Craig Comer's Blog, page 11
November 13, 2014
Monsters and Miracles
Xander dropped, flattening himself to the ground. Though still a couple hundred yards away, he could tell the body that emerged definitely wasn’t human–the proportions were wrong. Its arms and legs were too long. The creature appeared much taller than normal, too. It was brown from head to foot.
“I thought the aliens would be grey,” Xander whispered to himself.
Yzzie stumbled out next, falling to the ground, followed closely by another, even taller being.
“Yzzie,” Xander said out loud, unable to stop himself in time. He ducked his head to avoid detection in case they heard him. He peaked up just in time to see the larger creature jerk Yzzie to her feet. None of them glanced his way. The creatures appeared to be having an animated discussion.
The taller of the two did something that sent the shorter one tumbling to the ground. The one on the ground jumped to its feet and tackled the taller one and Yzzie. They were fighting. Even Yzzie, as strong as she was, wouldn’t stand a chance alone against two of those monsters.
Before he knew it, Xander found himself running full tilt at the huge creatures. He had to help Yzzie.
“You win,” Yzzie’s voice carried to him, “I can’t take anymore.”
They must be torturing her!
“Eeee yah!” Xander gave out a Karate-style yell as he launched himself feet first directly at the nearest alien.
The slender creature must have sensed his intention and hopped to the side. Xander sailed harmlessly past. The warning yell might have been a mistake, Xander realized a little too late.
Wayne A D Kerr was born and raised in Canada, but has lived in the United States for the past twenty years. When not writing or reading adventure novels, he is most likely hiking, biking or playing tennis.
http://www.waynekerrnovels.com/
http://www.amazon.com/MONSTERS-MIRACLES-Files-Wayne-Kerr-ebook/dp/B00LKPHZMK/
November 10, 2014
Cursed Heroes
He looked at me his eyes turned sliver. “Let’s begin, full integration of all active Nannies begin, program alpha 777 start.” My body jerked as every muscle in my body tighten; pain filled my body like never before as if every part of my body was being ripped apart. Blood run from my eyes and ears as I screamed at the top of my lungs.
“Just a little more and it will be all over, began download at lowest speed.” I screamed as my mind went blank I could feel my memories, thoughts, everything that I was fade, within minutes my childhood was gone all that remained was the past three years of pain. The pain lessened and stopped, I stopped screaming. “Is it over now?” I asked as tears of blood still ran from my eyes. He looked back at me with a smile.
“The painful part is over now; your brain has been successfully reconfigured to allow for the download process, your past has also been erased, who you were is no more, and our memories have begun to download to your mind. Over the next few years, you will become a new person, your past will be our past your life will be ours, and you will become our voice. Your body has for the most part just died but the Nannies that flow through your body have been full activated, they will keep you alive until they can fully repair your body and restore it to what is normal for a human. Try not to overdo it, they can only heal so much damage in a normal human like you.” He said with a tone of accomplishment.
William D. Ollivierre was created to write science fiction, with an imagination that takes him out of this universe to one of wondrous worlds, heroes, and adventures. With a captivating voice, he takes you by the hand for a ride in these worlds, pulling you deeper and deeper with each word.
He has published four books to date, one book of poems (The will of the heart, the love within) and three Science fiction works. Two short story collection and one novel, all as part of his Cursed Heroes saga that has only just began.
Buy the book:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B008HLVJQI
https://play.google.com/store/books/details?id=dTDEBAAAQBAJ
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/483927
November 1, 2014
Glory Main: The Sim War, Book One
Though winded from the climb, Lieutenant Mortas still took one last look at the broken lifeboat far below. Its reactive pigmentation had colored the fuselage to match the orange and brown environment, but the break midway along the giant cylinder still showed up clearly. He marveled at his own desire to return to it, and couldn’t decide if that impulse came from a wish to maintain his only link with civilization or simple fear of the unknown.
Turning away, he looked across the rough plateau at the top of the ridge they’d just climbed and decided it was fear of the unknown. There was plenty of that.
Corporal Cranther had been right in saying that the entire planet seemed made of rock. The ridge, and the smaller one next to it, represented the only high ground for many miles and gave them an excellent view of an appalling nothing. A flat plain stretched away on every side, ending on an empty horizon except for two dark elevations so distant that they could have been mountains or clouds. Or maybe a mountain chain with clouds. The rock beneath their boots was alternately red and orange, although it was covered in places by thin topsoil that was either brown or tan. Tiny vegetation in the form of yellow grass or sickly star-shaped creepers clung to it, but in the ravine there had at least been some scrub brush.
“Water. Gotta be water somewhere.” Cranther had whispered, pointing at the bushes before they began the climb.
Starting the walk up the steep ridge, Mortas had felt his concern changing to a feeling of unreality. His companions were so unfamiliar, and their environment so hopeless, that it was easier to believe it wasn’t actually happening. In short, it didn’t fit his idea of war and so he rejected it.
But now, having reached the deserted plateau in the gathering darkness, able to see just enough to know that they were truly marooned and that there might not be another living soul on the planet, Mortas could finally admit the crushing disappointment of it all. He’d come out here to serve humanity, to lead others like himself in combat, and to die if necessary in that effort.
Instead, it was beginning to look like he was going to die very slowly on a planet whose name he didn’t even know. A planet that was so worthless that neither side had even bothered to claim it.
Excerpt from: Glory Main: The Sim War, Book One by Henry V. O’Neil
Vincent H. O’Neil (aka Henry V. O’Neil) graduated from West Point in 1985 and served for several years as an officer in the US Army Infantry. His military science fiction novel Glory Main draws heavily from his experiences in the Army’s grueling two-month Ranger course, where the students are fed little and allowed to sleep even less, carrying heavy loads and performing complex tasks while being harassed by their graders. As one of his classmates said after reading Glory Main: “Your book is Ranger School in outer space.”
He is also the author of the Frank Cole mystery series (Murder in Exile, Reduced Circumstances, Exile Trust, and Contest of Wills) as well as the theater-themed mystery Death Troupe and the horror novel Interlands.
Glory Main is the first book in a new military science fiction series from HarperVoyager. The sequel, Orphan Brigade, will be released in January, 2015.
ISBN: 9780062359186
ISBN 10: 0062359185
Imprint: Harper Voyager Impulse
http://www.harpercollins.com/9780062359186/glory-main
https://www.facebook.com/vincenthoneil
October 30, 2014
Shawndirea
Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy. Several birds flew low across the stream and through the trees. Seconds later two yellow butterflies glided to the edge of the far bank and landed. A larger butterfly caught his attention. At first glance he thought it was a giant swallowtail, but instead, it turned out to be an oversized tiger swallowtail.
Ben’s fingers tightened around the net handle. He pushed himself to his feet. He stepped lightly and headed toward the stream to get a better look at the butterflies. Near the bank, a blur of metallic bluish-green streaked past him.
“Damn!” he said, watching the zipping wings catch the breeze and glide.
With incredible speed, it darted up, down, left to right, and along the stream’s edge. Perhaps the sweltering heat or near dehydration was playing tricks on him, but he was almost certain glittery dust trailed behind it.
Ben hurried after the butterfly, a prize unlike any other in his collection.
Few butterflies in this part of Kentucky had such metallic colorings. One he thought of immediately was the White M Hairstreak, but this one was too large and flew much swifter. Another butterfly with similar colors was the long-tailed skipper, but the sheen sparkling off the butterfly following the stream was too bright. Its flight was also more erratic. The skipper stayed near gardens, and he doubted any strayed this far into the woods since the larvae food plant was the leaf of various beanstalks.
Ben realized he had just discovered something new. Excitement shot through him.
He hurried along the stream and jumped over a fallen tree. His sudden pursuit had not gone unnoticed. The iridescent creature darted downward and swept through the tiny branches of a shrub. But Ben moved faster.
As the beautifully winged specimen shot through the other side of the bush, Ben arced the net sharply and captured his prize. The end of the net pulled and stretched while his captive struggled to fight free.
Quickly, Ben clamped his fingers near the end of the net, but by the time he did, the struggling ceased.
He opened the net and looked inside. His eyes widened.
“What the hell?” he asked.
At the bottom of the net lay a gorgeous creature, but not what he had expected to capture. Her wings were tattered, frayed. Unconscious, he hoped, but he feared she might be dying or already dead. Broken scales and wing fragments covered her nearly nude body.
His excitement of the chase suddenly turned to regret and dread.
A faery?
Ben dropped to his knees and gently set down the net.
“God,” he whispered. “I hope I didn’t kill you.”
Win a free copy of Shawndirea. Enter here: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/9ef3535b192/
Leonard D. Hilley II currently lives in the mountains of Kentucky with his wife, Christal, and their two children. He is the author of The Darkness Series–Predators of Darkness: Aftermath, Beyond the Darkness, The Game of Pawns, and Death’s Valley.
Book link: http://www.amazon.com/Shawndirea-Chronicles-Aetheaon-Book-One-ebook/dp/B00KYTQWUY
Blog link: http://deimosweb-hilley.blogspot.com/
Twitter: @Deimosweb
Facebook Author Fan Page: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Leonard-D-Hilley-IIauthor-page/157289854329916?ref=hl
Shawndirea is also available via Kindle Unlimited.
October 23, 2014
Outcasts of the Worlds
Flynn touched down on steady ground, stumbling but keeping his footing this time. The others had arrived safely, but for the transition from the dark and concealed recess of a forgotten cavern, their destination could not have been starker. There was no sun. No stars. No moon, nor clouds in the sky. In a fashion, there was no sky. The world they had come upon had neither day nor night and as they turned to get their bearings, it was more apparent that wherever they had landed was not a world at all.
“Okay … the hell?” came Jean’s bewilderment.
“Where have we come to?” Chari followed. “I am uncertain if this is categorically normal.”
“Oh no, it is,” Mack assured. “It’s just you.”
Peering as far along the edge as he could, Flynn realized they were standing atop a massive disc of arranged stones, floating alone in an oblivion of purple and black auroras. Rising readily behind them and obscuring the full visible scope of all that lay ahead was a temple. Consuming the entire space of the discus and extending for miles, its spires loomed and its inward passages delved deep. Each stone had an inner glow as intense as a field of fireflies, and these were the only reason they weren’t stumbling hopelessly in absolute pitch.
“It doesn’t seem to rotate or orbit anything,” Flynn observed, crossing to the ledge and kneeling to look down. There was no visible end to the abyss. “It just … is.”
“Purple,” Mack commented, looking down. He looked up, “Purple,” and then ahead, “Purple,” and finally, at the ground, “Rock.”
“We’re in agreement on that then.” Flynn stood back up.
“I think this is some sort of holy place,” Chari observed.
“That some kinda priestess-y intuition?” Jean asked.
“No, just…” Chari glanced back at the edifice behind them.
“What else would you build a temple like this for?”
There were no answers. For a moment, they watched the expanse, trying to see if something waited in the distant beyond. It became increasingly clear, however, that they had come upon the sole beacon in a vast and vacant microcosm.
“I’d make it my house,” Mack finally decided. “Like, if there was a zombie invasion or something? This is where I’d hole up.”
“A what-be?” Chari asked.
“This place doesn’t seem very defensible,” Flynn observed, cracking his stiffening neck, feeling around with his sixth sense. “It’s perhaps bigger than the island we came from, but there are several routes in … and out.”
Following his meaning, Jean grinned. “Options, yeah?”
It wasn’t just the conduits. Something more tugged at Flynn, something altogether removed from the passages the others wished eagerly to explore. Faint though it was, it reminded him of Scytha, the Reaper he had met back on Sechal. Yet as reminiscent as the sensation was, it was also very different.
“I think there’s someone else here,” Flynn said, going ahead into the temple. Knowing they’d follow, he didn’t spare a glance back.
Lucas Aubrey Paynter holds a Creative Writing degree from California State University Northridge—which looks really good when one talks about how they want to write for a living. A fan of engaging storytelling in any medium, he spent years developing the worlds, characters and conflicts that Flynn and his company encounter, before settling at his desk and writing Outcasts of the Worlds, the first part of a much larger tale to come.
Currently residing with his wife in Burbank, California, Lucas enjoys reading in a variety of formats, potentially overanalyzing character motivations and arcs, and the occasional good, stiff drink.
Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/outcastsoftheworlds
Twitter – @OutcastWorlds
Website – www.outcastsoftheworlds.com
Book Trailer – http://youtu.be/7lL9bHigFyc
Amazon – http://www.amazon.com/Outcasts-Worlds-Lucas-Aubrey-Paynter-ebook/dp/B00N19KDMW/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&sr=&qid=
Barnes and Noble – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/outcasts-of-the-worlds-lucas-aubrey-paynter/1120204315?ean=9780692235300
Feedbooks – http://www.feedbooks.com/item/853028/outcasts-of-the-worlds
October 16, 2014
Bookwraiths Review: The Roads to Baldairn Motte
Bookwraiths has posted a great review of, The Roads to Baldairn Motte!
Where other series tend to focus on the “power players” of these types of conflicts, here the three authors decided to take a different approach, shining the spotlight on the more common folk in the tale…
Read the full review here: http://bookwraiths.com/2014/10/14/the-roads-to-baldairn-motte-by-garrett-calcaterra-craig-comer-and-ahimsa-kerp/
October 9, 2014
School of Deaths
“This is the World of the Dead?” she asked. Cronk nodded.
“Can’t be,” she continued. “This seems like home, even nicer than home, in fact. And it smells like strawberries.”
“This is the La-La-La-land of Deaths,” said Cronk. “A ni-ni-ni-nice place.”
“But where are the skulls and fires and stuff?”
“Wou-would you ra-rather have those?”
“No, of course not.”
“Come on,” said Cronk. He led her away from the forest and down a hill. They were on a path, leading away from a small stone on the spot where they had first appeared. The moon above shone bright, and though nighttime, she could see.
Cronk led her beside something shimmering. The reflection of the moon glistened on the water, probably a pond or small lake. Cronk held out a finger, pointing.
She leaned over and let out a gasp. A girl stared back at her: her reflection, yet, unlike the one she had seen at home for months. The girl staring back was fleshy but not plump. Her features were pretty. Her usually stringy black hair looked thick and smooth, hanging like silk around her lightly freckled cheeks. Her cheeks were full; the skin didn’t cling to her skull. Even her gray eyes seemed to shine. The skeletal girl she had come to expect in the mirror was gone.
“Is that me?”
“Yes, your tr-tr-tr-true self. This is your home now.”
She gazed again. She wasn’t her old self, she looked better than she ever had. She smiled, but glanced up. The smile faded as she remembered.
“I’m only here for a year. Then this nightmare will be over.”
Cronk shrugged. “Few p-p-pass the test. Too ha-ha-hard.”
“What’s on the test? What makes it hard?”
Cronk shook his head. He either didn’t know or wouldn’t tell her.
“You can’t tell me?”
Again, he shook his head. He motioned her to follow and they walked along the shore, climbing a rise, moving away from the water. They reached a flight of marble steps and Suzie followed. Small lights stood on either side of the steps. They lit up when Cronk walked near them, and turned off behind Suzie. She peered closer, bending down, and realized they were flowers. Each flower glowed brighter the closer she got; the lit ones shined like hot flame. Cronk coughed and she kept moving.
They climbed higher and higher. From the top of the steps, a vast plain opened, stretching beneath them. A path was lit with flowers, and many men in black robes walked beneath two enormous mountains. Or were they towers? The two pillars stretched for miles into the sky, like enormous stalagmites: great columns of twisted, gnarled rock pocked by thousands of tiny lights. They stood taller than any skyscraper Suzie had dreamt of, yet were far too narrow to be mountains.
Win a free ebook copy of the book! Participate by commenting on this blogs or tweeting about the book, and then filling in the form at this link:
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Christopher Mannino’s life is best described as an unending creative outlet. He teaches high school theatre in Greenbelt, Maryland. In addition to his daily drama classes, he runs several after-school performance/production drama groups. He spends his summers writing and singing. Mannino holds a Master of Arts in Theatre Education from Catholic University, and has studied mythology and literature both in America and at Oxford University. His work with young people helped inspire him to write young adult fantasy, although it was his love of reading that truly brought his writing to life.
Mannino is currently working on a sequel to “School of Deaths” as well as an adult science fiction novel.
Watch the trailer here:
Book trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3AeszKiTz0k
Links:
All purchase links can be found at http://www.christophermannino.com/school-of-deaths.html#.U81VLPldWSo
http://poetsfire.blogspot.com/
https://www.facebook.com/CTMannino
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00K2XOP88
https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8108129.Christopher_Mannino
October 3, 2014
To the Stars
Soon after, the transport ship that left is replaced with another one. The continuous flow of transport ships takes the continuous flow of people to the Mother-Porta. All of them going to volunteer their labour to harvest the crops. The crops that will feed the ship’s inhabitants for the ninety years they would spend in space and provide the seeds to use on Salvatorem, the new planet. It happens once a month when all the crops, biologically engineered to be in perfect synchronisation with one another and to grow at enormously accelerated speeds, reach the age appropriate for harvesting, which needs a lot of hands to be completed. A scientist explained to her once that this is to eliminate the need for big crop storage areas as the crops will be grown for immediate consumption purposes. Zara always feels grateful it isn’t her responsible for to thinking about these kind of things. She is an engineer. Something breaks, she fixes it. It may be mostly simple and easy, but she is great at it and she loves doing it.
The line moves forward again and moves enough for her to get into the ship with the passenger count reaching over the limit, which makes her slightly nervous. She closes her eyes and the ship gets on its way.
She keeps them closed for the remainder of the trip, later more for resting than anything else, and only opens them when she feels the jolt of the transport ship docking. The boarding process is a long and tedious one as the lines of people are slowly directed towards the harvest fields. Step by slow step they move forward in a familiar rhythm. Some talk to each other as they walk, but most stay quiet. Zara hardly ever sees a smile from people while they’re on the ship. Then, in a split second’s time, in a glimpse, she understands why.
In front of her Zara sees a young girl walking behind her mother. With one hand the girl clutches to her mother’s clothes and with the other she clutches her own. As they continue walking in the rhythmical pace the girl’s head moves slowly to gaze out of a small window that everyone else ignores. Through the window Zara can see the soft blue and white of Earth as it gazes upon its doom. The girl’s eyes stare longingly towards it and her hand that clutched her mother’s uniform listens to her eye’s desire and starts to reach towards the window. She stays there for only a second before her mother, who probably noticed the missing touch of her daughter, pulls her away and moves her forward with the line.
No one smiles because there is still something to remind them of what they are leaving behind. And what would take it from them. Even when it’s gone from existence, it will still be in their dreams, their thoughts and their memories. There won’t be a lot of smiles for a long time. She’ll have to accept that.
Win a signed copy of “To The Stars” and a signed poster! Click here to enter: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/9ef3535b181/
Tiaan Lubbe lives in Pretoria, South Africa where he spends his time teaching little monsters, directing plays, doing what he calls writing and dreaming up the future. Mostly all at once.
Twitter: www.twitter.com/@Tiaan_Lubbe
Facebook: www.facebook.com/tiaanlubbeauthor
Instagram: www.instagram.com/tiaan_lubbe
Website: www.tiaanlubbe.com
October 2, 2014
Drowning in Fear
Nolan gazed down into the pool of thick, black water below. The lake stretched on in front of him, a sleeping monster ready to swallow him whole the moment he dipped his foot in it.
He turned back toward the house he’d come from, a nondescript two-story wooden building, barely more than a cabin. Light burned in the upstairs bedroom, and it didn’t feel right—its glow too golden, too luminescent, as if it didn’t come from this world at all.
A black shadow appeared behind the glass.
Nolan panicked and put a step back. His foot slipped on the wet surface, and before he had time to cry out, he fell down into the lake below. Water rolled over him in black, thick waves, pulling him under.
He screamed, but no sound came out. Water burned his eyes and engulfed him, threatening to drown him. He fought against the darkness, struggled to stay afloat, but the water was sticky and thick, almost as thick as blood, and he couldn’t move at all…
***
He woke up screaming.
Sweat rained down from his forehead and he shivered all over as he took a deep breath, trying to calm down. He was safe at home, in his own bedroom, not near the lake or the house he’d never seen before—not stuck in the nightmare.
The door burst open and his mom walked in. Her blonde hair looked completely disheveled and her bathrobe dragged over the floor, as if she’d rushed to put it on before darting to his room.
The first few nights it happened, she’d run in, eyes wide, worry turning her face into a wrinkled mask. Now, although her lips curled in annoyance, she still rushed over to his room every time.
He loved her for that.
“Did you have the nightmare again?”
“Yeah.” He wrapped his arms around himself. Now that he’d stopped sweating, he realized how cold his room was, as if he’d somehow been transported to the Arctic.
Mom sat down on the edge of the bed, kissed him on the forehead, and pulled him close. “It’s okay, sweetie. It was just a dream.”
The first time he’d had the nightmare, he’d believed her. It seemed logical. Dad had just broken the news to him that he’d enrolled him for a summer camp near a lake, in this stupid town called Weirdville. Mom had been so mad she hadn’t spoken to Dad all day. Nolan was mad too, but he wasn’t good at ignoring people, and way better at throwing temper tantrums. He’d crashed through the house like a tornado, jumped up and down the stairs, screamed at the top of his lungs.
The worst part was that he understood why Dad had done it. He’d gone behind Nolan’s back—and his Mom’s—in signing him up for the summer camp.
In high school, Dad had won the national swimming competition: 100 meters. He went swimming practically every day.
Nolan, on the other hand, was terrified of water. He’d been afraid of it for as long as he could remember. He wasn’t terribly good at any sport, but he dreaded swimming the most. Every time he had to go to the swimming pool, he ended up having a panic attack, until his school’s gym teacher decided it wasn’t worth the hassle and let Nolan pass on the swimming.
After he found out about the camp enrollment, the nightmares had begun, but there was something strange about them. In daytime, Nolan feared what he assumed would be a slew of questioning stares of his fellow campers almost as much as the water itself. People always looked at him as if he’d grown three heads whenever he mentioned being afraid of the water.
In the nightmare, that barely played any part. It was all about the lake, about the house nearby, about the thing hiding inside the house.
“I don’t want to go.” He clutched Mom’s arm, digging his fingers into her skin. “Please don’t make me.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but your Dad is convinced this’ll be good for you and… to be honest, I think he may be right.” She stroked his hair. “There’s no reason to be so afraid of swimming. It’s just water.”
He clenched his fists. If he got a penny every time he heard that sentence, he’d be a millionaire. Of course he had no reason to be afraid of water, but he was. He barely kept it under control while taking a bath. No way would he survive going to a lake.
Whenever he got near water, a blind panic took hold of him. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe. Run, his body screamed. Run! Get away from the water!
Even if he ignored his body’s demands, he always ended up panicking anyway. Then people had to come drag him out of the pool, and it all got so embarrassing everyone at school made fun at him.
It hurt that Mom thought the same way about it as Dad, that he should just get over this fear of water and move on with his life—that he couldn’t be normal until he did.
Mom pulled the blankets up to his shoulders and helped him lie back down. “Try to get some sleep. The bus will be here in less than four hours.” She kissed his cheek, and then disappeared out of his room.
Four hours until he had to leave. Four hours.
He clutched the blanket so hard his knuckles turned white.
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Majanka Verstraete has a Master of Law degree, and is studying for a Master of Criminology degree at the moment.
She has written a picture book series, “Valentina’s Spooky Adventures”, of which three books have been released. She’s also working on the “Weirdville” series, a series of scary lower grade chapter books. The first three books in the series have been released, and books four to six will release in 2014.
The first three Weridville books have also been released in audiobook version.
She’s written two young adult novels. “Fractured”, the first book in the Mirrorland series was released last year and its sequel, “Reflected” will be released in 2015. The first book in YA Paranormal series, the Angel of Death Series, “The Soul Thief”, will release in November 2014.
Website: http://majankaverstraete.com
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/4813098.Majanka_Verstraete
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Majanka-Verstraete/398570476832115
Twitter: @iheartreads
September 24, 2014
Project Firebird
Chris unlocked the door to a long, narrow hall. A tall girl was there already, busy in one corner. At the far end stood three man-shaped placards with ring targets over their chests.
Mason cheered. ‘A firing range!’
‘Shooting range.’ Summer Dartington turned to face them. She didn’t smile, only flicked her brown ponytail. Behind her stood a rack of slender pistols with yellow grips. Leo itched to try one.
‘Hi, Summer.’ Paige was being polite.
‘Hello. Hi.’ Even after three weeks, Summer hadn’t learned all their names.
‘Summer will be your firearms mentor,’ said Chris.
‘No.’ Andrew stood in the doorway. ‘The judo stuff, I’m fine with that. But guns, no.’
‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist.’ Summer stirred a tub of black pellets with her finger. ‘These are air pistols.’
‘You’ll become proficient with these practice weapons first,’ said Chris. Leo swapped a grin with Mason – it sounded as if proper guns would come later. Summer donned wraparound orange glasses, then opened a pistol to tip in a caterpillar of lead shot.
‘I’m not shooting a gun,’ said Andrew. ‘My Pa would be mad if he ever knew.’
‘Understand this, Andrew.’ Chris drew himself up, becoming every inch Major Bacchus. ‘If people threaten you, they threaten the Project. And the Project is about saving humanity. So anyone who threatens it is an enemy of humanity. So you stop them.’
As if on cue, Summer raised her pistol and fired four times, recocking rapidly between each shot. The noise was like two sets of popping balloons at either end of the hall. The centre target, shaped like a man wielding a knife, wobbled on its hanger. Andrew’s eyebrows switched his face to sad.
‘Count me out.’
‘Okay.’ Chris let it go, easy as that.
‘That’s all right, then, isn’t it?’ said Summer. ‘Anyone can say they won’t fire a gun when they know someone else will do it for them.’
‘Enough.’ Chris glanced at her. ‘No problem, Andrew. It’s your decision. Go and join Maddison. She’ll be at the Seed Banks. You can help her lead tomorrow’s farming class.’
‘Thanks, Chris.’ Andrew left them, smiling in relief. Summer watched him go with an odd twinkle in her eyes. Amusement, scorn, or some secret thought? It passed too quickly for Leo to decide, and he might have forgotten ever seeing it.
Nick Green lives in the UK. He is the author of seven fiction books to date, including the middle-grade CAT KIN trilogy published by Strident. His other books include THE STORM BOTTLE, a fantasy adventure about the dolphins of Bermuda, and most recently the FIREBIRD trilogy, a YA science fiction epic.
Website: www.nickgreenbooks.com
Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VZPz24jbJaQ
Amazon: http://amzn.to/1lsUNyt
