Preview: Homeless, Part 1

2014 is off to a busy start. It's been a long few months, but I have some new goodies to share with you. My next novel, Homeless will be coming February 18th. Stay tuned for some excerpts, and teasers.

About Homeless:
Humanity has been decimated by a violent new species that nests in any enclosed spaces, and slaughters everything unfortunate enough to come indoors. Mitch is a 'Wall Banger', an explosives expert who 'cracks' buildings, exposing them to air and sunlight to kill these invasive organisms. When a friend of Mitch's asks for help tracking down a murderer, Mitch recruits Cori, a 'Shadow Runner' who races through infested spaces to gather supplies and saleable loot. But this terrifying contagion isn't the only danger, as their world descends into a harrowing marathon against oversupplied militias, murderous gangs, self-righteous survivors, and all-out starvation.


Homeless, Part 1, You Can't Go Home.
I walk because I can’t sleep. The night air makes me tense, from a youth I can scarcely recall. I remember being told not to go out when it's dark, to fear what you couldn't see, and to stay indoors. Funny, how wrong some old advice can be.

I'm roused from my contemplation by an old man swearing. The hairs on my neck bristle. It wouldn't be the first time someone used an old man to bait a trap for me. It's a new world we're living in, one where we make the rules as we go along. And we can either forge a world where the needy find help, or one where the bastards have made us all so cynical we let our neighbors freeze to death for want of a moment's kindness.

But I don't want him shooting me, either, so I make a lot of noise on my way towards his fire. A shoe scuffed against the curb here, a little whistling, some heavy breathing. He's old enough that none of that does the trick- which might just be the torrent of swearing coming off the man canceling the sound I make.

So finally I call out. “Hello?” I ask loudly. But he doesn't hear. “Hello!” I bellow, and he starts.

“Good lord,” he says. “Scared me half to death. Don't you know not to sneak up on a body?” He’s old and old-fashioned enough to be clean shaven within the last day or two- rare because without water it requires a strong degree of determination and masochism.

“Sorry, sir,” I say, in my most apologetic tone. “You having some trouble?”

“Stupid goddamned tent,” he says, kicking a pile of tarp, spikes and poles.

“I can lend you a hand,” I tell him, and I can tell before I get the sentence out that he means to refuse, so I bend down and pick up the pole and start to thread it through the tarp before he can protest. Up close, I can tell it's a nice tent, the kind you could buy in a store, when you could survive a trip inside one of them.

He sighs. He's annoyed, by my presence, by his impotence. He shivers in the cold, and puts his arms around himself for warmth, and maybe a little more security. “That's my home,” he tells me, and points to the building not twenty feet from where his tent is. The grass is dead in a rough square where he's been raising it regularly in the shade of an evergreen tree.

I don't respond. I know if he wants to talk, he's of an age he will, without any prodding from me. And I don't know mine's the most sympathetic ear on offer.

“I bought it with my Josephine when we were both just children,” he says, “fresh from out of school. We never meant to stay there. It was too small to raise a family, and we had plans- such plans.”

The bow in his posture becomes a little more severe, the history weighing down on him as much as age and gravity. He takes in a deep breath, and continues, “But if you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans. Josephine was barren. And our careers- well, by the time we retired, we were damned grateful to have bought our little home when the market was weak and we could afford it.”

I manage to get the poles both through, and realize he isn't going to help with the tent at all, but it's hard to begrudge him that. “I'm Lionell, by the way,” he says.

“Mitch,” I tell him, reflexively clipping off the second half of my name to keep our names from rhyming, anything to put distance between us- even phonetically.

Check back next week for another excerpt or join my mailing list to be notified when Homeless is available for purchase.