High Couch of Silistra, first of the notorious
Silistra Quartet, brings us to a realm where thought alters probability, where
creativity is inextricably linked to the urge to own and dominate, and where
the universe itself is amenable to a focused mind.
Rooted deeply in humanity’s mythic past yet unaware
of the planet Earth, High Couch of Silistra begins one woman’s mythic quest for
self-knowledge – with surprising results.
High Couch of
Silistra
The Silistra Quartet Book 1
by Janet Morris
Genre: Dystopian Epic SciFi Fantasy Romance
Biology shapes reality…
One woman’s mythic search for self-realization in a distant tomorrow…
Her sensuality was at the core of her world, her quest beyond the civilized
stars.
Aristocrat. Outcast. Picara. Slave. Ruler.
“Engrossing characters in a marvelous adventure.” – Charles N. Brown,
Locus Magazine
“The amazing and erotic adventures of the most beautiful courtesan in
tomorrow’s universe”
– Frederik Pohl
“The best single example of prostitution used in fantasy is Janet Morris’
Silistra series… Estri’s character is most like that of Ishtar who describes
herself as “‘a prostitute compassionate am I'” because she
“symbolizes the creative submission to the demands of instinct, to the
chaos of nature …the free woman, as opposed to the domesticated woman”.
Linking Estri with these lunar and water symbols is not difficult because of
the moon’s eternal virginity (the strength of integrity) links with her changeability
(the prostitute’s switching of lovers). […]
Morris strengthens the moon imagery by having Estri as a
well-keepress because wells, fountains, and the moon as the orb which controls
water have long been associated with fertility, […] In a sense, she is like
the moon because she is apparently eternal, never waxing or waning except in
her pursuit of the quest; she is the prototypical wanderer like the moon and
Ishtar. She is the eternal night symbol of the moon in opposition to the
Day-Keepers […]
At her majority (her
three hundredth birthday), she is given a silver-cubed hologram letter from her
mother, containing a videotape of her conception by the savage bronzed
barbarian god from another world. […] If Estri’s mother then acts as a bawd,
willing her lineage as Well-Keepress to her daughter, then Estri’s
great-grandmother Astria as foundress of the Well becomes a further mother-bawd
figure when she offers her prophetic advice in her letter: “Guard Astria
for you may lose it, and more. Beware of one who is not as he seems. Stray not
in the port city of Baniev …look well about you, for your father’s daughter’s
brother seeks you”. Having no brother that she knows of does not stay
Estri from undertaking the heroic quest of finding her father.”
– Anne K. Kaler, The
Picara: From Hera to Fantasy Heroine
I
am Estri Hadrath diet Estrazi, former Well-Keepress of Astria on the planet
Silistra. I have begun three times to tell this story, and three times I have
been interrupted. This, then, the fourth attempt, will surely prove successful.
Perhaps
you have heard of Silistra, the planet that was catalyst to the sexual
revolution in the year twenty-two thousand, seven hundred and four Bipedal
Federate Standard Time, or of the Silistran serums that lengthen life and
restore vitality in virtually any bipedal life form, or perhaps you have at
some time contracted the services of a Silistran telepath, or a precognitive,
or a deep reader. It is possible that you have in your own home the
scintillating, indestructible web-cloth woven by our domestic arachnids, or
have seen holograms of our golachits, those intelligent builder-beetles who
exude from their mouths a translucent, superhard substance called gol and
create from this gol, under the guidance of the chit-guards, the formidable and
resplendent structures in which we live and work.
And
perhaps you have seen no web-cloth, no gol, never been ill, and are not
interested in sex. If so, you may never have heard of Silistra.
I
carry Silistra in my mind’s eye, here under this alien sun. In my mind alone
can I look out the east window of my beloved exercise hall in Well Astria and
see the sun’s rising burst upon the jewel-like towers and keeps of the Inner
Well and a thousand rainbows arc and dance in the greening sky.
Best selling author Janet Morris began writing in
1976 and published more than 30 novels, many co-authored with her husband Chris
Morris or others. She contributed short fiction to the shared universe fantasy
series Thieves World, in which she created the Sacred Band of Stepsons, a
mythical unit of ancient fighters modeled on the Sacred Band of Thebes. She
created, orchestrated, and edited the Bangsian fantasy series Heroes in Hell,
writing stories for the series as well as co-writing the related novel, The
Little Helliad, with Chris Morris. She wrote the bestselling Silistra Quartet
in the 1970s, including High Couch of Silistra, The Golden Sword, Wind from the
Abyss, and The Carnelian Throne. This quartet had more than four million copies
in Bantam print alone, and was translated into German, French, Italian, Russian
and other languages. In the 1980s, Baen Books released a second edition of this
landmark series. The third edition is the Author’s Cut edition, newly revised
by the author for Perseid Press. Most of her fiction work has been in the
fantasy and science fiction genres, although she has also written historical
and other novels. Morris has written, contributed to, or edited several
book-length works of non-fiction, as well as papers and articles on nonlethal
weapons, developmental military technology and other defense and national
security topics.
Janet said: ‘People often ask what book to read
first. I recommend “I, the Sun” if you like ancient history;
“The Sacred Band,” a novel, if you like heroic fantasy; “Lawyers
in Hell” if you like historical fantasy set in hell;
“Outpassage” if you like hard science fiction; “High Couch of
Silistra” if you like far-future dystopian or philosophical novels. I am
most enthusiastic about the definitive Perseid Press Author’s Cut editions,
which I revised and expanded.’
Reclamation Kristen Zimmer (Dark Horse Series, #1) Publication date: December 9th 2025 Genres: Adult, Dystopian, New Adult, Science Fiction
Kristen Zimmer, author of The Gravity Between Us, When Sparks Fly, and Forbidden Girl takes readers on an adrenaline-fueled dystopian journey into the future where a scrappy band of rebels rise up to bring down an unequal and unrelenting government.
This is your future.
The United States of America has been gone for over a century.
In its place, The Unified American Territories—a nation divided, the impoverished and the wealthy are separated by a looming steel wall. In the Northern Territories—The Vault, as it is known by its inhabitants—the government rules with an iron fist: All citizens are tested for intelligence and aptitude, thrust into compulsory higher education and saddled with insurmountable debt. All student loans are granted and controlled by a branch of the regime called The Federal Bureau of Education. Failure to repay their debt consigns borrowers to the Knowledge Reclamation Process, a mysterious government-sanctioned brainwashing program that strips them of their education with dire mental and physical side effects.
Fletcher Daniels is a recent college graduate struggling to stay ahead of her arrears. After a visit from Reclamation Agents, she knows her life is about to change for the worse. Enter Youth Opposed to Reclamation, a scrappy band of rebels who try in their own small way to bring some relief to the people of The Vault by smuggling as many potential Reclaimees to safety as possible. When Fletcher meets and falls for fellow female YOR member, Sparrow, her world is twisted away from the one she once knew even more radically. The group offers Fletcher a chance to escape her fate, but through them, she sees the promise of bringing real change to The Vault. History has taught her that even the smallest rebellions can trigger revolutions. It’s time for history to repeat itself.
FLETCHER HAD BEEN ENJOYING the luxury of her sole day off work, reading The Scarlet Letter. Happily. Quietly. Until some unknowable thing, a strange tug in her chest, made her look up. She shut down her antiquated digireader with a tap of the cracked screen and watched from her bedroom window as a sleek, silver sedan pulled to a stop at the curb outside of her dilapidated row house. Agents.
She couldn’t see them through the car’s blacked-out windows, but it was obvious. The simple fact that the vehicle had the shine of something new was enough to give the Agents away. Being from The Vault, or The Northern Territories, as Fletcher’s part of the country was known officially, she rarely saw any cars on the road at all; cars in such impeccable condition were all but complete anomalies. Why do they even bother plastering the Department of Reclamation’s seal on the doors? She wondered.
That hideous seal. Words failed to capture how much Fletcher both loathed and feared it. The great red and black per bend crest, showcasing a scroll of parchment in one half and a tasseled mortarboard in the other, had always been reviled by citizens of The Vault. It meant that someone hadn’t paid their dues, and The Department of Reclamation had come to collect.
The Department of Reclamation employed the Agents who did the strong-arming for The Federal Bureau of Education. While the BOE housed the bookkeepers, The Department of Reclamation’s Agents handled the unseemlier work… and their work was generally quite unseemly. The Governing Council of The Unified American Territories had long ago authorized Reclamation Agents to use brute force “in the event of necessity.” More often than not, visits from Agents did end in violence—if not on their first visit, when a potential Reclaimee received their Notification of Violation, then most definitely on their second visit, when the Agents returned to take the Reclaimee into custody. Reclaimees seldom initiated said violence, of course; Fletcher had heard that most cried or begged for just a few more moments with their loved ones. They would be flogged once or twice and give up or otherwise be knocked out with narcotics. Occasionally, a Reclaimee would try to escape. Those individuals had it much worse. Fletcher closed her eyes and, although it pained her to do it, allowed herself to envision the brutality Agents inflicted upon braver people: Arms twisted so violently that shoulders snapped out their sockets, fingers bent backward with such force that the metacarpals fractured, skulls cracked against living room floors. She shuddered as if her skin had been kissed by an icy wind.
Reclamation Agents were no strangers to The Vault, considering it was the part of the country reserved for the impoverished, the destitute and the disillusioned—those who needed “excessive assistance” from the Government. Those like Fletcher. She would need at least ten more fingers to be able to count the number of times she had seen Agents in her neighborhood in the last week alone. Watching these two men march toward her home, she couldn’t help but wonder if they had come for her this time.
“Fletcher,” her father’s voice boomed through the dimness of her room. “Can you come out here, please?”
“I’ll be right there.”
She peered into the tarnished mirror atop her bedside table. Using the remnants of daylight to aid her vision, she pulled her long blonde hair up into a ponytail. “Alright,” she sighed to herself, her sharp jawline clenching and her hazel eyes burning with angst. “If they are here for you, you’ll find out soon enough.”
Author Bio:
Kristen Zimmer is the author of The Gravity Between Us, which spent 12 weeks as the number one best-seller in both the Lesbian Fiction and Lesbian Romance genres on Amazon. It was listed as one of USA Today’s “10 Best books to read for Pride 2018” and in December 2021 was named one of Reader’s Digest ’50 Best Romance Novels of All Time’
That same year, her follow-up novel, When Sparks Fly, debuted as the best-seller in Lesbian Fiction and Lesbian romance, and clung to the spot for four weeks.
Her latest novel, Forbidden Girl, a dark mafia sapphic romance, is available now.
Kristen lives in Salem, Massachusetts— yes, where the witches were.
What if you discovered everything you’ve been taught is a lie?
For most of her life, seventeen-year-old Espie Hernandez’s world revolved around the Branch of Thomas, a cult-like haven in what’s left of a war-ravaged America. Their ruler, Reverent Father, keeps them safe from the Others, those outside the compound who wish to harm them.
Espie questions what she’s been taught and finds herself banished from the compound. She’s thrust into the harsh world beyond their walls with the mission to prove the Others actually have a plot against them. When tensions escalate, Espie must figure out who to trust before everything she loves is torn apart.
Up close, the deserted building looked less threatening. More than a few tiles were missing from the roof. Scattered, dry sagebrush littered the path. The low muttering of voices grew louder the closer I got to the door. I snuck another quick glance over my shoulder, scanning the area. Nothing seemed out of place, but that didn’t still the unease that refused to leave. A lone owl soared overhead, and its hoot nearly stopped me in my tracks, the sound reminding me of Reverent Father’s alarms.
I glanced back at the building and took a deep breath. I can do this. The rotted wooden door squeaked as I pushed through it to walk inside.
Mostly women, dressed in dark clothing, hung to the edges of the room, whispering. Their telltale turquoise stone necklaces betraying their former status in the community. Hoods obscured their features. This act alone, of women gathering together, was forbidden. I cast my gaze down.
They can’t know it’s me.
If word got out that I’d infiltrated a blasphemy meeting, not only would I be brought before the Elders, but my family as well.
I couldn’t let that happen.
Yet here I was.
Yellowish haze filled the cramped space along with the burnt scent of smoke from a fire that ravaged the building a few years back. A lone table and a few broken chairs added to the sense of desolation.
No, I couldn’t stay here, especially if the Elite Guard got wind of this, which I knew would happen.
I searched the room for Xochi, the urge to grab her and leave growing stronger by the moment.
Sure enough, my sister hung over to the side.
“Xochi,” I whispered, glancing furtively around. “I changed my mind.”
My sister barely looked up from her vidcom. “And miss this?”
“You know what I mean.” I tried to ignore the frantic beating of my heart.
Then I saw Luz. The light teased the maroon highlights in Luz’s shoulder-length dark hair and gave her brown skin a rosy glow. She leaned in, whispering to a girl from one of our classes.
Without thinking, I left Xochi and slowly made my way over to Luz.
Award-winning author Kim Baccellia grew up in Sacramento, California, the oldest of seven. She has a business associate degree from Sacramento City College, a BS degree in elementary education from Brigham Young University, and studied post grad bilingual/bicultural education at CSUF.
She’s been a telemarketer, library helper at the Harold B. Lee library at BYU, assistant manager, sales clerk, tutor, bilingual teacher, and homeschool mother. Currently the author of four YA novels with another one coming out soon!
Author of YA paranormal CROSSED OUT and CROSSED FIRE. YA dystopia CANDLE IN THE WIND. Also the author of the urban diverse fantasy EARRINGS OF IXTUMEA. Short Christmas Magic in the Holiday analogy MISTLETOE AND MAGIC. Re-releasing YA fantasy series under new titles in 2026! Currently working on a historical romance set in Tuscany.
We’re celebrating the release of Reese Sherron’s brand-new dystopian fantasy, The Trials of the Elysian!
The Trials of the Elysian (The Elysian Series #1)
Publication Date: November 30, 2024
Genre: Fantasy/Dystopian Fantasy
Hunger Games meets Divergent meets the 100
Slow slow burn
Lovers to enemies
Enemies to lovers / friends to lovers
Dystopian vibes
Family obsession
Lies + betrayals
Naïve FMC turns fierce
Deadly battle games
Mind tricks
Turns & twists
Touch her & die by both men
Disobey the City & die – Obey the City & live
Welcome to the six trials of the Elysian.
Will you live a life that is predestined and controlled from your first breath of air? A life full of darkness, destruction, and pain. Where your existence is owed to the survival of humanity.
Welcome to the Six Trials of The Elysian. In a futuristic world founded to cope with the effects of a famine that altered the course of humanity, there are certain commandments to follow to live a prosperous life. Faye steps into the City with unanswered questions. All she has is a mysterious symbol to find her soulmate, who was predestined at birth. Not knowing who her symbol will light up for, she must trust her judgment or her destiny. What will she choose? Not understanding the truth of the wickedness of the City walls, Faye is pushed to uncover the truth. The Trials push them to their limits and only those strong enough to make their City better will survive the tests. Either succeed in their trials or perish outside of the walls. Her rebelliousness leads her to uncover a disturbing truth about the City. Along with her mentor, Faye is determined to find the missing pieces and bring justice to herself and her family. She becomes fearless and not afraid to challenge those who are in power. But has her whole life been a lie? Will she uncover the truth of why she was born? Does she fight to be with the love of her life or follow the City, and let the City guide her to her symbols pair? Faye must decide.
Your mentor falls. So do you. He’s the eyes. The ears of the City. Disobey him. You’re disobeying the City.
Lilith Wine Lo Borgias Publication date: November 26th 2024 Genres: Adult, Dystopian, LGBTQ+, Romance
The world has transformed beyond recognition. Once a place of order, it now lies in chaos, consumed by a relentless game of power and deception on a global scale. Amidst this turmoil, Lilith emerges, a product of genetic engineering known as a zek.
Tasked with extracting secrets from her male targets, Lilith utilizes her unique abilities, emitting potent military-grade pheromones to allure or evade, shape-shifting, and uses a variety of tactics both taught and improvised.
Yet, as she delves deeper into her missions, Lilith’s curiosity awakens. She begins to question her own origins, unveiling a world teetering on the edge of annihilation. She soon discovers the remnants of a fallen Disneyland, full of mutated animals, zeks, and even fallen angels.
Driven with a hope for a new oasis, Lilith must transcend her naivety. No longer content to be a mere pawn, she must harness her abilities and uncover the truth about her origins and destiny. While also in the pursuit of a genetic ark offers the last hope for survival in the face of impending apocalypse.
On an
alternate earth, a cataclysm has altered a subset of the population.
Talents are persecuted for their psychic and physical mutations,
giving rise to two conflicting societies based upon maintaining
genetic purity. And the Source, a shadowy corporate entity dependent
upon the exploitation of captive Talents, is hunting
them…
Self-exiled to the Outside, Flynn Scot is
oath-bound to a life of strict penance.
Cursed with a vicious temper
and haunted by the blood-stained debauchery of his past, Flynn’s
sworn off women, whiskey, and violence, and doesn’t give a damn
about whispers of the coming war. He sure as hell isn’t in the mood
to make good on a debt when it’s called in, especially when playing
white knight outs him as a Talent, and the damsel in distress as his
soulmate.
On the run from her future
as a broodmare for the Source, escaped Talent Kara Jester is no
distressed damsel.
And the last thing she wants is
to be trapped in a blizzard with a surly—and frustratingly
captivating—thug. Without the suppression meds holding her libido
in check, her biology’s primed to procreate, and Flynn’s growled
assurances that he won’t touch her doesn’t match the hunger in
his eyes.
It doesn’t align with what
fate has in store for them, either.
With elite troops hot on their
heels and the border set to close, it’s a race to the North, away
from Kara’s horrific future and towards the dark past Flynn wants
to keep buried. Clinging to the shreds of his oath, he’s forced to
choose between protecting the woman he’s afraid to love and letting
out the animal he swore he’d never be again. Either may destroy
him, if Kara’s secrets don’t get them killed first.
AK
Nevermore enjoys operating heavy machinery, freebases coffee, and
gives up sarcasm for Lent every year. A Jane-of-all-trades, she’s a
certified chef, restores antiques, and dabbles in beekeeping when
she’s not reading voraciously or running down the dream in her
beat-up camo Chucks.
Unable
to ignore the voices in her head, and unwilling to become medicated,
she writes Science Fiction and Fantasy full time.
She
pays the bills editing, wielding a wicked hot pink pen and writing a
column on SFF. She also belongs to the Authors Guild, is a chapter
treasurer for the RWA, teaches creative writing, and on the rare
occasion, sleeps.
Wormwood D.H. Nevins (Wormwood, #1) Publication date: October 10th 2011 Genres: Adult, Dystopian, Fantasy, Romance, Young Adult
Angels. Demons. Love. Deceit.
“Nevins should be at the top of the New York Times Best-sellers List with this series.” – Amazon Reviewer
Tiamat and his brothers, a legion of one hundred half-angels, have orders to end all of humanity. Yet in a moment of weakness, Tiamat risks his life to rescue a hiker named Kali from the very destruction he initiated.
Kali, thrust from the surety of her world into the boundless hell of Tiamat’s, must try to find a way to survive on the Earth’s vast, devastated landscape. Plagued by a legion of Nephilim bent on sending her on, she is forced to trust Tiamat – the one being who could prove to be her greatest enemy.
I hastily threw the saddle on Hero and was up and riding before anyone in the group had a chance to ask me what was wrong. With my pulse thundering in my ears, I pushed the horse, leapt over crevasses and rode hard in a wide circle around the camp, scouring both sides of the stream and looking fiercely for anything that might indicate where my three friends had gone. But after a thorough, fruitless scout of the countryside, I began to slow my pace, the gravity of what may have transpired sinking in like a corrosive poison.
“Tiamat!” I screamed, my voice laced with venom. “What have you done with them? Where are they?” I turned the horse and scanned the gray skies but could see nothing. “Show yourself, you son-of-a-bitch!”
And he did.
Tiamat appeared as a speck on the western horizon. White wings spread out behind him, he grew larger by the second as he neared our location. And all around him, pacing his approach and stretching wide across the sky, rolled towering black clouds, thick and heavy with impending rain.
With my heart hammering in my chest, I kicked Hero into motion and raced back to the camp, watching Death approach on silent wings. He was incredibly fast—we reached the camp at almost the same moment—Tiamat, a vulture circling overhead while I thundered in on my horse.
There was a loud clang as the stew pot fell and splattered into the dirt. The group’s hunger was replaced by awe as they took in this supposed heavenly sign. They stood frozen, gawking at Tiamat in wonder and ignorance. Obviously unaware of the danger they faced, they looked expectantly at him, believing, perhaps, that mercy would come from above.
It did not. Like a warning, rain began to fall in a steady drizzle. It gathered and beaded on our upturned faces, and dripped from Tiamat’s wings and body as he circled overhead.
I watched him closely, my limbs shaking from anger and adrenalin. Keeping my eyes glued to his still passive movements, I slid from Hero’s saddle and scooped up the crossbow—Tiamat’s crossbow, actually. But while I loaded a bolt and cocked it, Tiamat matched my ante and calmly pulled out a knife. I was confused by this move at first. He could kill us in any number of ways; quickly and effortlessly. Why use a blade?
I moved to the center of the throng, trying to protect the others by maintaining a simple proximity to them. “Keep close to me,” I told them. “He’s come here to kill us.” A few of the group moved in toward me, but most looked at me like I was insane. Nellie and the tattered-looking business woman, whose name I had learned was Jennifer, actually stepped a few paces away, as if to show this celestial being they did not share my sentiment.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. What was I to do? Did they think he was going to bless them with his knife? “If you want to slaughter them, you’ll have to kill me too!” I shouted at him. My hands shaking, I aimed the crossbow up into the drizzle.
Tiamat didn’t respond and made no move toward us, but instead brought the edge of the knife to his bared wrist. He held it there for a moment, appearing to exert pressure with the blade, and I lowered the crossbow in shock. “Tiamat, don’t…” I gasped.
With a swift, violent movement, he slashed his left wrist deeply and the blood pumped out like a river, running down his arm as he held his gashed limb above his head. Wasting no time, Tiamat flew straight up into the drizzling sky, gaining height at an incredible speed. Then he ceased flying and immediately began tumbling downward, plummeting as he deliberately smeared the blood from his wrist across the feathers of his right wing. At the last moment, he pulled out of the free fall and swooped above our heads, scattering bloody water droplets onto our upturned faces.
“Oh … oh shit!” I cried, realizing what he was doing. There was something with his blood … what was it about his blood? I raised the crossbow again, watching as he tightly bound his wounded left wrist while he circled us, flinging blood from his wings with every beat. I had to shoot him … I had to…
My hands were slippery on the crossbow and my eyes blurred with tears. With quick, angry swipes, I dragged my arm across my eyes to clear them, and tried to aim again. I had him in my sights; he was about to slice into his right wrist—all I had to do was pull the trigger. I could feel the tears running freely now as a sob escaped my throat. The crossbow shook, but I fought to hold it steady, and focused my aim on his chest, the only way I could be sure…
Author Bio:
D.H. Nevins was born in Toronto and currently lives in a quiet area of Ontario, surrounded by forests and lakes. By day, she is a personable, friendly school teacher. By night, she silently chuckles as she writes about destroying the world. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys world travel, hiking, camping, flying around on her motorcycle or dabbling in live theatre.
Refuge from the World Kim McMahill (The Beartooth Chronicles, #1) Publication date: March 19th 2024 Genres: Dystopian, New Adult, Young Adult
Ashley McPhee arrived in Beartooth with her mom, Sara, when she was three years old. Ever since Ash can remember, life has been simple and peaceful. She enjoyed a carefree childhood, tending honey bees with her mom and spending time with her best friend, Caleb Solomon. But, life in their idyllic mountaintop community is changing.
After learning of the government’s plan to use a geoengineering process to cool the planet, Ash and Caleb realize they need to step up and take an active role in the community. Along with fear for how the process might impact their food supply, Ash learns her mom’s health is failing.
Sara doesn’t want Ash to face an uncertain future alone and nudges her and Caleb into marriage. Even though they have known each other most of their lives, Ash and Caleb’s relationship has changed drastically in a short period of time. They embrace the challenges of learning about each other, dealing with tragedy and grief, protecting their community from deadly predators and ruthless neighbors, and experiencing epic adventures, while trying to find solutions to a rapidly changing environment and deteriorating world.
Ash fell into step next to Caleb without talking. They had known each other for so long that they could be together without saying a word, and it didn’t feel awkward. When they reached the lake, they sat down on one of the large boulders scattered around the shore and stared out at the water.
“The lake level goes down a little more each year,” Caleb said.
“I’ve noticed. It used to be up to that cluster of rocks over there when we would go fishing when we were younger.”
“Rain isn’t enough to keep it full. The last time I remember seeing snow up here was when I was seven, and it didn’t stick around. Seems kind of ironic that so much of the planet is flooded, yet many worry about having enough fresh water to drink and to irrigate crops.”
“Why did we stop fishing?” Ash asked.
“I didn’t stop fishing. I still go fishing at least once a week. When you started taking a more active role in the beekeeping and tree nursery, you were available less and less. I go first thing in the morning, and that’s when you and your mom do most of your work.”
“I miss going fishing with you. I’ll see if Mom cares if we change around the schedule a bit unless you don’t want me tagging along like I did when I was younger.”
“I miss it too. I would love for you to tag along even though you always out-fished me.”
He put his arm around her and pulled her close. Ash laid her head on his shoulder and stared out at the lake. They sat like this sometimes, not as much as they used to, and she missed this too. She loved the feel of his arm around her and the warmth of his body next to hers, but never read too much into the gesture. Today, especially, she was in no hurry to break the connection.
“Are you going to the community meeting tonight?” he asked, finally breaking the silence.
“Yes. I keep getting these unsettling feelings, and I hope to find out if it’s just my imagination or if there is something I should be worried about. First, I find out you’ve been tasked with building weapons, then I had an odd conversation with your dad, found out we’re having an off-cycle community meeting, and all of a sudden Mom is all over me about marrying Tyler Hewitt.”
“What!” Caleb shouted as he scooted away and turned his body to face her. “You’re not seriously considering marrying that old man, are you?”
“No, but apparently, they’ve talked about it. I pointed out to Mom that he’s eleven years younger than she, but eighteen years older than me. In Tyler’s defense, I can only think of a couple of other eligible women between his age and mine.”
“He has no defense. For him to even be thinking about it, is wrong. When he moved here, you were what? Three? Four? Why now?”
“I think Mom is worried about getting old and leaving me alone. I don’t think she’s been feeling well, but I don’t know if it’s anything serious.”
Caleb stood up and paced. Ash watched him, confused by his reaction.
“I don’t plan to marry Tyler or anyone else not of my choosing. But, I’m not sure why you would care anyway since you’ve got eyes on Evelyn.”
“Where’d you hear that?”
“Apparently, her mother has been telling people that you two have been spending time together.”
“That’s not true. She tagged along when I was delivering deer meat the other day to the storehouse, but that was it. I most certainly didn’t ask her to come with me, and all she did was ask me questions about Dillon. Besides, she’s just a girl.”
Ash chuckled. “If people are happy to pawn me off on a man eighteen years older, a mere four years between you and Evelyn is nothing.”
She watched as Caleb retreated to the water’s edge. He picked up a flat stone and skipped it across its glassy surface. Ash walked to his side and stood next to him.
“We’d better get back. The meeting starts in a couple of hours, and I should help Mom with dinner,” Ash said as she turned to leave.
Caleb grabbed her arm and pulled her back until she was facing him. “Let’s hear what they have to say tonight. If there is some reason why everyone needs to get married, you’re marrying me.”
“And, what if there is no need?” she asked softly.
“Well, maybe we should anyway.”
Author Bio:
Kim McMahill started out writing nonfiction, but her passion for adventure, stories of survival against the odds, and speculating about the future of humanity and our planet, soon turned her attention towards fiction. She has published eleven novels, over eighty travel and human-interest articles, and contributed to a travel story anthology. Growing up in a beautiful mountain west community, traveling the world, and enjoying a twenty-year career with the National Park Service, has given her the opportunity to live in amazing places, experience incredible adventures, and witness many changes in our world, all of which have helped shape her stories.
Plug your ears. And whatever you do, don’t look. The war for humanity has begun.
Cameron “Jet” Shipley was there when they arrived in 2026. He, and everyone else, lived through the next decade and a half, learning to hide. Learning to never make a sound. Learning the most important rule of all:
You just..don’t…look.
The year is now 2042, and humanity is eking out an existence in the shadows.
Cameron and his team are sent out on a recon mission in Clarksville Tennessee, with events and developments that may alter the trajectory of Earth’s fate… and his own.
Joined by newcomers Bassett and Trudy, Cameron and his brother Rut will have to contend with a powerful force that has laid waste to the planet and annihilated over eighty-five percent of Earth’s civilization. Will Jet’s expeditions lead him on a slippery slope of discovery that demands accountability and answers?
Or will it plunge the earth, and everything in it, into further dissonance?
“Aliens” meets “A Quiet Place” in this dystopian
sci-fi thriller series.
Excerpt
I remember when the gorgons first arrived in 2026. Admittedly, we were all enthralled. I was too. Sis was especially enthralled. Somebody in Guatemala spotted the first one, if I remember correctly. It just came drifting down, straight out of the sky, near sunset: so humanoid, and yet enshrouded in mist. They had angelic qualities to them. Some of us wondered if they were messengers from God. Their bodies were cloaked in that blueish-green vapor. It was really creepy, but for whatever reason it’s the creepy things that draw us in the most. We just can’t look away, like a moth to a flame.
Then there was another. And another. And five more. And then more. And then twenty more. Fifty. Four hundred. More kept coming, just slowing down to a geostationary orbit fifty feet above the ground all over the earth.
The dogs were perpetually screaming and howling; some of their ears were reportedly even bleeding. They were running mad, whining and cowering in terror, fleeing to dark corners with their tails between their legs.
I was only seven then. Rutty was just three. Sissy was six. But I remember it all.
In the sixteen years since then, they laid waste to pretty much everything, except the Blockades of course. Oh, they knew where we all were, and they didn’t like it when we ventured out, for any reason. They got especially hot if they saw any of us heading in any direction that even remotely resembled going toward a coastline. No matter the continent, they wanted us pigeonholed far inland. We could never figure out why. Some straggled around by day still, but all we knew concretely was that they mostly reappeared every evening, near dusk. Where they all largely disappeared to during the day no one ever really knew. Apparently, they didn’t like sunlight, and they would almost entirely vanish for a month on end during the summertime when it got into the high eighties and nineties. Those were our reprieves. It was times like that that we actually praised all the ozoners that went before us: inconsiderate humans with their carbon emissions, fossil fuels, aerosols and CFCs; they didn’t know it, but they were actually helping us. Warming up the planet. Making the atmosphere hotter and hotter: more inhospitable to not just us, but them as well. I heard recently that a team of guys actually wrangled a gorgon in the heat of summer, while wearing some kind of protective eye shields, and they stripped it down: it just flailed, writhed, and screamed as it baked in the hot summer sun. Sizzled and smoked even. Apparently, they had some vampiric traits too. Never found out any more about it because you can’t trust all stories, and I for one don’t plan to wrangle any gorgon to see if it tries to suck blood too.
I remember the first time I saw one for myself. Back then they weren’t really evil to behold; they just had this sort of ethereal quality to them, angelic almost, and they just sat there and hummed. Floated. We tried to make contact with them, of course; but they never moved. For two months they just stayed there, as more and more of them slowly floated down. Taking up positions. We all got uneasy, of course, because what the hell were they? Why were they here? Where did they come from? What did they want? All those questions piling up stunk more than The Mound, frankly.
But then, we got our answers, sure enough. Whether through some kind of telepathy, or some primitive form of timing, they all began to move. One by one, they clicked on, like a countdown had finished or a switch had been flipped.
And that’s when they started hunting us down. Nothing we did mattered. Hiding was of little use. Shooting at them only made them move angrier, and they’d get faster. And that high-pitched shriek and dropped jaw thing. Lord. I remember a man kept shooting and shooting at one perched on the corner of a pretty tall building – I think he had a sniper rifle – but with each shot the gorgon hurtled downward faster and faster, until both it and the man disappeared in a thunderous cataclysm of concrete and dust. The gorgon was the only one that came out of that pit, a little fatter than it had been before it smashed down.
There were thousands of them in the air, swooping in all directions. Airplanes were overwhelmed and thrown out of the sky. It was pandemonium to the power of frenzy, to the power of chaos. The earth was upended on that day, and in the days following. The military had no time to mobilize… these things were everywhere: those poor souls who had to man helicopter gunships: they didn’t stand a chance. And then the news once reported that a swarm of them passed – passed, mind you – an F-35 jet on patrol. Frozen pilots plunged into the sea…the ground…the history books. All our hopes went up in blazes of glory. There were so many jets and commercial airliners at the bottom of the ocean now.
Each nation responded in whatever way they felt they should. There was no consensus in the United Nations, because there was never time or safety in order to mobilize a gathering: and many world leaders were already filling the bellies of the gorgons anyway. North Korea shot missiles in vain; thankfully, their nukes were intercepted before they killed us all while trying to mount a meager but impotent counterattack. Iran was the same.
The saddest part of it was the Gaza war just a few years prior. The Israelis and Palestinians had never quite afforded each other full truce; they would throw one another at a gorgon if it meant they would escape with their lives. Traps were set by one side or the other to lure in gorgons and devour whole households of their enemies. Despicable. Same with Ukraine and Russia. People desperate to sabotage their fellow humans just to get a few paces ahead. But the gorgons were faster than all of us.
The subject of nukes was never off the table… there was just no one who could get them mobilized, and where were they even supposed to detonate one? The chances of the entire human race getting wiped out by friendly fire were all too high.
Everyone everywhere was impacted. Every nation had thousands of them flying around. Those that could shelter in place could find out a little bit here and there on the news, but eventually there was no central news, and nothing to find out what was happening at other outposts. No CNN, no MSNBC, no news sites…I mean, they were there, but none of them were updated. VPN’s hosted phantom sites that were frozen in time years back with no updated content. Their content and IT departments had been eaten.
The gorgons just caught, froze, and ate us, one by one. Rinse and repeat, in a grisly shower of cataclysm.
In a few years, eighty-five percent of the world’s population was gone. The survivors lingered where they could, flitting from place to place, eking out a life of survival amidst the shadows. Since that time, the earth became a ghost town, abandoned, with overgrown ivy and out of control moss. Mildew and weeds. Vehicles everywhere, abandoned in mid-transit. Crashed airplanes. Trains off their tracks.
Animals roamed the streets freely after a while, escaping their enclosures. Most were picked off right there in their zoos. Even the king of the jungle was eviscerated by a single gorgon. Cheetahs couldn’t outrun them.
Sure, automated systems still ran: sprinklers, night lights, ac systems, etc. We still had power and utilities; just no humans to routinely man them, so, eventually, several systems failed. Fuel rods in some nuclear reactors, unattended to by human intervention, heated out of control; in some countries they failed, and the prevailing winds from radiation killed off many of the survivors over time as well. At least the radiation got some gorgons with that too, though.
Electricity went out over whole swaths of the earth for some survivors; then hypothermia and disease did the rest. We figured the gorgons killed off eighty percent of us almost straightaway; then, the ensuing natural calamities got another roughly five percent after that.
Someone was still creeping around and running things where and when they could. Independent heroes or troops ventured bravely into dangerous territory to keep things running, or to jumpstart failed hydroelectric, solar systems or power plants. Clandestine operations were springing up all the time all over the globe, desperate to keep us running.
Those with nursing or doctoral backgrounds stemmed the tide somewhat, but they had to learn fast. We weren’t lacking in medical supplies, as long as we could conduct a raid on a hospital or clinic; it was just ramping up quick education to those who could actually wield them.
But for the most part, it was like trying to pour a cup of cold water on a raging inferno. Eventually, we would lose. Earth became unoccupied and barren, a desolate wasteland of lifeless quiet and a graveyard of ominous vacancy – except for them.
Once a gorgon had you in their sights…you just froze. At first, we thought it was just out of primal fear or terror. But no: there was actually something emanating from them that paralyzed the viewer: at first, we thought it was some chemical agent, energy transference or something like that that seemed to be taking place. We had scientists working on it. That’s why we called them gorgons: the power they had to literally stick you to the ground right where you were, and you couldn’t move, and then they could float over and have their way with you, all the while whispering with that spine-chilling hiss: the sound of countless breaths of voices mingled together in wordless agony. I don’t know which is worse: knowing that you can’t run, or being eaten alive while you can’t even scream. I remember the little girl though: she was about my age, and I could tell she was crying while that gorgon ate her. She definitely felt it. All of it.
Sometimes they wouldn’t even need to paralyze you; they’d simply catch up with you, whisking behind you as you fled for your life: like me today just before the Blockade. They were just fast. Some people closed their eyes as they fought back, once we learned of their paralysis method. But that was pretty futile; you were just shadowboxing, swinging at nothing. One way or another, they would get you, and the best you could do was just to hide and ride it out and for God’s sake, be quiet. One of them was just as bad as a swarm of them.
The most unnerving thing? You just don’t think of humans as a food source. We have memories, souls, history, purpose. We aren’t just some wild gazelle or antelope out on the Serengeti: we aren’t just some prey. When you eat a human, you destroy purpose, memories, sanctity, and life. It was an abominable act. But of course, gorgons don’t know any of that. They’re just predators like any other shark or cheetah or hyena.
A gorgon was no respecter of persons.
I shivered and turned over, pulling a thin, ratty blanket up over me. It felt like a scratchy Brillo pad, but it was something, at least.
You know that point where your body craves sleep, and you know that you need it, but your eyes just won’t stay closed? Yeah. That’s where I was. For sixteen long years we’ve lived under the shadow of these things: wishing to high heaven that they’d just go, and hoping to hell that they wouldn’t find us out in the wild out there. Our world had been forever changed. My life had been forever changed.
I was one of the “lucky” ones who happened to be born at the right time in history so as to witness all of this, to live it out, and to have to accept it as just how life was. The ones who came after me – and there weren’t many, because why would you? – would never know what it was like to see them all drift down out of the sky. To hear them all suddenly start to move into action as if a switch had flipped: it was the switch that was labeled “annihilation of man.” To actually watch one of them eating one of us whole. To hear that bone-chilling slimy hiss. You don’t ever forget that sound. These babies were lucky enough to be born inside the Blockade, and to be kept far in, near the center, away from the threat that for them lingered only on the edge of legends and myth. But if they could sleep in peace because of our tireless labor? Fine with me. Ignorance is truly bliss.
However, it wasn’t a myth for me.
Losing my family wasn’t a myth.
That cat today wasn’t a myth.
The amulet wasn’t a myth.
The amulet – even now I wondered what they were doing with it…but more so I wondered what it would do for us. What would Stoney do with it? Where were the rest of them? What would the Beast reveal? It was unearthly, to be sure, and they had found a few of them before, but only recently had scientists discovered that they arrived at the same time the gorgons did. There had to be some kind of tie-in. At least, that’s what we all seemed to now be pinning our hopes to.
With these and a million more questions pouring through my mind, somehow, I was able to fall asleep, though I don’t know when, as it was pretty fitful. The room hummed with an unearthly rigor, the sound of countless engines throbbing throughout the Blockade. I was uneasy.
There was no way we were going to make it. That was our reality.
About the Author
Aaron Ryan lives in Washington with his wife and two sons, along with Macy
the dog, Winston the cat, and Merry & Pippin, the finches.
He is the author of the “Dissonance” series, several business
books on multimedia production penned under a pseudonym, as well as a
previous fictional novel, “The Omega Room.”
When he was in second grade, he was tasked with writing a creative
assignment: a fictional book. And thus, “The Electric Boy”
was born: a simple novella full of intrigue, fantasy, and 7-year-old wits
that electrified Aaron’s desire to write. From that point
forward, Aaron evolved into a creative soul that desired to create.
He enjoys the arts, media, music, performing, poetry, and being a
daddy. In his lifetime he has been an author, voiceover artist,
wedding videographer, stage performer, musician, producer, rock/pop artist,
executive assistant, service manager, paperboy, CSR, poet, tech support,
worship leader, and more. The diversity of his life experiences gives
him a unique approach to business, life, ministry, faith, and
entertainment.
Aaron’s favorite author by far is J.R.R. Tolkien, but he also enjoys
Suzanne Collins, James S.A. Corey, Marie Lu, Madeleine L’Engle, C.S.
Lewis, and Stephen King.
Aaron has always had a passion for storytelling.
Aaron is the admin of the Authors & Writers Only group on
Facebook.
“Aidan, man, we should probably get going soon,” Jeff says, pulling me away from the threatening spiral of memories. His interruption is a welcome distraction.
“You’re right,” Aidan says, his eyes locked with mine. “But before we go, Quinn, you need to know, you’re not safe here. Do you have somewhere else to go?”
“What are you talking about?” My head volleys back and forth between the guys. Jeff runs a hand through his short brown hair and exhales a sigh. He leans in conspiratorially and says in a hushed voice, “Look, we’ve been checking out the unoccupied homes around here. You know, just borrowing things to help us get by. But one of the trailers we went to, we thought it was empty…”
Aidan finishes for him. “Quinn, one of your neighbors is dead. We thought the trailer was vacant, so we went inside. We grabbed some canned food and other stuff from the kitchen and then we went to the bedroom to see if there were any blankets and pillows.”
Tag-teaming again, Jeff continues. “We thought the smell was some food rotting. But… we found her just lying there on the bed, lifeless. Looked like she was stabbed. There was blood on the sheets and blanket.” He pauses momentarily before breaking the silence. “We would have helped her if we could, but she was gone.”
I raise a hand to cover my gaping mouth. The scream I heard the other night. That must have been it. Why didn’t I think to go see what was happening? Maybe I could have helped her. Maybe I could have stopped it.
“Guys, which trailer? Where did you see this?” I don’t know many of the permanent residents, and if it was someone who is only here for vacations, there’s no chance I know her.
Aidan steps to the edge of the porch and points, “Two homes down in that direction. The one with the wishing well in the front yard.” I wrap my arms around myself to contain the shiver running through me. The guys exchange a look and I know what’s coming next.
“Look, we gotta go,” Aidan says. “How about we check on you tomorrow? Would that be okay? Just make sure you’re alright.” Before I can filter my thoughts, they escape my lips. “That would be really nice. Yeah, I’d like that.”
“Okay,” Jeff says, nodding. The guys eye each other, silently communicating. They hesitate for just a moment and then Aidan speaks again. “Quinn, just keep a low profile, okay? Try to keep yourself hidden. We’ll come back tomorrow night after it gets dark and we can talk more then.”
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. Or, today I guess.” The guys watch me head inside the trailer. I lock the door and peer out the window, watching them leave. I barely know them, but I sense they’re like me and Riley—good people trying to navigate their way through a bad situation.
As I tiptoe back to the bedroom and settle under the covers, I vow to tell Riley everything. She deserves to know we could be in danger here and she needs to meet Aidan and Jeff. Maybe they are our ticket out of here.
Author Bio:
A. E. Faulkner was born and raised in Pennsylvania. When she’s not lost in a book, she loves spending time with her husband and two sons, especially while hiking, biking, or exploring nature. She loves almost everything about nature—ticks excluded, and one of her biggest fears is the repercussions we will face when nature can no longer tolerate human destruction. As such, she never tires of reading dystopian-themed tales. Stories about the end of the world absolutely fascinate her.
