have to complete a form. It will take three days to process then we’ll send you your balance by cheque.”
“Don’t mess me about. I told you I want the money and you’ll give me it now if you know what’s good for you.”
The snarling voice could never have been mistaken for Simon Cowell’s, it had a distinct east end of Glasgow accent. As Sarah looked up again she saw a black, gloved hand in front of the screen. It was holding a gun.
Sarah didn’t know anything about guns. Could it be genuine? It looked similar to weapons she’d seen on television, similar to toys her young brother used to play with as a child. It was matte black in colour and about six inches in length with sharp angles.
Once again a deluge of thoughts flooded through Sarah’s mind. – ‘Is this a joke? Is the gun real? It looks like a toy, but how would I know? What if it’s real? What if he shoots at me? Will the bandit screen protect me? Can I get help? Should I press the alarm?’
The reality suddenly hit her. There was a customer in the bank, a young woman with a baby in arms. She was standing at the back of the room but could clearly see the weapon. The woman’s jaw dropped
and all colour drained from her face as she turned and moved towards the door.
“You stay right where you are.” The Osbourne character grabbed her free hand and jolted her back. It was a man’s voice. The girl fell towards the floor barely managing to stop the child slipping from her grasp.
Sarah remembered her training. Never take chances, always hand over the money. Be alert and pay attention so you can pass on information, but never confront a robber, leave that to the professionals.
Sarah pulled open her cash drawer and began to empty it into the trough below the security screen. She could barely handle the money her hands were shaking so much.
As fast as she filled the trough, a leather clad hand pulled the notes out and stacked them into a Tesco ‘bag for life’.
“Now the rest of it,” the man growled.
Sarah moved to the next teller position. As she did, her eye caught sight of Mandy. Mandy had been on her tea break and was just returning to the counter when she realized what was happening. Overcome by panic, Mandy leaned against the side wall, her knees trembled so much she seemed to be in imminent danger of collapse. Her normally bright, rosy cheeks were paler than her platinum-blond curls and she appeared to be calling out. Her lips were mouthing words but no sound was escaping. She looked to be having difficulty breathing.
By contrast Sarah was in danger of hyperventilating as she gulped in massive breaths then quickly exhaled. She thought she was going to be sick and struggled to hold down the bile.
“I need to sign into the computer again to be able to open this cash drawer,” she stated, conveying a confidence and calmness which belied the terrors within.
“Just get on with it.”
It took three attempts for Sarah to sign in as her fingers fumbled over the keys. She did manage it and at the same time she activated the silent alarm, sending a distress message through to Pitt Street Police station and automatically beaming through live CCTV footage.
Having cleared the second drawer, she was instructed to empty the safe.
“I can’t, I don’t have access,” she cried. “Only the manager has the combination and he hasn’t come back from lunch yet.” Tears were now streaming down her cheeks, causing her mascara to run, effectively giving her the look of a Pierrot clown.
The gunman said nothing but raised his weapon pointing it at Sarah’s head.
“It’s true,” screamed Mandy, belatedly finding her voice before her legs finally gave way and she collapsed to the floor.
The young woman with the baby couldn’t see, but she heard the crash of Mandy falling and mistakenly believed she’d been shot. She turned away holding her child tightly against her bosom and a loud keening wail escaped her lips. The level of falsetto was more than an octave higher than Sarah’s mezzo range could reach, but nowhere near as melodious.
Although the masks hid their faces, the body language of the robbers showed sheer panic.
The ‘Cowell’ character stuffed the gun in his jacket pocket and the last of the banknotes into the bag then made for the exit, only a step or two behind Osbourne.
They barged their way through the door just as a portly, elderly gentleman was entering.
“Clumsy fools, watch where you’re going,” he called after them angrily.
The impact in the doorway made ‘Cowell’ move sideways causing the bag to snag and rip against a door catch on the threshold. The robber struggled to keep the contents intact as he fled along the high street and down a narrow lane in the direction of the car park.
Only moments later, two police cars and an ambulance sped along the pedestrian precinct and screeched to a halt in front of the bank, to the deafening accompaniment of sirens. Two officers followed by the paramedics ran through the front door while another two, armed police sprinted down the lane. Their movements were being directed by a control centre which was monitoring the bank’s CCTV and the on-street security cameras.
In the bank, they found the mother and child, now both wailing and huddled in a corner. Mandy was trying to recover her composure and pick herself off the floor and Sarah was standing frozen to the spot, statue-like, behind the counter.
The elderly man was looking around him, confused and unable to comprehend what was happening and he was more than a little peeved because he’d had to wait to be served. In the midst of all this, Mr Francis, the bank manager re-emerged sheepishly from the back office where he had been cowering, hoping not to be discovered.
The paramedics checked to ensure no-one was injured and the customers and staff were all treated for shock. The police began their work of collecting evidence. Two hours later and the property had been thoroughly checked, they’d studied all the security camera footage and statements had been taken. Sarah was commended for her cool handling of the situation although she was unable to contribute much with her statement.
“I don’t really know what happened. It all passed in a blur. He pointed a gun and asked me for the money and I gave it to him.”
Mandy had recovered completely and was able to give a full and detailed account. Now feeling out of danger, she was enjoying the excitement and the celebrity.
The police discovered that the robbers had an accomplice waiting in a car at the end of the lane and they’d made a speedy escape. All local CCTV was being checked to try to identify the vehicle.
Some banknotes were recovered from the doorway where they’d spilled when ‘Cowell’ was leaving, but the police were overjoyed also to find a receipt and credit card voucher which had apparently slipped from his pocket in his rush to escape. They related to the purchase of two masks that morning from the Party Store. Police officers were dispatched to check the costume retailer where they were given a detailed description of the man who’d made the particular purchase. The name and address of the account holder for the transaction was divulged by Mastercard revealing he was a known felon by the name of James Carey who had a history of bank jobs. His description fitted the one given at the Party Store. A search warrant was already in the course of preparation and an arrest pending. There was a very high probability that in this short time the case had already been solved. The police officers were almost in party spirit, delighting at Carey’s misfortune.
It wasn’t yet closing time but Sarah was told she could go home early. She put on her overcoat and scarf in preparation for the cold, autumn chill. Before reaching the door she heard a familiar chirping and lifted her mobile phone to read the message.
‘Just got your lunchtime text, sorry you’re having such a dull day. Never mind you’ll get lots of excitement tonight. I’m coming to see you perform and I’m bringing the rest of the ‘Bay City Bowlers.’ Love Mum
END
SURVIVORS
By Tyler Roberts
Monk turned off the ham radio and sat alone in the enveloping silence, casually observing his surroundings. The familiar scene of baseball and military memorabilia lining the garage walls and the smell of the wood stove mixed with a faint touch of engine oil filled his world. Never would I have imagined my life would come down to this. A collection of old mementos, a ham radio and a graveyard of lost loved ones next door. There must be some lasting contribution I can make before my Maker comes for me. Something that will…
Chen’s troops squealed to a halt in the drive way, the thud of their boots interrupting his thoughts. That blasted Chinaman. Been harassing me ever since Cliffson and his son left. He should know by now I won’t give him the information he wants.
Chen marched through the door of the garage without knocking, chest puffed and reeking of an air of confidence that always goaded Monk. Cocky little squirt.
He found Monk rocking in his chair. “Hello Mista Monk, how are you today?”
“Was just fine until now Chen.” Monk’s gravelly voice complained. Though not tall, he still towered over the little general.
“You not very friendly today Mista Monk.”
“Thanks right, now why don’t you just turn around and take yo
urself home. You’re not welcome here.”
“Ah, but you forget one thing Mista Monk. China now own your country. You live here only by the good graces of our kindness and since this is the case, let us get on with our business. We have enjoyed a very beneficial relationship since the time you informed me the Cranks were planning to steal our supplies. Yes?”
“Get on with it.”
“Unfortunately, that relationship must come to an end today if you do not provide me with the information I have come for.”
“Chen, this is uncalled for. You know full well I have always cooperated with your requests.”
“Then we shall see just how accommodating you are Mista Monk. I told you two weeks ago there would be stiff price to pay if you not provide information I have demanded. So then, your two weeks are up and I have returned as promised. First question. I must know what you did with the chest of gold you and Cliffson took from the Crank’s old house. Where did you hide it?”
“Gold?” Monk snorted. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I believe you do. Tell me where the West’s disappeared to. I think I might find them and the gold in the same place, no?”
“You’re chasing the tail of a wild hare Chen. Either that or you been smoking some of that weed from LaPine.”
“This is no joke Mista Monk. If you refuse to tell me what you know there will be price to pay. Next question; tell me what you know about Cliffson and his sons. Where are they hiding?”
Monk shrugged his shoulders. “Like I’ve told you before, I haven’t seen them for weeks.”
“We have reason to believe they returned days ago and this is the first place they would come. Would you like to reconsider your answer?”
“There’s nothing more I can tell you.”
“You lie!” Chen swung his fist for Monk’s jaw, but it was seized in mid flight. The barrel-chested old man poured his strength into the vice grip that was his right hand while Chen fought to maintain his composure.
“Don’t you ever strike me Chen. Ever. Are we clear on that?” Monk’s low snarl sounded more wolverine than human.
“You shall pay for this Monk.” Monk twisted Chen’s wrist ever so slightly, forcing him to bow and grimace, all the while knowing he was crossing a line by embarrassing the commander. “Guards!” Chen cried.
Three guards advanced on Monk with pistols drawn and he was quickly tied to a wooden chair with his hands stretched behind him.
“This is last chance Mista Monk.” Chen rubbed his sore wrist, but the gleam in his eye was unmistakable as he anticipated what was about to happen. “I warned you there would be price to pay for withholding information. Until today we had trustworthy relationship. Such a shame to throw it away. Now tell me where Cliffson can be found.” Chen demanded.
A slight grin came to Monks face. He knew things were about to get rough, but refused to engage the man on a serious level. Cocking his head to the side and squinting up to look through his one good eye, Monk answered. “Looks like a turd in your pocket Chen, or maybe you’re just glad to see me?”
“I have no time for your tomfoolery.”
Monk burst into laughter. “Tomfoolery. That’s a good one Chen.”
Chen nodded to one of the guards who pistol whipped Monk from behind, knocking him to the floor with the chair still tied to him. “Is that the best you can do Chen?” Monk groaned. “Call in your henchmen while you cower in the corner.”
“Untie him.” Chen’s mouth was quivering with rage as he struggled to stay in control of himself. “I tell you again Mista Monk this is last chance. You must answer both questions. If you do not, you shall die.”
Blood was leaking from Monk’s right ear, tingeing the fringe of white hair that circled the lower half of his head with a crimson red. Turning his steely one-eyed gaze on Chen he spat. “I owe you nothing. I owe my friends everything.” Monk croaked. “I’ve seen your brutality. You are a monster Chen who doesn’t have the balls to even fight an old man like myself.” Monk wiped at the blood trickling down the side of his neck. “Show me I’m wrong Chen. Fight me and if I lose you get your answers.”
Chen’s dark eyes shot back daggers and Monk knew the man was tempted. He would squash the little dictator if given just half a chance. Then Chen seemed to realize the old warrior might be more than a match.
Trembling with the anger that now raged through his limbs, Chen screamed his order. “Take him to the Lang’s house!”
Outside broken sunshine dappled the lawn and a light breeze danced while Monk was beaten. Then two soldiers seized him by the arms and dragged him to the Lang’s empty home next door. Chen stopped for a moment to bellow crisp new orders at one of his soldiers before disappearing into the garage. Moments later he rejoined his men in the kitchen where they were restraining Monk. Confronting his one eyed opponent once again, Chen held up two ten penny nails and a hammer.
“Now we shall see just how brave you are Mista Monk. Place his hands palm up on the counter.” Chen spat. Struggling against four guards, Monk was forced into position against the kitchen counter.
Chen’s spittle flew and he raged at Monk. “You know where the gold is and you know where the West’s are hiding! I demand an answer to my questions. This is last chance Mista Monk. Answer me and I spare you. Just two questions. Fail to provide the information I need and you will be nailed to counter.”
Again Monk struggled against the guards, but his aging body was no match and the four younger men quickly subdued him. Unblinkingly he stared into Chen’s hate filled eyes and was suddenly reminded of his time in Nam. The look of men in death masks was unmistakable and Chen wore one now.
“The first question is easy Monk. Where are the Wests hiding and how do I find them?”
Monk’s tight lipped grin lit up his good eye. “That’s two questions.”
Chen nodded and a guard struck Monk in the kidneys with the butt of his rifle while the other two pinned his hands, palm up, to the counter. Through the kitchen window a beam of light glint from the tip of the nail and caught Monk’s good eye as Chen positioned it over his hand. Chen raised the hammer and glared at Monk. “Last chance pirate man.”
“Only a coward would…”
The hammer fell and Monk’s world swam. Chen continued pounding, driving the nail deep into the counter, each blow a chisel slicing at Monk’s nerves. Blood pooled on the counter against the side of Monks arm before streaming to the floor as a misty veil began to fall over Monks consciousness.
Chen grabbed Monk by the chin and held the remaining nail to his face. “This one’s for the other hand Monk. Think for a moment before I ask next question.” Chen stepped aside and opened the kitchen window to yell at two soldiers in his native tongue. He took his time, enjoying Monk’s agony and his struggles to remain standing.
Sweat was beading on Monk’s forehead and poured from the tip of his chin when Chen turned to face him again. Summoning new courage, Monk drew strength to face Chen once more and just as he did a sudden whoosh of flame exploded to life, filling the air with the oily smell of gasoline. Orange flames began dancing outside the window in a fireball licking at the sides of the house and reflecting in Chen’s eyes.
Chen brought the point of the second nail to within inches of Monk’s good eye. “You failed to answer my first question and the price for your lack of cooperation is the Lang’s house. Do not be a fool Mista Monk; you can still save your life by answering the next question. Where is Cliffson and how do I find him?”
Monk spat in Chen’s face and snarled. “I would never betray my friend for a rat like you. Never!”
Chen wiped his face on his sleeve, pausing for a moment as if considering what to do before striking Monk in the face. “Have it your way Monk.”
Positioning himself to drive the second nail Chen paused to look at Monk one last time. “I tell you this Mista Monk, you die a brave man.”
“I don’t know how a coward like you could possibly know.�
� Monk grunted.
With renewed enthusiasm the hammer fell once more, and then again, and again, and again, before Chen dropped the hammer and ushered his troops from the house.
Monk writhed in pain. Fire danced up and down a live wire sharp as a razor leaving him barely able to stand. Then a dark fog closed in as the counter top flooded with a sea of scarlet blood and Monk’s good eye attempted to follow the progress of the flames outside. I didn’t yield. Praise God I didn’t fail my friends when the end came.
Stepping to his truck, Chen paused for a moment to watch the flames rise up against a ruby red sun setting behind the house. Then turning smartly, he climbed inside before glancing back towards the house one more time.
Two riders were approaching as Chen and his men raced to the highway, causing one horse to rear, nearly throwing its mount before attempting to bolt.
Both riders were just bringing their animals back under control when one man cried out, “That’s my brother’s house.”
Racing the final two blocks the men pulled up hard, causing the horses to slip on the pavement. Throwing their reins over the pole fence at the front of the property the men dashed to the house, searching for a way in. Together they circled the building, probing in vain for a way inside. Angry flames clawed at the siding keeping the men at bay with swords of orange and black flame. The house cracked and popped in the throes of its own hellfire demise. Making their way to the back of the house the men were peppered with shards of glass when a window burst forth to pour out its dense black smoke. Arriving at the back of the house they discovered a patio with a sliding glass door. It was their only chance of gaining access but the flames were closing in on both sides.
One man challenged the flames only to find the door locked. Repelled by the heat and falling back in a fit of coughs he lay on the grass gasping.
“There’s a man inside.”
The second man raced to a rock wall near the back of the property and quickly returned with a fat stone. He hesitated only a moment when the flames threatened to engulf the entire door, before charging the wall of fire and smashing the glass. When he retreated from the intense heat, the second man rushed the house and began knocking out the remaining glass shards from the door frame with a shovel.
Charging inside the men were nearly overcome when dark tendrils of smoked reached down their throats threatening to eviscerate their lungs. At first they couldn’t understand why the near unconscious man in the kitchen hadn’t left the house. Then to their horror they realized his hands were nailed to the counter.
The men quickly stripped off their shirts and soaked them in water at the sink before draping them over their faces and that of the bald man struggling to remain conscious. The wet shirt seemed to revive him just a bit.
“The hammer.” Monk groaned, nodding to his right where Chen had left it laying on the counter.
Spreading the man’s fingers apart to make room to place the hammer, one man threw his weight against the handle in an attempt to pull the nail but soon fell to his knees in a spasm of coughs. The heat of the flames was searing and their flesh would soon be barbequing on a spit of hate if they didn’t make this quick. When the second man grabbed the hammer, ripping away the nail, Monk fell limp, hanging from his torn left hand.
“Hold him up.” Billy yelled at Tom and applied the hammer to the remaining nail. The wood shrieked its resistance but slowly yielded and Monk fell limp when the nail came free.
“Grab his feet.”
Flames now fully engulfed the door where they had entered but the men had no choice. Carrying Monk between them and moving as quickly as they could, the three men charged the flames and tumbled outside into the cool grass. Monk’s shirt was on fire, scorching a shrill scream from his parched throat as consciousness returned. The men quickly rolled him in the grass to extinguish the flames, before backing further away from the blazing house.
His eye patch gone, a dazed, soot covered Monk weakly stared at the men with one good eye and one raw socket. “Now that there’s a fire Mr. Ronnie.” Monk’s pained grin wavered through a sweat stained face.
“Mr. Ronnie?” Billy asked.
“Never mind. Was something a friend used to say.”
Extending his hand, “I’m Billy, Billy Lang and this here’s Tom.”
“Did you say Lang?” Monk said, squinting through his pain etched face.
“That’s right; now let’s get you patched up.”
“My house is right next door, but let me ask you something.” Monk’s raw voice croaked.
“Soon as we get you patched up.”
There wasn’t a lot they could do for Monk’s hands but clean and bandage them. After treating burns on his scalp and one shoulder the men laid Monk on the couch and took turns holding his hands above his head to slow the bleeding.
“Lang you say.” Monk’s groggy, weary words were slurred from the pain meds they had given him. “You must be related to Cliffson.”
“Cliffson? You know my brother?”
“I did know him son. He left here weeks ago.” Monk paused a moment to catch his breath. No one spoke while anxiously waiting for the old man to recover. Then with a smoke engraved voice he continued. “Took his oldest son with him in an attempt to rescue his other son from a Chinese work camp. Sorry to have to tell you this but the bastards killed him.”
“Killed Cliffson? How do you know this?”
“His sons returned just last week. Told me the entire story.” Monk looked down and seemed to lose himself in thought before continuing. “I’m very sorry Mr. Lang. Your brother was a good man and I miss him.”
END
Hellfire
By Drew Avera
2 July 2029
I rose out of bed to another migraine headache. It was six in the morning based on the searing luminescent glow of the alarm clock. Every morning for as long as I could remember I had awakened to a feeling that I could only describe as the type of headache you get when you drink something cold too fast. I looked over at my itinerary that was sitting on a small table next to the bedroom door. Another test of the latest Pi-Mech (Piloted Assault Mechanism) was scheduled for today. This one was an upgraded version of the AF-45F Hellfire. I ran my hand through my hair holding my head in my hand trying to force the headache away before I grabbed my flight suit and got dressed for the day.
After breakfast I walked into hangar nine to receive my mission brief. Bob Franklin was standing next to the new prototype Pi-Mech. We had been friends for years and I had to admit that he wore the years a lot harder than I did. I could see the crease in his forehead where a thick mane of hair used to fall. The old adage, ‘youth is wasted on the young,’ came to mind. The new Pi-Mech had all the bells and whistles when it came to armament, but good ol’ Bob neglected the paint job as usual.
“So, this is the next big thing eh, Bob?” I asked.
He turned half startled, “Hey, Nate. Yeah, this is her.” He smiled and shook my hand for a little longer than I considered necessary and I noticed that there was something odd about the way he was looking at me. He turned back to the unit and jotted down a few notes into his tablet. “The controls are the same as always, we just made things a little more user friendly and things like that. It should be relatively straight forward. Do you have any questions?” he asked with an exhale.
“Nope, I’m just ready to get going,” I slapped him on the back and he laughed awkwardly. “Are you alright, Bob?” I asked. “You look kind of ill.”
“No, I’m fine. Let’s get you strapped in and ready to roll.” He stood behind me as I donned my head gear. The wiring and hardware mounted to the helmet made it weight about three times more than what most people would consider comfortable. When I first started this job I was afraid of breaking my neck due to the weight. Those days were behind me, I thought to myself as I climbed into the cockpit of the Pi-Mech and strapped myself in. I fiddled with the controls again before closing the egress hatch. I looked over at Bob a
s it closed and noticed there was something behind those eyes of his. I shook the thought out of my head when I heard General Parker take the com and initialize the mission program.
“Are you ready, Captain?” he asked in his brisk, snarly sort of way. The holographic video fed onto the Heads Up Display and the details of his face were striking. I could even see the cigar smoke emanating out of his mouth as he spoke. ‘Mr. Brass’ was my little pet name for General Parker and I felt that he liked it about as much as he liked me, which was not a lot.
“Yes, sir,” I replied with a half-hearted salute that he never returned.
“Now start the countdown procedure,” the General said into the com just before the sequence began. An electronic voice counted down from ten and I was reminded of the migraine I had wakened to this morning. I pushed it aside as the hangar doors opened and I could see bright sunlight pour into my visor. I dropped the darkened lenses into place and controlled the Pi-Mech onto the battleground. The desert area was rocky and steep and the temperature was so high that I could see the blur of heat radiating off of the ground in the distance.
It did not take long for the first strike to happen. In fact I was barely two minutes into the training exercise before the first shot was fired. My morning was to be filled to the brim with bombardment after bombardment. It became a blur of smoke and fire. I was so used to the programming that I did most of the battle on autopilot save for a few rough sensory inputs here and there. I pulled the trigger liberally at the U-Mechs (Unmanned Assault Mechanism) and rained fire and bullets into the machines. No loss of human life today, except maybe mine if I lost my focus. Even with the headaches I was more focused than the next guy. That must be why I was so revered as a test pilot. That and the fact that this was shit duty no matter how much the pay was.
I took out at least a dozen of the other units before I had a chance to catch my breath. I scanned the horizon under a glaring sun for the next wave of the attack. I could feel the heat radiating from the fiery remains of the U-Mech that was burning beneath me. At some point in all the fun I was having I had seemed to damage my unit’s oxygen generating system. I mistakenly made the decision to open the vent that allowed the outdoor air to filter into the cockpit. I wasn’t ready for the putrid smell of burning chemicals so I quickly closed the vent door shut. I would have preferred hypoxia over the death brought on by sniffing the burning hazardous materials surrounding me.
I worked the controls of my P-Mech and ran a quick diagnostic check of its operating systems. The Heads Up Display showed that my oxygen system was degraded as well as my thrust propulsion system. Other than that, everything was passable. I cued the targeting scanners to survey for any immediate threats. I was still reeling from the last battle and it had re-triggered the migraine I had wakened to this morning. I had been having trouble shaking these headaches for what seemed like an eternity. I swore under my breath as two bleeps illuminated onto my HUD.
The lead U-Mech landed about sixty yards away as its wingman continued an aerial hover tactic. God, I wished that my thrust propulsion was working at that moment. If I could move quicker then I could take both of them out without leaving myself open for an attack. The grinding gears of my unit moving sideways would be a tell-tale sign of its degrading performance to another human combatant; lucky for me I was fighting machines.
I could see the reflection of my Pi-Mech in the mirrored surface of my new enemy that stood before me. Not to sound trite, but I looked like utter hell. I had failed to notice a drop in hydraulic pressure before, but the red mist escaping the lubrication system of my twenty millimeter canon brought that to my attention. I stood still as I calculated my next move. The obvious target would be the ground unit, it’s closer and an easier target to hit, but the risk of leaving myself open to an air bombardment by the hovering unit was not one that I was willing to take.
My targeting system locked onto the hovering U-Mech a fraction of a second before I pulled the trigger. Bingo, the three remaining 20mm rounds may not have taken it out, but the eighty foot drop onto the sharp rocks below sure did! Unfortunately my Pi-Mech’s audible warning tone alerted me to a complete hydraulic failure in the weapons system. I was left with only two small fractal rounds that I could only shoot at an object directly in front of me. Every other weapon in the unit was either empty or disabled. I wasn’t sure if my Pi-Mech could sustain another round of physical combat. Franklin Technologies did not design them for Mech Jousting, but when you’re up a shit creek sometimes you’ve got to jump ship and swim through the crap to victory. That was my plan now.
My Pi-Mech crunched over the blackened earth underfoot as I ran it towards the U-Mech. At twenty yards I triggered the fractals and squinted at the blinding explosions before me. I could have sworn that both of the fractals were direct hits. I would have sworn wrong, the U-Mech stood before me with black smoke rising from its hull. It appeared that the fractals damage was minimal and now I was unarmed against a fully armed and ready U-Mech. Damn, I was screwed.
I rode the forward momentum of the Pi-Mech for all it had, slamming into my opponent. We both fell over in a loud metallic clash. One of the biggest drawbacks of the design of my unit was the lack of the internal stabilization system. I had to control every movement of the Pi-Mech, including those required to stand after falling. The U-Mech, on the other hand, simply fell over and rolled immediately back up into a standing position. In a battle like this, every second mattered. I was still face down in the dirt when I felt the strain of my Pi-Mech’s mechanical system buckle under the pressure of the U-Mech. I pressed security camera buttons frantically trying to figure out the U-Mechs position. I finally stumbled upon the right angle and peering through my optical interface I realized that it had one foot on the back of my unit and it was targeting my center section, essentially it was targeting me!
In a flash of brilliance I activated my counter measures system. Flares erupted from my unit in a whirl of blinding light. I winced at the spectacle as it shone on my optical interface. By a stroke of luck I felt the pressure subside as the weight holding me down eased up. I seized control of the situation by jamming the controls full right, causing the Pi-Mech to roll out from under the U-Mech. As I looked at the machine I could see that I had fried its targeting and guidance systems. It stood there and I could hear the whining of the engine powering the unit. U-Mechs are known for being able to bypass failed systems and continue to fight so this was far from over if I just stood there and looked at it.
I took a few steps forward and drove the right arm of my Pi-Mech straight into the center body of the other unit. In a spray of sparks I pulled out wiring harnesses that powered the unit, effectively killing it. The whining of the machine spooled down and I stood in relative silence. Sweat dripped down my face and I realized the cockpit was a sweltering cocoon. The game was over so I pressed the egress icon on the forward console and welcomed the rush of cool air blowing against my face. I wiped the sweat from my face with my arm and it came back black with soot. Apparently I had reopened the vents sometime during the battle.
As I sat against a rock outside of my Pi-Mech a few military vehicles pulled up. Like most military types, the suits driving waited until the last moment before hitting the breaks, kicking the loose sand into the air. I waved my hand through the air to dissipate the choking sand that was trying to enter my lungs. ‘Mr. Brass’ himself walked up to me with a smirk on his face.
“Captain Stout,” he said. “Excellent demonstration, I think we’ll be able to work the kinks out this time. How do you feel?”
“Great, sir.” I stood up and gave the old man a half-hearted salute. It wasn’t a sign of disrespect; it’s just that the old man doesn’t give a damn to salute you back. I guess that’s what happens when you become a General. A couple of suits followed behind him. One was Bob Franklin, my friend and the CEO of Franklin Technologies who designed the ride I had just taken.
“Nathan,” he said.
“Bob,” I nodded. W
e go far enough back that titles like ‘captain’ and ‘sir’ don’t mean anything.
“By my calculations we will need to find a more secure spot for the oxygen generator, a sturdier thrust propulsion system, and maybe see about doing something to beef up the hydraulics. You have anything to add, Nate?”
“Yeah, she could use some paint,” I laughed and patted Bob on the back. I leaned forward and could see Bob smiling until he saw the general walking back towards us. He gave me a strange look before turning his attention back to the general.
“They said they’ll take her, Bob,” General Parker said.
“Alright, write me up the order and my company will get started on manufacturing,” he smiled back at me before trotting back to the vehicle he had arrived in. As he walked away his shoulders drooped in an awkward way for a man who had just made billions of dollars. I didn’t know why, but maybe it was just stress. I looked up at General Parker and ran my hand through my hair. He leaned against the same rock I was sitting on and leaned in real close to me as some suits made a semicircle around our perimeter.
“I just want you to know that you did a great job today, Nathan,” he said.
“Thank you, sir.”
“I also want you to know that we couldn’t have done this without your blessing.”
“What do you mean ‘my blessing’?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said and he straightened up and walked back toward the vehicles. “Gentlemen, secure the clone.”
“Clone?” it was the only word to escape my mouth. Every other thought ended in a rain of gunfire under a gleaming sun.
3 July 2029
Another migraine headache drove me out of bed. Every morning for as long as I could remember I had awakened to a feeling that I could only describe as the type of headache you get when you drink something cold too fast. I looked at my itinerary for the day, laid across the table next to my flight suit. I had testing and evaluation scheduled for a new Pi-Mech today. This one was an upgraded version of the AF-45H Hellfire. I brushed my hand through my hair and held my head in my hand trying to force the headache away mentally.
“It’s going to be a long day,” I thought to myself before grabbing my flight suit to get dressed.
END
About The Authors
The authors in this anthology are members of the Anything Goes... Author's Group.
Visit us on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/groups/Anythinggoesauthorsgroup/ or see our hashtag on Twitter, #aga3.
Lindy Spencer
Lindy Spencer currently lives in Oklahoma with her superhero family - Amazing Husband and Super Smart Dog. When she's not writing she's most likely reading, riding motorcycles or shooting things with a Canon.
Her first novel, The Boomerang Effect, is a murder mystery with a karmic twist and can be found at
https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1478209518/
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-boomerang-effect-lindy-spencer/1112181586
She loves to visit with fans and can be found at www.facebook.com/LindySpencer.Author
The End, Or Is It? is a work of fiction. The only fitting dedication for this story is WOW.
The End ~ Or Is It? has also been published in FEY Publishings anthology titled Horrors of History.
J.B. Cameron
J.B. Cameron spent over two decades working in IT, most recently as the IT Director for an online university in New Brunswick, Canada. In his off hours, he writes books, short stories, and screenplays. A product of American TV, his often dark style and black humor typically places fun, exciting characters into situations of suspense or urban horror, making an exciting roller coaster ride to both chill and amuse his readers. Author of numerous short stories and screenplays, his first published novel, "Reading The Dead - The Sarah Milton Chronicles," introduces a supernatural detective series for Kindle and Kobo.
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BGE5DEM/
Kobo: https://store.kobobooks.com/en-US/Books/reading-the-dead-the-sarah-milton-chronicles
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/ReadingTheDeadTheSarahMiltonChronicles
Blog: https://jbcameron.blogspot.ca
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/J.B.Cameron.AUTHOR
Twitter: https://twitter.com/ReadingTheDead
Linda S. Pearce
Linda S. Pearce has worked extensively with at-risk youth and in the field of dog, cat and horse rescue. She has been employed as a project coordinator and in the field of IT for nearly thirty years. She has trained as a theatrical sword fighter with the Seattle Knights. Her interests include reading, particularly fantasy and detective fiction, horseback riding, target shooting and her pets.
She and her husband and co-author Michael Tinker Pearce make their home in Seattle, WA. They wrote the Foreworld Novella, The Shield Maiden, and are currently writing a second Foreworld novella. They have recently finished their first novel, Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman.
Michael Tinker Pearce
Michael Tinker Pearce lives in Seattle with his wife and co-author Linda. He got the nickname Tinker in the 1980s when he was at various times a soldier, college student, a bodyguard, a private investigator, a meat-carver at a restaurant, a police officer, an illustrator, heavy equipment operator, cover-copy writer, outlaw road-racer, Drill Instructor Candidate, receptionist, executive assistant to the heads of corporate banking at Citycorps, Tobacconist, courier for a currency exchange etc.
He finally settled down to become a knife and sword maker, specializing in the blades of medieval Europe and the Viking Era. He is the author of The Medieval Sword in the Modern World, and the designer of the CAS/Hanwei Tinker Line of medieval swords and trainers. He is a trained theatrical fighter and choreographer, and a student of Historic European Martial Arts. He co-authored the Foreworld novella 'The Shield Maiden and the couple has just finished their first novel, Diaries of a Dwarven Rifleman. Their second Foreworld Novella, Tyr’s Hammer, is being published in October 2013. The couple is currently working on their second novel, Rage of Angels, a hard-science military science-fiction story based on the events in The Killing Machine and What Happens in Dubai. They hope to release this book in time for Christmas.
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Michael-Tinker-Pearce/e/B00A6X16X6/
Zach Abrams
After a successful career in business and finance, Zach Abrams fairly recently started writing fiction.
His first novel 'Ring Fenced' was published in November 2011. This is a crime story with a difference, having an underlying theme of obsession, power and control.
This novel was followed by a collaboration with Elly Grant to produce 'Twists and Turns' a book of short stories and flash fiction.
In 2012, Zach completed his second novel 'Made a Killing' and it quickly joined the ranks of bestselling crime fiction. It is a fast moving, gripping novel set in the tough crime-ridden streets of Glasgow.
More in keeping with ‘Made a Killing,’ Zach was raised in Glasgow and has spent many years working in Central Scotland.
‘A Measure of Trouble’, sequel to ‘Made a Killing’ has been published this summer and Zach is currently working on a new project ‘The Source’ which centers on investigative journalism.
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Zach-Abrams/e/B008DGHXQC
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Zach-Abrams-author/463346010364540
Tyler Roberts
Tyler Roberts was born in eastern Washington and grew up working in the wheat fields there. Through those experiences he met and grew to know a wealth of real "characters" that now provide a rich vein of personalities from which to draw when writing.
Tyler was not always a writer. In fact he refers to himself as the "reluctant writer" in his blog. During his senior year in high school an elderly English teacher asked him to take a test and write a short story. He hated English but decided to humor the teacher by taking the test. A few weeks later she returned with two scholarship offers to writing sch
ools. At 17 Tyler couldn't image himself as a writer and never took it seriously. But that old teacher must have seen something.
Though the writing seed had been planted, it lay dormant until Tyler retired. At that time he began writing for himself, just for the enjoyment of writing. When his eldest son found out about it he convinced Tyler to polish the work and have it published. That is the work now known as Truth's Blood.
Tyler is educated in the biological science fields and has been married for 33 years. He is a great fan of history, an avid beekeeper, organic gardener and manager of a small orchard. He is currently working on the sequel to Truth's Blood.
Blog: https://organictruths.wordpress.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Cliffsonmonk
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Truths-Blood-ebook/dp/B00AREMKV6
Barnes and Noble: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/truths-blood-tyler-roberts/1114020093
Drew Avera
Drew Avera is an active duty navy veteran and writer of science fiction thrillers. Originally from Mississippi, he now lives in Virginia with his wife and two daughters. His other interests include reading, gaming, and playing guitar. His first book was picked up by Itoh Press and is scheduled for release in December 2013. His novella, Reich, is available on Amazon for the Kindle. He is currently working on multiple projects including a Thriller called Devil’s Cradle. You can follow Drew at the links listed below.
Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/drewavera
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authordrewavera
Blog: https://www.drewavera.wordpress.com