In a time when rock-n-roll is deemed evil music and blamed for youth
rebellion, The Hound Dogs and The Dice are set to clash at the Madison
Community Center.
The Hound Dogs search for a drummer to complete their lineup while The Dice
hires Patrick McNeil as Danny Bruer’s replacement. Unbeknownst to The Dice,
Patrick carries a hidden agenda to sabotage his former band and settle old
scores.
As Patrick and his accomplice, Stu, execute their plot, questions loom over
the Madison Community Center. Can The Hound Dogs triumph against the odds?
Will the controversy ignite a community torn between tradition and
rebellion?
In a world where rock-n-roll rebels against societal norms, the destinies
of two bands hang in precarious balance. The echoes of their battle will
resonate far beyond the Madison Community Center.
Hard Dog’s Night, the second book in The Hound Dogs Series, is a
unique blend of historical fiction, coming-of-age, and the power of music as
it forever alters lives in the name of rock-n-roll.
Excerpt
Stately elm tree branches shaded James while he strolled down the tranquil street of Granger. A group of unruly children scampered past him on their way to the park. Their laughter and high-pitched squeals caused a few dogs to bark and a few residents to lift their heads like curious ostriches. Crossing the street, James continued his path toward the Coffee Grounds. He’d spent the entire week at home studying for finals, and he was anxious to see his girlfriend. James had tried to study at the Coffee Grounds once, but it was a disaster because he couldn’t keep his eyes or mind off Marcy. It’s not like he didn’t think about her constantly, but at least she wasn’t close enough to talk to or steal a kiss.
A popular college hangout, the Coffee Grounds was generally packed with students. Still, Saturdays tended to be quieter, and the atmosphere was more casual. The large ceiling fan lazily circulated the air through the establishment. Marcy took advantage of the quiet afternoon by cleaning and filling sugar dispensers. James’s arrival sparked delight in her grin as he sat at the counter. Wiping her hands on her apron, Marcy walked over to him.
“You’re here early.” “Disappointed?” James asked, perching his elbows on the counter.
“Of course not.” “It’s been a long week.”
“It has,” Marcy said, straightening the napkin dispenser. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”
James slid his hand under his chin. “Well, I’d rather have a kiss, but I’ll settle for coffee.”
Marcy smiled, took a cup from the shelf, and filled his cup. From her shiny auburn hair to her pert little nose, everything about her enchanted James. He would never tire of gazing at her.
Marcy brought James his coffee and sat it on the counter. “I guess you know you’re making me nervous.”
James picked up a spoon. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re ogling me.”
“So?” he said, clinking the spoon in the coffee cup.
“So, I know what you’re thinking.”
James’s grin spread, and Marcy nudged him. “I guess you know there is no sugar in your coffee.”
“Oh, yeah,” James said, taking the spoon out of the cup.
Marcy laughed. “You’ll never guess what I bought the other day,” James said, adding sugar.
Marcy leaned across the counter. “What?”
“You need to guess,” James teased.
“Can’t you give me a hint?” “It’s a book.”
“A book?”
“Yep.”
Marcy pressed her index finger to her lips. “Hmmm, let me guess. The Joys of Accounting?”
“Very funny.”
“What then?” James grinned.
“Kiss Me Deadly.”
“No kidding?”
“No kidding.” Marcy ran her finger over James’s hand.
“Are you going to lend it to me?”
“Maybe.”
She wrinkled her nose. “You better be nice to me, James, or you won’t get a kiss.”
He smirked. “We’ll see about that.”
A faint pink hue brushed her cheeks. “Say, do you think it would be all right if I posted a couple of flyers?” James asked.
“Is it for the drummer auditions?”
“Yep,” James said, setting one on the counter before Marcy.
“Sure. You can put it on the bulletin board by the front door and one on the back wall.”
“Okay, thanks.” Marcy returned to work, and James walked over to the bulletin board.
Advertisements and business cards covered the board like wallpaper. Pulling a tack out of an old advertisement, James covered it with the flyer and secured the tack. Smiling, he pulled out another spare tack and headed toward the back wall.
A young man was sitting at the back table by himself, reading a book. James probably wouldn’t have noticed him if his right leg wasn’t resting on a chair. At first glance, James thought he was lazy, but when he noticed the leg was encased in a metal leg brace with a thick platform shoe, he knew he was mistaken. James didn’t mean to stare and didn’t want to feel pity, but he couldn’t help himself. Securing the flyer to the wall, his eyes drifted back to the young man. He was wearing a checkered shirt with a worn wool jacket. Tufts of blond hair stuck out from underneath his faded grey porkpie hat with what looked like a turkey feather tucked under the band. Was he homeless? James’s heart sunk as his mind fired off several other sad scenarios. The young man sensed James’s presence, and he turned around to look at him.
“Hello,” James said with a sheepish grin.
The young man didn’t say anything. Was he mute too?
“Nice day, huh?” James said.
The young man didn’t answer. James noticed he had a Life magazine on the table with a picture of Marilyn Monroe on the front cover.
“You like Marilyn?” James asked.
“She’s my girlfriend.”
“Ha, ha,” James chuckled.
The young man tilted his head with a raised eyebrow. James walked back to his stool, wondering if the young man was crazy too. Marcy walked over to the young man’s table and refilled his cup. James watched Marcy chat with him for a few moments before she returned to the counter.
“So, you know that guy over there?” James asked.
“What guy?”
“You know, the one over there,” James said, pointing into his hand.
“You mean Ronnie?”
“I guess so.”
Marcy sat the coffeepot down. “Yes, he comes in here every once in a while.”
“He seems to be a little . . . nutty.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Because he said his girlfriend was Marilyn Monroe.”
Marcy smiled. “He tells everybody that.”
“Do you think he believes it?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him that much.”
James fingered the handle on his coffee cup. “I feel bad for him.”
“You shouldn’t. He’s always in a good mood, even though some people say mean things to him.”
“That’s horrible.”
“If someone is mean to him, we kick them out.”
“That’s good.” Marcy untied her apron.
“I’m going to hang my apron up, and we can go.”
“Okay.”
Marcy walked away, and James glanced over at Ronnie. He was bobbing his head and tapping his thumbs on the table while he read. Maybe Marcy was right. Maybe he was perfectly happy despite his circumstance. With all his heart, James wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that the cruel world did not affect Ronnie. With that thought in mind, James gathered his books and pushed his sorrowful thoughts aside and joined the beautiful young woman who waited at the door for him.
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.
Storm and Flame Mallory Wanless (Enchanted, #1) Publication date: September 22nd 2022 Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult
Elena has always been a disappointment. Her magic is practically non-existent and now, on her sixteenth birthday, she is expelled from magic school by the strict headmistress–also known as her mother. Cast out into the world of the magically inept with only her familiar for company, Elena feels lost and alone until she meets a strange boy in the woods.
Quinn is a thief, a hunter, and a hothead. His unexpected friendship with Elena awakens a fiery side in him–quite literally– and uncovers new and surprising magical abilities. Except men aren’t supposed to be capable of magic.
With Quinn’s help, Elena carves a safe new life as a barmaid, but when she is attacked, her powers awaken with shocking ferocity. Elena’s explosion of magic creates a power surge that attracts the attention of magical investigators, sent to uncover and contain the source of the power surge.
But the awakening of their powers kickstarts an ancient prophecy. Will they be able to escape those that hunt them? Can they fulfill the prophecy, destroy the turmio and save magic from being destroyed once and for all?
Content warning: the story mentions incidents of child abuse, sexual assault, and birth trauma. May not be suitable for some readers.
Storm and Flame is the first in a completed trilogy. A found family low-spice series perfect for fans of Stephanie Garber’s Caraval series, Margaret Rogerson’s Sorcery of Thorns, and Phillip Pullman’s Golden Compass.
“Come on. Just work, dammit,” Elena muttered to herself, trying for the millionth time to cast her spell.
Agon had stretched his lithe, weasel-like body across a long, skinny patch of sunlight on the floor of the testing room. He’d spent the morning basking in the warmth of the sun-drenched stone and flicking his fluffy blue-black tail back and forth. As her closest, and arguably only, friend, Agon knew nothing he could say would make her feel better. She was in a mood, and the best thing he could do was to leave her be.
Sparks flared and quickly sputtered out from Elena’s fingertips.
“Dammit. Why can’t I get this stupid spell right?” It was a rhetorical question, but Elena was so frustrated by her own ineptitude that she would have traded everything she owned to successfully complete a spell on the first try.
Elena was easily the worst enchantress in her class, probably the whole school. The other students mocked her mercilessly. It didn’t help that her mother, Madame LaBelle, was the most famous enchantress in the whole country, possibly the world, and the headmistress of their school. She could turn a seed into a centuries-old tree with the flick of her wrist. Elena could grow a seed into a sapling with twenty minutes of chanting, flicking, waving, and praying. Maybe. On a good day.
Madame LaBelle was notorious for her skills with magic as much as her beauty. Unfortunately for Elena, she inherited her looks from her father. At least, she assumed that’s where she got her flat hair and dull brown eyes. She’d never actually met him. In Waverly, as far as enchantresses were concerned, men served one purpose: impregnating women. The men were used and released of all parental rights, whether they liked it or not. Most men didn’t even know the woman they had lain with was an enchantress, much less that they had fathered a child as a result. The women opted to disguise themselves—bar wenches, visitors lost in the big city, damsels in need of aid on the side of the road, etc.—just to get what they needed and be gone before the man even knew her name.
It was crass and cowardly, but Elena had been raised to believe it was for the best. Men weren’t capable of raising children, especially magical ones, and an enchantress always gave birth to another enchantress. Never in the history of the world, had an enchantress given birth to a non-magical child. Or a boy, for that matter. Enchantress beget enchantress. End of story.
Elena dreamed of love and happy endings when she was younger. All the girls did, but their time at Harbor Ridge taught them that magic was their top priority, followed closely by their loyalty to the school and Madame LaBelle. Elena always felt that it was a tad hypocritical how often her mother preached about loyalty to their family—the school and their classmates—when she never paid any attention to her own flesh and blood. What sort of mother neglects her own child to favor those who are more adept at magic? Not a good one, Elena mused glumly.
Agon had been with her since before she was born, like all familiars. They were born together and stayed attached for an “unusually long time,” according to her mother. Typically, familiars disconnected from the baby’s umbilical cord within a few days before settling into their permanent animal form. Agon and Elena stayed connected for two weeks, all the while Agon remained a blob encased in the placenta. Her mother had many specialists, including a Therionology Enchantress, or an animal enchantress, come and inspect Agon and try to coax him into taking any form at all. Nothing worked. Baby Elena just spent her days cuddling “this disgusting blob of goo” and sleeping. Madame LaBelle often liked to remind Elena of how unusual that was, and how that should have been a sign that her daughter was going to be different, and not in a good way.
Author Bio:
Mallory lives in Texas with her husband and their two young boys. She spends her days homeschooling and full-time parenting. Her nights, and any free time she manages to carve out during the day, are devoted to reading and writing.
Tendrils of darkness reach from the depths of her mind and shadows flicker
around every corner. Still reeling from Raven’s horrific display of
power, Kari suffers in silence.
When Guine finally returns with stories of a mirror that could help him
with his problems, Kari finds herself hoping that maybe, just maybe, it
could help with hers as well.
With the promise of a relatively straightforward outing, Kari, Ari, and
Guine set forth to find the mirror.
But what they find beyond the looking-glass threatens not only Kari and her
sanity, but also the world she loves.
About the Author
Valerie Storm was raised in Tucson, Arizona. Growing up, she fell in love
with everything fantasy. When she wasn’t playing video games, she was
writing. By age ten, she began to write her own stories as a way to escape
reality. When these stories became a full-length series, she considered the
path to sharing with other children & children-at/heart looking for a
place to call home.
The third installment of Jonathan L. Ferrara’s young adult paranormal anthology series is here!This past year, Collin Winters has tried to put the events of Chateau Du Coeur behind him. He’s struggling to move on with his life. It’s a new year, in a new school, in a new city, and with a new heart beating in his chest.
Shortly after his first term at the Art Institution in London, Collin is selected by the headmaster to partake in a class field-trip to New York City where he, and four other students, will check-in to an old hotel. Amongst those students is Collin’s roommate—Aaron, who is trying to put his own past behind him. The two boys don’t always get along. One moment they’re the best of friends, the next they’re rolling around the hotel’s lobby throwing punches and nearly getting themselves expelled. The boys’ friendship only strengthens as they attempt to unearth the hotel’s dark secret. It turns out, the building isn’t quite what it seems to be. There’s something lurking in the hotel’s shadows…something watching the classmates from afar. While Collin and his friends attempt to solve the mystery of the Langham Hotel, Collin starts to remember that he might have stayed in the building once before. The past is about to catch up to Collin Winters and will surely put his sanity to the test.
Be prepared for a twisted ride through Wonderland…
I’m not sure what I expected when I accepted an ARC of this book. I got something entirely different but in a good way.
I will say the beginning was a bit slow for me. It wasn’t until I was five or six chapters in that I was truly hooked. This one may be a ghost story, but it’s not scary. It’s a story of overcoming your obstacles or darker parts of your life and finding not only acceptance of yourself but also allowing yourself to be happy.
First, I didn’t read the previous book in the series. There was enough information in this story that I didn’t feel lost. So don’t hesitate to jump right in!
And second… you’re going to love this book!
The characters were well developed and intriguing, although Charlotte had a tendency to annoy me. The glimpses we see of Ruby during Collin’s childhood honestly made her my favorite character. There was more to her than most people saw.
It’s full of romance, intrigue, and lots of riddles! Honestly, I’d consider this more of a ghost mystery.
This story will keep you guessing and there’s one heck of a plot twist! More than one actually…
But reader beware … closer to the end, be prepared to cry! Not because of a horrible ending by any means. The opposite in fact.
This book will put you through an emotional roller coaster. But it’s one heck of a ride!
* Disclaimer: I received a free copy of this book and am voluntarily leaving a review. The review above is only my opinion.
Autumn and The Silver Moon Stallion Book 3, The Abandoned Trilogy V P Felmlee Publication Date: November, 2023 Publisher: TCS Publishing Page Length: 280 Genre: Young Adult / New Adult Fiction
An abused, neglected filly is abandoned on a remote country road, left to die.
A young woman grieves the loss of her best friend, the champion horse she had built
her life and future around.
The heir to one of the largest ranches in Wyoming comes home to face the ire and
disappointment of his grandfather.
A world-renown scientist clashes with the U.S.government over a brutal,
decades-long war to decide the fate of thousands of
mustangs, a beloved icon of the American West.
Autumn and The Silver Moon Stallion is their story of love, hatred, and death.
Will their struggles give them hope to fight for their beliefs, or tear them forever apart?
Buy Links:
This title is available to read on #KindleUnlimited.
The next night, they were ready to move. There were a few clouds; an almost-full moon broke free from time to time, giving them some light.
Quietly, almost as one, the stallion led the way down the ledge onto the soft dirt below. They did not stop to forage; when they reached the river, they did not stop to drink.
With one mind, with one purpose, they crossed at a narrow point. These mustangs were strong and young, but the water was cold, the current swift.
In a single line, they treaded the water. The black mare got ahead of the stallion, the current almost carrying her away from them. She raised her head, eyes wide in panic. He drifted to her side, then around, and nudged her body back to the straight course.
Finally, all three found their footing and splashed to the shore, dripping wet and huffing.
The mare who almost drifted away was trembling. The stallion walked over to touch her neck and back.
She appreciated his concern. “I’ve never gone into water before. I won’t do that again.”
“You won’t have to,” he promised.
He looked around, getting his feel for this new land. A trail led north into open range. He rejected this, they needed as much shelter as they could get, not to be seen nor discovered for as long as possible.
Another possibility was a wide opening with high walls on either side. The clouds wafted across the sky, allowing the moon to brighten his view. A narrow path beckoned him. He followed it a short distance, then returned to the mares.
“Follow me,” he told them. “We’ll be safe here.” Without hesitation, they followed him and were soon wrapped in the darkness.
The white stallion now belonged to Silver Moon Canyon.
Author Bio:
V P Felmlee is the author of The Abandoned Trilogy: Price Tadpole & Princess Clara; Good Boy Ben; and the third book in the series, Autumn and the Silver Moon Stallion. A former newspaper reporter and editor, she has a degree in geology, and has been active in historic preservation and animal welfare issues. Her articles have appeared in several magazines and she has won numerous awards.
She will be the 2025 president of Women Writing the West and lives in Grand Junction, Colorado, with her husband, two dogs, and six cats.
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.
All Laura Fitzpatrick wanted to do was tell her lab partner, Maddie, how she really feels about her, but when a perfect opportunity falls into her lap, Laura does what she does best – chickens out.
Then, Laura is dared to check out the abandoned carnival grounds outside of town, and she seizes the opportunity to prove to herself and others that she can be brave after all. To her surprise, Maddie isn’t about to let her go alone.
As they explore the eerie property, they’re thrust into an endless night of terror, where danger lurks around every corner. With a century-old mystery waiting to be uncovered, Laura must learn what true bravery means if she hopes to get herself – and Maddie – out of the Plum Creek Carnival alive.
Whatever you do, don’t let the Carnival Man see you…
What started as a date turned into a nightmare for Laura and Maddie. I loved see Laura find her strength and realize she was braver than she’d thought. Her courage was inspirational.
I dislike spoilers so I won’t go into detail. However… Carousel kept me spellbound from start to finish. I can’t exactly call the storytelling of a gruesome horror beautifully written but… it was. The imagery of each brutal killing and the emotions of the characters brought this story to life.
Truly exceptional! This is a must-read for horror fans,
**DISLCAIMER: I am voluntarily leaving a review after receiving an ARC. The review above is only my opinion.**
“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.
