Life After War Wednesday #1- Cesar Castro Diaz

Once a week, we will get to know the “people” who make up the Life After War series through profiles, back stories, and glimpses into their mind. At the bottom of each edition, I’ll be placing a few extras, such as excerpts, personal thoughts, or questions to vote on. Please use the comments section for discussion.

To start us off, I chose to cover one of those who have perished during Life After War, thus far. Let’s look at the main bad guy from books 1-4:

Cesar Castro Diaz

Age: 43

Eyes: Black

Height: 5'10”

Weight: 195 lb

Birthday: 1/4/70

Gold Front Tooth

Kinked black curls

2 missing fingers- left hand

Before War: Infamous Mexican Guerilla Captain

After War: Leader of an invading army.

Quote: "I will have the Witch! Nothing will stop me when I come for her!"

Strengths.

- Once he makes up his mind, it's set and little will change his mind.

- He learned first hand how to keep control amid the violence and he does it well.

Weaknesses.

- Hates so much that he has no beauty in his heart.

-Underestimates his enemies.

FBI Notes

-The FBI has no US record. For Mexican, European, and other records, contact case manager.

Back-story

Cesar was raised by one of Mexico’s most ruthless men. Bred to be a warrior in his father’s army, he is a hardened man, who worked his way up the ranks through violence and manipulation. Like his father, Cesar loathes the United States and the number of American’s he's rumored to have killed before the war is over 200. A month after the war, it was 1000.

When the war came, Cesar took a large group of men and headed to the U.S border to rescue friends and family in Arizona and New Mexico detention centers. When he encountered no resistance, he seized the opportunity, invading. The vile man intends to keep anyone from rebuilding and hopes to seed the country with as many bastards as he can, leaving the US an occupied state.

Cesar hates America for many reasons but mostly for what he believes it did to his father.

Current Status: Deceased as of Book 4, Adrian’s Eagles.

Cause of Death: Multiple bullet wounds.

Killed by: Adrian Mitchel and Angela White at the end of book four, Adrian’s Eagles.

Vote

One of Cesar’s main goals is to seed America with his bastard’s, leaving the US an occupied land. He’s been carrying out that plan for months, being very careful to ensure the children are his. As of book 3, Safe Haven, the guerilla has conquered more than 20 towns and rarely spends a night without a slave chained to the pole of his filthy tent.

Question to consider: As of April, 2013, how many children do you think Cesar has on the way?

Something else to think about- Will any of those forced offspring be heard from?

Go here to vote. Results will be announced during next Wednesday’s post.

Excerpt:

Immune to the noise, Cesar watched the plump woman ride out of camp, the cries of her two young children making him sure she would do as he wanted. She would be missed for her cooking skills here but at Safe Haven, she would be an invaluable tool waiting for his orders.

His army was undisciplined, drunk on their successful invasion of the hated American’s and the wise guerilla Captain sensed that wouldn’t be enough to defeat the group of survivors from his dream. The blond man had been hard and Cesar recognized the future battle. When it came, he would be ready and none of them would stand. He would stop that vision from ever happening and there was a feeling of importance to the woman disappearing into the fog. Maria would be the key to that battle.

Cesar shoved the toddlers from his leg, waving at a slave to care for them. When his upset sons were older, they too would be sacrifices for the cause. The evil slave trader grinned, letting out a battle cry that was echoed by his men.

”Muerte a Estados Unidos!" Death to America.

Life After War

Next Week: Marc and Angie!

"This is Safe Haven Refugee Camp. Can anyone hear me?

Hello? Is anyone out there?"

The Survivors

*Free on all retailers

Author’s Website    Diesel   iTunes   Kindle   Kobo   Nook   Smashwords   Sony

 

Under Attack (DF Tuesday Excerpt)

“Don’t move!”

Her tone froze him with his hands splayed out in the dirt. He sensed movement near his fingers as she slowly drew her weapon.

“Roll to your right when I start, and come up firing. Targets at ten, two and three.”

Marc heard the soft pad of paws, more than one, and watched her eyes for the moment to react.

“Shit. Two more at 12 o’ clock,” Angela watched the three lanky, gray-and-white wolves, trying to judge their intentions. When a big black-and-gold animal she hadn’t seen lunged toward from the shadows, there was only time to react.

Angela fired, a bit wildly on the first few shots, and one of the rounds caught the wolf in mid-leap, slamming into its chest. It landed on the ground with a hard thud as Marc rolled and hit his feet, began to fire.

“Watch your six!” he warned, immediately sure they were pack-hunting. He put them back to back as the brittle stalks around them swayed with barely seen movement. The sky had begun to darken as they worked out, but neither had worried, used to being in the dark, but this time they had let dangerous predators get close.

Suddenly, they were under attack, moving eyes gleaming at them through the dusk-tinted rows. They fired at the same time, dropping two wolves that had jumped from opposite sides.

A dark shadow appeared at her hip, and Angela stopped herself from shooting as she recognized Dog. Her eyes narrowed on a stocky white wolf running in and out of the distant, yellow stalks. Before she could take aim on the leader, another shadow streaked past her.

“Damn it!” Again, she kept herself from firing by only a hair. “Dog just went to my right, chasing the white one.”

Marc nodded, turning them to face another duel attack meant to separate. They came in low, lunging for legs, and both shots killed, but two more hungry hunters jumped at Angela, coming fast.

“Duck!” she shouted, firing. She got the low animal in the chest as the other went sailing overhead, and she heard Marc take care of it as more and more eyes shined mercilessly in the dimness. Wolves were now streaming through the corn like rats.

Making sure they stayed tightly against each other, Marc moved them in half circles, firing and kicking at those not hungry enough to lunge, but still bold enough to snap. He could feel Angela doing the same behind him, her grunts and shots mirroring his.

Flames rose up behind them suddenly, Marc catching a tall shadow from the corner of his eye as he turned, shot a leaping wolf in the chest, turned, and killed a snapping wolf going for Angie’s leg.

More fire erupted, along with the pungent smell of gasoline as full darkness fell over them, and some of the wolves hesitated, but not those hungry frontrunners.

Angela jerked forward, stiff-arming a determined predator in the throat. Her gun was empty and she knew by the silence behind her that Marc's was too. Drooling, fur bushed up, the wolves moved closer with hungry eyes.

Angela fumbled for the speed loader on her belt, and Marc turned them again, slamming his in as two more wolves lunged. He caught one in the neck, blood spraying, and shoved them backwards in time to let the second animal go sailing by.

“Incoming!”

Reloaded, Angela shot the wolf as it hit the hard ground and fired at eyes in the air, then the flames were between her and the corn as Marc rotated them again. Shadows lunged, coming through gaps in the wall of fire, and she picked them off, assuming Brady’s silent gun meant he was reloading.

Marc stared intently at the hulking man intently, the 3/4 circle of flames discouraging many of the animals. The newcomer was gigantic, eight by five it seemed like, and yet he was light on his feet as he poured the last of the gasoline to close the gaps.

“Stay inside,” the big man instructed gruffly without turning, voice heavy under his furs and hood.

Before Marc could say anything, Angela spun around, six shots gone. She gasped in surprise at the big man, but just like Marc, her fingers didn’t stop. She had to be ready when he turned them again.

“On your right, woman!”

She slammed the clip home and fired without looking, almost able to hear the slobbering jaws about to clamp down on her ankle. A heavy body thudded to the ground.

“Dog! Guard her!” Marc shouted, firing.

The wolf appeared at her side, bloody muzzle snarling viciously at two more animals trying to sneak through a thin gap in the fire wall.

"This is Safe Haven Refugee Camp. Can anyone hear me?

Hello? Is anyone out there?"

The Survivors

*Free on all retailers

Author’s Website    Diesel   iTunes   Kindle   Kobo   Nook   Smashwords   Sony

Jendon the Troll- Dark Fantasy Tuesday

Jendon the Troll

Jendon they call him

The Troll from the bog

Banished to roam man's world

in the storms and the fog

His yellow eyes flicker

Greed in their depths

One he won't steal from

There's few of left

Traveling merchant

Gypsy cart and gray horse

Powerful potions he makes

just don't ask the source

Huge green fists

Ready to strike

He hides by the day

and lurks through the night

Peddling his wares

Potions, spirits, charms

Trading for bone dust

While memories he farms

Eat his food

Drink his liqueur

and in your life

You've never been sicker

Bewitched by magic

Dreams unprotected

Secrets revealed

Weaknesses detected

The sly salesman

Clever merchant

Nightmarish barker

Kin of the serpent

Steal you blind

in more way than one

Ruing your fate

Before all's said and done

Nothing but trouble

To no one loyal

Yet it if can be earned

it's value is double

Beware of Jendon

of playing fates card

To cross this one

you'd better be hard


Start the adventure:

From the Beginning

During the Aftermath

"This is Safe Haven Refugee Camp. Can anyone hear me?

Hello? Is anyone out there?"

The Survivors

*Free on all retailers

Author’s Website    Diesel   iTunes   Kindle   Kobo   Nook   Smashwords   Sony

 

Story Sunday- Paranoia

Danger is everywhere.

My paranoia knows no boundaries of normal or over the line. Everything is almost lethal.

My flame retardant sheets threaten to strangle me as the brain melting waves of my alarm clock jar me from sleep. The shock makes my heart race, which might bring on a stroke, and my fingers are threatened by splinters as I brush the end table to silence the potentially ear shattering noise.

My bare feet are swallowed by soft house shoes made in a country known for adding lead to their products and the ultra violet rays from my reading lamp try to pierce me with skin cancer as I head for the bathroom.

The water in my shower may burn me if I stay in too long and I can feel the unfiltered chemicals sinking into my bloodstream. Without knowing if I may develop an allergic reaction to the material, I dry and dress, eyeing the damp floor warily.

The steps leer at me, warning of broken bones and I hold tightly to the rail, risking yet more splinters while I move to the most unprotected room of my rickety home.

Fixing breakfast almost comes with severed fingers and burning alive and as I eat, I risk choking on my eggs and toast. The juice has pulp, doubling the danger, and I read the paper carefully, wincing at all the paper cuts I might get.

The buttons on my coat try to snatch me bald and the umbrella in my grip smiles slyly as I step out into the wilderness. The dry and safe looking sidewalk must be a trap and I walk through the razor sharp blades of grass, trying not to think about all the germs in the dirt that I will have to scrub from my shoes later.

The air I breathe is poison, the sun shines down another dose of potentially lethal cancer, and the noises of the passing traffic and voices of the people weaken my already wounded ears. 

I walk slowly, with an eye on the cloudless sky that could drench me if my umbrella fails, exposing me to pneumonia or a sore throat.

I wait for my ride with strangers who might be dangerous, poor at the very least, and I try to hide under the scratchy cloth of my coat, inhaling of lead-based products to avoid making eye contact that might provoke them into attacking. 

The bus could have hit me as it stopped and the metal stairs grab at the hem of my jeans as I get on. The hard seats are waiting to impale me when the driver slams on the brakes too hard and I cringe from all the germs I am being exposed to as I sit. The window looks like it might shatter at any wrong turn and the potentially burning heat blowing in my face surely contains harmful chemicals, as everything leaks into the air I breathe. 

On the ride, I escaped any number of horrible fates, like rape, murder, and sitting in gum. I may have missed my stop and gotten off in the wrong place or even been decapitated in a fiery bus/car accident. On another day, I may be followed as I exit, and the shiny, metal stairs wink at me knowingly.

The crosswalk wants to change while I’m in the middle of the street so I can be run down by a driver busy texting and I can feel the oil from passing cars making the road in front of me slicker, so I will fall and break a hip or a nail.

The tall, barely maintained office buildings start to crumble as I pass, I can feel it, and the revolving glass door cannot decide if it wants to wound me or trap me inside until I suffocate. It settles for trying to crush me and I step quickly out of the way as the door I have come for finally is in sight.

Before I can get inside the office, dozens of people threaten to knock me down where I could break another hip and the chime over the knob weakens as I watch, wanting to fall and split my head open. The welcome mat threatens to trip me and the loud slam of the door makes me wince as it tries to deafen me.

The receptionist looks up, nods at me, then sniffs indelicately. I avoid her possibly contagious plague and head for the back room, my sanctuary. 

I swipe my card through the machine designed to give me radiation sickness and the walls of the dimly lit hall come alive and taunt me with closing in until I cannot get enough oxygen into my lungs. The shriek of the admittance buzzer makes me flinch and I slide into the dark room with a sigh of relief. 

I am safe here.

I stride confidently now, the plastic desk waiting for me, and I sit in the cushy chair with a smile, reaching for the button. Now I can work. I pick up the laminated file with no fear of paper cuts.

"Please send in my first patient." 

"Yes, Doctor." I open the file to remind myself what mental defect this nut-job had. Obsessive, compulsive paranoia. No problem. That was right up my alley.

This story is in the flash fiction collection, Twists & Turns.

"This is Safe Haven Refugee Camp. Can anyone hear me?

Hello? Is anyone out there?"

The Survivors

*Free on all retailers

Author’s Website    Diesel   iTunes   Kindle   Kobo   Nook   Smashwords   Sony