The Caller -A New, Unpublished Story!

The family of four had been surviving on their own since the War of 2012.

Five years had gone by, the last two without them seeing another person and there were no signs of their old world returning.

The bombs had made most of the land unlivable. The radiation and mutations had spread quickly and this small group was all that remained of normal life for hundreds of miles around their small cabin in. Set in the hills of Kentucky, it was a sturdy, nearly airtight shelter that had saved them the fate of their neighbors.

“What are ww..we hunt…ttiiin, daddy?”

The seven year olds stutter was painful to hear. It made the man’s heart hurt but he smiled at the golden haired child. “Turkey. It’s Christmas.”

That was something new and the boy grew appropriately quiet as they crept closer to the pond’s edge. Their movements were and slow and careful and yet wrong, like something was wrong with their legs. The lack of fresh food was taking its toll.

“Gobble.”

 The noise brought a smile to both their dirty faces and the father silently pulled his sharpened walking stick from the pack on his back.

“Gobble.”

“Sniff. Gobble.”

The sounds weren't right either, even for this post apocalyptic hell but the hunters paid it little mind as they sprang up from behind the decaying water plants.

“Dad!”

Too late,  they saw the wolves and the wild canines lunged toward them, leaving the looted duck nest.

“Get down!”

The father swung his hand, where a flashing blade now began to blaze through the air. On a tightly wound rope, the sound of the Caller echoed for miles.

“Oohhh.!’

It was a howling, high pitched whine with horribly loud tones that made the boy cover his deformed ears.

The wolves reacted with confusion too, whimpering, and the man swung it harder.

“Whoo…”

It went higher and the predators began to back up, snarling their fury. It drove them back with only sound used and the small pack ducked into the underbrush with a last lingering glare.

:oohhh…!”

It was spinning nearly out of control now and the man forced his fingers to let go. The object was not totally inanimate and the sound lingered for a moment even after it slid into the grass. It made an awful moan as it ended, leaving an amazed silence.

“It worked!"

The child’s speech was clear as a bell and the father watched him run gracefully to the Caller. His eyes widened. The ears were normal!

The child flashed him a grin, an intelligent grin and the father struggled to breathe. What magic was this?

“The book was right, daddy!”

Not a trace of slur. The man took the object carefully, stunned. Now he knew what the inscription meant. “Your heart’s wish if it is pure.” He’d just been thinking how much he loved his son despite the deformities and flaws. And his wish had been granted! The boy was healed!

Later that evening, the man sat by the fire with a tattered notebook in his hand, listening to his wife and children talk as they prepared a holiday feast with almost no food. He thumbed through the brittle pages absently. Had it’s author survived?

Angela’s Journal.

The man rubbed his sore wrist thoughtfully. So many of the things in it were true! What if the people were also? A refuge for survivors.

“No turkey?”

“No, honey.” The nine year old girl nodded resignedly, thin shoulders drooping.

“Oh. Okay.”

The man’s gust twisted with the need to do something. A refugee camp would have food and vitamins and water. He ran a calloused thumb over the journal’s weather beaten cover. The directions said always southeast. Surely a group that big wouldn’t be hard to find?

“I’m thankful anyway, momma. Cause Alex got fixed. Now, he can run!"

“We all are darling. We all are.”

The wolves had trapped them, starved them. His wrist ached deeper. Had. Now, there might be a way out and some magic to ease the trip.

“Love you, momma.”

“Love you too, sissy.”

“What about me?”

The three of them hugged, exchanging their emotions and the man could take no more. He stood up, ragged journal clenched tightly in his grip.

 “Pack it up, woman. “ The hope in his voice shocked them all.

“We leave for Safe Haven at first light.”

Check out the book this is based on.

"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

Justice (Story Sunday)

Dedicated to all the animals suffering from mankind's indifference.

 "How much?"

"Almost 60,000 barrels a day."
"Worst in history."
"Won't matter. It's what insurance is for."
"It's what we're for."

 The voices carried easily in gusting shore winds and those listening unseen, felt the hate grow deeper in their hearts.

 
"We report it's not that bad, that it's breaking up, people start to relax. Stocks go back up."
"And then its business as usual, right?"
"Yep. Ain't nothing money won't buy."

Their snickers and indifference marked them as the enemy, even if the yellow vests and clipboards had not, and the investigators moved toward the narrow sea cave like foreign invaders surveying their loot.

"How much you think the insurance will cover?"

"Most. It's cheaper to pay premiums than to develop the technology to handle spills. British Petroleum is paid up for the next decade."
"Wish they'd pay those coastal fishermen so the reports would stop winding people back up."
"Me too."

The oil inspectors reached the cave as the next swell rushed in and their boots were covered in a thick layer of rainbow sludge.

"It's still coming in."

"It will for a long time. Remember to wipe those off before you head back."
"You too."
"Yeah. Don't want any proof it's gotten this far yet."

The men moved into the dim, sludge lined cave with uneasy glances and the sound of the water rushing in grew louder, hungry. They began to measure and collect samples and neither of them noticed the shadows getting closer as they talked.

"Guess the new cap’s holding."
"Pictures look good. You think they're real?"
"I doubt it. The government only shows people what it wants them to see. Once we say it's staying out there, the news will grow bored with it and find another story."
"Hard to hide all those bodies, though."
"It's just fish. The birds'll clean it up."
"But won't it be another big story?"
"No. In case you haven't noticed, there's no one on these beaches now. Tourism here is gone for a long time."
"Still, the residents have taken pictures and the camera crews fly over all the time."
"Won't matter. Money shuts people up. Just have to find the right price."
"Can't argue with that."

Between tides, the rising water levels in the narrow cave were unusual but the inspectors were trained in oil, not the ocean and the tugging, rainbow sludge was up to their knees before either of them noticed.

"Water's up. Let's hurry."
"Wonder if that has anything to do with the methane. Put it in the report."

Well paid, the two men stayed to finish their observations and collections and the water continued to slowly rise, rolling in but not going back out.

"Did you feel that?"

"What?"
"I’m not sure. Sort of like a vibration under my feet."
"Probably just the water. It's still coming up."
"Maybe but I'd swear..there it was again!"
"I didn't feel anything."
"Something moved by my foot!"
"Stop it."
"Really, I... what was that?"

Both men turned to see a shape under the hip high water, one that caused their mouths to dry and their hearts to thump. A shark fin.

"Back off, nice and easy."
"Don't move!"
"Look out!'
"Behind you!"
"Ahhh!"

The oil covered shark tossed his head viciously, reveling in the gush of fresh food, and then he was being pulled back by the stingray.

"Stop. There must be proof." Denied a much needed meal, the angry shark snapped at the ray and then whined in pain as the manta stung him brutally.

"Enough!' They both looked to the old, jellyfish floating in the oil stained water.

"Man is our enemy, not each other. Drag them out and the crabs will bring them to the shore so they can be found beside the black poison they unleashed." The huge Jelly was obeyed without argument and the water in the cave slowly lowered, allowing them to wash out with the wave.

"What comes next?" The Manta Ray asked the Jelly and neon lights of concentration flashed under the waves as the centuries old keeper of the water struggled to form thoughts through the rage.

"Call the whales, the orcas. Any that are left will come. We have to gather an army and drive man out of the oceans. After that, we’ll talk to those on land, make a deal if we can. Surely the air breathers are dying as fast as us."

"Can we fight so many?" The Jelly flashed uneasily.

"I don't know. Until now, our world has been unreachable but every day brings them closer to our homes, our families. If we don't fight back now, we may not be able to later and I would have justice!”

Closer (Story Sunday)

She knew she was being followed and her heart pounded, mind racing.

Echoes came to her. She was outnumbered.

Her steps faltered and she took a quick look over her shoulder to verify it but the street was in total darkness except for a dim, cloud-covered moon and her tiny flashlight. 

She moved a bit faster, sure it was the four men from the stadium. She'd only needed a moments escape from the thousands of tensely beating hearts crammed into the Super Dome and instead, had found a young girl's abused body and her attackers standing nearby, talking about how to hide it. All fresh from the act, they'd turned to see her and when she'd fled, they'd followed. Now, they were stalking her, getting closer.

The New Orleans street was debris-covered, empty except for broken tree limbs and power lines, and she heard the footsteps on her trail change. They'd split up, she realized, trying to surround her, herd her. She walked faster, sharp eyes still unable to pick even a single shadow from the darkness but it didn't really matter. She was a witness. They couldn't leave her alive.

Soft laughter rang out on her right and she flinched to the left, almost running now, and hit something heavy lying in the street. She fell hard, light flying out of her grasp and smashing against the ground. Blood dripped from her hands and she pushed herself up began to run through the total darkness.

A shape appeared on her right and she spun left again, running through a muddy yard, and glass crunched under her feet as heavy footsteps echoed openly, closely. 

She threw herself over a high fence and hit the ground again, almost dazed from the impact. She stayed still, hearing them close in, and then she was surrounded, looking up at four angry leers. 

Her cloak had fallen open to reveal a short, black dress over pale, flawless skin, and she felt the air shift. Their eyes darkened with need and she closed her eyes, listening to them decide who would be first and how they would clean up after.

Shadows moved silently in the darkness as the first man knelt in the mud, and unseen hands moved toward for his companions as he dropped his body onto hers. The woman immediately slid her hands around his neck.

"Closer." She whispered hungrily, lips searching, and then she was plunging her fangs into his sweaty skin and he was screaming. Her grip was like stone, relentless, and the shrieks of the other men echoed his as the small family of Hunters fed.

The woman belched loudly and giggled at herself as she pushed the body over and staggered to her feet, intoxicated with her meal. Hunting during the aftermath of human suffering was always the best. Few lights to give them away, no authorities patrolling every alley, and best of all, a perfect food supply. Tragedies brought out the worst mankind had to offer and with no one to protect their rights, these remorseless Killers were finally serving a purpose and getting what they deserved at the same time.

End World (Story Sunday)

The heavily armored platoon of soldiers moved in for the kill just as a dim daylight was breaking over the war-torn planet, surrounding the small group of aliens hiding in the dank sewers beneath the burned out city.

Led by an old warhorse Sergeant and a ruthless General with green eyes so pale they appeared transparent. They came through the tunnels like a swarm, breaking large holes in the concrete to get to the people

“Use the darts!” Donre shouted, seeing many of their intended captives falling to gunfire.

“We want them alive!” The Sergeant backed him up and they both ducked as a blast of fire was hurled their way, slamming into the cold stone above their heads.

Soldiers were falling all around them, being killed by the small group that only had three real fighters, their desperation lending them strength. Knives flashed, dart guns fired, flames flew through the air, and yet there were no screams, no pleas for mercy, only orders and grunts of death.

“Get the red heads!” Donre shouted from behind the safety of the Sergeants plentiful men. “Don’t miss one!”

“They keep getting back up!”

“Then up the dose!”

The men hurried to obey and soon it was only the fighters and the soldiers exchanging darts and flames. Donre nodded as the last of the warriors, a huge man with bright red hair, was hit with another dart and went heavily to his knees. It had only been a few minutes and they had another 17 captives. It was a good half hour’s haul.

As things settled down, the Sergeant reported in. “We have four escapes.

They’re being chased but I lost half my damn squad!”

The Sergeant was pissed. He had been with these men for a long time and Donre turned to look at him. “You think we should have waited topside for them to come out?”

The thin man’s eyes were bitter as he nodded, wondering how he’d tell their families he’d gotten their men killed. “Yes. Our losses would have been much lower if we hadn’t listened to your spy.”

The tall, pale General shrugged, tone casual as he watched the soldiers carefully carry the prisoners, obviously shaken up by how much damage only 3 of the dreaded ‘Aliens’ had done. Weak.

“They had to die sometime. Why not in service to the great country that no longer exists?”

The tone was mocking, baiting, and the career man watched the bodies get hesitantly slung over shoulders, frowning. Alien bodies. His soldiers might get picked up later. Might.

“That include you and me?”

The General’s smile was colder than the wind whipping passed them. “Your loyalty’s are not mine.”
Then why do you fight with us?”

The Officer turned those pale, unreadable eyes on him and the life long soldier felt threatened by another male for the first time in many years.

“I watch for someone.” He said finally.

“One of them?”

Donre’s lips twisted. “The Alpha isn’t just one of them. He’s the sum of all of them.”

“How do you know he’ll come here? Base says they’re scattered all over.” Donre’s eyes darkened with plans he’d begun a long time ago. “Because I’ve laid a trap. Blinded by youth, calculate betrayals follow.” His grin and age lined face was scared, ugly. “Calculated betrayer, Sergeant. That’s me.”

His green eyes glowed with ruthless satisfaction and he pulled up his hood. “We’ll come back after we drop these at Santa Quarry Detention center. Snake says there’s another group under the old Military installation near here. We’ll hit them next.”

Both men looked up in surprise as not one, but two gray, diamond shaped ships flew out of the green haze, streaking towards them.

“Isn’t this whole planet a no fly zone?”

Donre nodded, watching the second, bigger aircraft gain on the first, firing wildly. The ships bumped, banged, and then they were directly overhead and the soldiers around him started raising their guns.

“Hold your fire!” Donre ordered, turning to the radio man. “Call area 51. Tell them to shoot both and I don’t give a slam about our deal with the Merc.’s. Bring them down!”

The young Captain nodded, fingers working the buttons as the others frowned at the order, exchanging looks. The Sergeant was scowling openly, voice full of disapproval.

“We have rockets. We could have done it.”

“Don’t bite off more than you can chew. Besides…” Donre shook his head, watching the ships fade into the thick layer of haze that hung over the planet constantly since the war. What was it he felt from that first, smaller ship?

“Yours is not to question.”

Clearly, the man wanted to push but he knew better and the soldier turned away before his mouth could betray him, listening to their communications man relay orders as the rest of the captives were loaded.

The General lingered a moment despite the urge to hurry, pale eyes thoughtful as he fingered the long, gray and black beard hanging down the front of his flowing black robes. Had he felt something? A tiny wave of energy? Furyan energy? He smiled harshly.

“Soon.” He stated icily, turning toward the waiting trucks. “I’ll have what was promised to me.”