by Cate Morgan
She filled her eyes with the raging fire, white-hot molten veins popping and snapping in its depths. Had she done that?
Get them out of here. She’d hadn’t the resources before, but now—
Now Brighid’s Eternal Flame answered her call. She imagined the labyrinth of underground passages and bridge tunnels filling with that searing light, pure as moon glow, turn after turn, spiral after spiral like a Declan’s cross, washing the Burnout Zone clean of taint. She thought of it flooding over people like the muted syrup glow of dawn light, filling the landscape with the hope of a fresh new day.
Finally it was full to bursting, testing the boundaries of her influence, lapping against the sides like a bathtub about to overflow. Instead of pulling the drain she lifted the entire tub and, step by careful step so as not to spill a drop, pivoted into between.
Dead, echoing silence enhanced the crushing weight in her care, the sloshing light reaching into the infinite dark. She wrapped a cushion of shadow around her burden, chill tang of nothing freezing the sheen of sweat pricking to the surface of her skin like a rash, and turned the rest of the way. Her ears popped as the pressure released her to the other side. She stumbled on the edge, and set her burden down before it could slip from her rigidly held control.
A quick arm around her waist pulled her back before she fell in the fire as the world spun topsy-turvy once more. Declan pulled her into a sheltering embrace, pressing her against his chest as though having pulled her from a towering precipice. She shook from head to toe like a tree of autumn leaves.
“I’ve got you,” he breathed in his velvet growl.
Outside a strange thing happened. The Burnout Zone was still there, with its derelict buildings and tumbled bridge, but not a single soul could be found within its boundaries. It was a ghost town, and no one outside its limits could recall anyone having been there at all.
Declan slid stew and bread across the table to her while the old man remounted her sword on the back wall and Bobby collected the candles and Charles took the cauldron to the Flame where the dregs awaited dinner. He was talking about piping water in to a nearby cavern where people could bathe, and converting vaults into common rooms and sleeping areas. With the other biospheres down it would be a major operation to ensure refugees could find a way to them—an underground Underground, so to speak. Nothing demon would be able to make it through, so Dreamtech would have to send human agents. And when they did, said agents would be returned in bits. Dreamtech would get the point. Eventually.
“What happens now?” Declan wanted to know.
“I don’t know.” Aika spooned pepper- and whiskey-seared lamb into her mouth. It was glorious. “What would you like to happen?”
Declan crossed his long arms on the table and shrugged. “I’d like to go somewhere. With you, I mean.”
Aika paused to rip a hunk of fresh bread into chunks. “Like a holiday?” She’d never had one. The idea was something of a revelation.
“Something like that.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere the sun soaks into your skin, with air you can breathe.” He watched her reaction carefully. “Anywhere you like.”
Aika didn’t answer immediately. Hunger came first, and it had been an exhausting few days. What had been so impossible before now required new focus to come to terms with. One shining new possibility presented itself for her consideration. She used bread to daub the remnants of her dinner from the wide ceramic bowl and popped the morsel in her mouth.
“Well,” she said, wiping her hands with a white cloth napkin. “How do you feel about meeting my family?”
Epilogue
Sometime later, somewhere in Ireland—
Cotton-candy clouds drifted in a sky of blue-watered silk, velvety rolling hills of perfect green rippling in a mild wind. Air that filled the lungs with exhilaration, and sun that soaked into the skin.
A patch of white marred the otherwise unending green sea. Closer inspection might reveal the patch to be a white silk dress, apparently abandoned.
Soft laughter carried on the breeze, followed by a muted splash.
Two figures, waist deep in a glass-clear lake reflecting the sky, embraced and entangled in long dark hair. In the distance, the stark bone white of a small cottage with a turf roof huddled on a low hill.
And not another person for miles around.
About the Author
Cate Morgan hails from a long line of storytellers and musicians, so it came as no surprise to her mother when she taught herself to read from the back of cereal boxes at the ripe age of three. Now she’s fulfilling her family obligations by foisting her own stories on an unsuspecting public, all with the help of gallons of coffee and pounds of M&Ms.
She resides in Florida with her long-suffering, if supportive, husband, gators in the backyard and two resident Ninja Katz underfoot.
Cate Morgan
2655 Ulmerton Road
PMB 147
Clearwater, FL 33762
Author site/blog: catemorgan.blogspot.com (rum drink recipes welcome)
Livejournal: writer-monkey.livejournal.com
Twitter: @typemonkeytype
Author Website: catemorgan.wordpress.com
A one night stand turns into a partnership for survival…
Neon Chaos
© 2011 Karen Erickson
Party girl Samantha Sanders is celebrating her thirtieth birthday in style—a road trip to Las Vegas for a long weekend with her girlfriends. Staying in the swankiest hotel on the strip, she’s naked and in bed with the sexiest guy she’s ever laid eyes on when the clock strikes twelve. Who knew the world would really end December 21, 2012? Those Mayans, they weren’t lyin’…
Russ Weaver is above all else a soldier. Looking for a little fun before spending Christmas with his crazy family, a weekend on leave in Vegas unexpectedly turns into his newest mission——protecting the sweet, scared woman he happens to be in bed with when the world as they know it is over.
Wandering throughout the virtually abandoned streets of Vegas, they find the city has turned into a war zone. Their only hope to get out alive is to stick together—and fight those who wish to cease their endeavors. Permanently.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Neon Chaos:
“Where the hell could they be?” he roared, throwing the flashlight with all his might. It crashed against the wall before it dropped to the floor, denting the drywall, and she watched in horror as her personal hero crumpled to the ground and beat his fist upon it.
Samantha ran to him, kneeling by his side and slipping her arm around his trembling shoulders. He was upset, he had every right to be and it scared the ever-living crap out of her.
He’d been the strong one from the beginning. If he lost it now how would they ever make it? On her skills and gumption alone?
Yeah, right.
“They must be dead.” His voice was shredded, and he sniffed. “My parents must be dead. I don’t know where else they could be.”
She wrapped her arms around him and brought him to her, his head resting against her chest. Smoothing a hand over his thick, dark hair, she offered soothing words, her eyes closing when she felt him shudder.
It broke her heart to see him like this. His arms banded around her waist, and he held her tight, his face buried against her neck. She swore she felt the hot dampness of tears, but she would never ask him. Had a feeling he was a bit of a macho man who would never admit to such a thing.
“What should we do, Russ?” She hated asking, but they needed some sort of plan.
He lifted his head, his gaze meeting hers. The discarded flashlight was still on, throwing a shaft of light across his face, and she saw all the despair there, all the weariness.
“I don’t know,” he croaked, sounding good and truly lost. “What do you think?”
She pushed his hair back with her fingers. “You’re tired. Maybe we should try and rest for a bit.”
“They’ll find us.”
; “We’ll stay only for a little while. You need to sleep.”
His eyes slid closed for the briefest moment, and he grabbed hold of her hand, bringing it to his mouth so he could press a gentle kiss to the back of it. A full body shiver moved through her at the contact and when his eyes opened, she leaned in, kissing him soundly on the lips.
He looked like he really needed it.
“I fucking hate this,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”
“I don’t know either, but we can’t go on like this. We’re both running ragged. That’s why we should rest. Even for just an hour.”
He sighed. “You’re right. Let’s stock up and hide in the detached garage in the back. Sleep for a while and then get the hell out of here.”
“Stock up? I have food.” She shook her purse, which she’d brought in with her.
“I’m not just talking food, sweetheart, though we should grab more, good idea. I’m talking about useful stuff.” He kissed her again, as if he needed the bit of physical contact to keep going. “I’m talking weapons. My father has a stockpile of them.”
The sadness had slowly left him, replaced by a simmering, potent rage that bubbled just beneath the surface. His parents were fucking gone—hell the entire family had probably disappeared, and he could do nothing about it.
Nothing.
He’d cried, not like a blubbering baby but tears had slipped out and he’d struggled not to ball. Samantha had offered comfort, holding him close, not saying a bunch of stupid words to try and make him feel better because nothing would’ve made him feel better at that particular moment. Not even now.
Nope, she hadn’t said anything at all, just offered him a shoulder to sniffle on. He appreciated her more than she could imagine.
After gaining control over his emotions he forced himself to get over the sadness. He was pissed. He wanted to kick some ass.
He wanted revenge.
First though, he needed to remain calm and rational and gather supplies.
Samantha filled a few grocery bags with food from the pantry while he went to his father’s den. The gun case was locked. Samantha had the flashlight so he kicked his booted foot through the glass door, smashing it to bits. The broken glass fell to the floor in a tinkling pile.
His mother would’ve had a fit if she could see him.
Reaching through the broken glass pane, he unlocked the door and it swung open. He grabbed two shotguns and two handguns, a set each for himself and for Samantha. They needed to be prepared for whatever might come at them. He had a sneaking suspicion it would be pretty damn bad.
Russ hoped like hell she wasn’t scared of guns.
The World after the End of the World will never be the same again…
Reaper
© 2011 Mina Carter
Sanctuary. Clichéd name, but the sentiment was still the same. Ten years after the end of the world, ex-soldier Mason and a small group of humans defend their fortified town against creatures of myth and legend made real. But with dwindling game to hunt and a lycan pack in the area looking for an easy meal, just surviving is getting harder every day.
Andy has a few screws loose, and she knows it. She’s been on the road since the bombs fell and changed humanity forever. Driven by inhuman instincts she tracks the newly and soon-to-be dead and dispatches their souls to the afterlife. Sometimes they go quietly, most put up a fight. She doesn’t care either way. Her ambition in life is to find her next hit of coffee and one day, maybe, sleep in a real bed again.
Then Andy’s instincts bring her to Sanctuary and its enigmatic leader, Mason, and even the world after the end of the world will never be the same again…
Enjoy the following excerpt for Reaper:
Ten years, three months and four days. That was how long it had been since the worst day of Andy’s life. Of course, since that date coincided with the Apocalypse—Doomsday, Armageddon or whatever you wanted to call it—it had been a pretty shitty day the world over.
Things hadn’t got much better. She settled her backpack more securely on her shoulders and studied the road ahead. She’d walked these roads since that day, always on the move, never stopping for more than a night or two. She’d tried to in the beginning, but she was just too different to hide amongst humanity for long.
She trudged along the road, the tightening in her calf muscles telling her she was heading up an incline. She wouldn’t have known otherwise, after a while everything looked the same. Dust and fuck-all else leading into foothills and mountains in the distance. Apart from yesterday…yesterday she’d passed a tree. It had provided hours of entertainment.
Reaching the top of the incline something new caught her eye. Pausing to rest her booted foot on the bumper of an abandoned car, she shielded her eyes and squinted. Despite her dark glasses the bright sun foiled her vision, making the dark smudge on the horizon dance and waver.
She growled under her breath. Why the hell couldn’t she have gotten useful abilities like some other paranormals? The ability to change form and run like a Lycan, or the night vision of a Vampire…either would have been useful. At least, far more useful than what she did have, dangled on the end of a chain at the disposal of fate, chasing silver threads only she could see. It sucked, big time.
Of course, most people would tell her to look on the upside—she couldn’t die. Would’ve helped if she’d known that before she’d tried to commit suicide. Three times. That had been the year after the war. She’d been way unstable back then. Mind you, when you were forced to kill your family, friends—hell, everyone you knew, then it was bound to knock a few cogs loose upstairs. Since then she’d come to terms with what she was, somewhat, and just did her job.
The smudge on the horizon resolved itself into a plume of smoke. Five silver lines, the sort only she could see, flickered and lit up in the corner of her vision. They headed off straight towards the smoke.
She sighed. Another job. No rest for the wicked.
The small black mark on the horizon grew larger and larger as she walked. Eventually it became a small town. Andy studied it as she trudged closer. Most humans lived in places like these. Towns fortified against any sort of attack—be that attacks from other humans looking for supplies, or attacks from any of the paranormal types.
This one had particularly good defenses. The person who’d put them together had really known what they were doing. She passed an outer redoubt of steel and iron barricades, nodding at the stony-faced guard stationed at the lookout post.
The silver lines she was following didn’t lead into the town. Instead they branched off to the right. Like a good little puppy she followed them. The skin between her shoulder blades itched as she walked. Within seconds more armed figures appeared on the main wall, silent and watching. She was impressed. These people were on the ball.
Turning the corner she found what she was looking for. A funeral pyre smoldered away, billowing black smoke high into the air. The wind changed direction for a second. Wrinkling her nose she tried to breathe through her mouth. Humans smelt bad enough when cremated, but Ghouls were even worse.
She didn’t need to count the bodies on the pyre. Five silver lines fed straight into what she was looking for. Five souls, the ones belonging to the remains on the pyre, stood waiting for her. Standing in a nice little line, ready and waiting for her to reap them.
Used to the drill Andy took a deep breath, and let her spirit slip into the Shade. The layer between life and the afterlife, it was where the souls waited for a Reaper to come along and send them into the afterlife.
The world changed hue, painted in shades of black and grey. There was no color here, no life to speak of, and the truly alive couldn’t enter this place. She looked over her shoulder at the figures on the wall watching her. To them she would appear to be looking at the pyre. She could step bodily into the Shade if she had to, but figured that would freak them out too much if she just disappeared.
As it was, they wouldn’t see her reach around and
under her pack, drawing the twin sickles sheathed there with practiced movements. A good thing, because she didn’t fancy being hit with enough lead to drop a rhino. She’d only had this jacket a couple of weeks, and the last thing it needed was ventilation.
Brighid’s Cross
Cate Morgan
One woman with a job to do. One gorgeous hacker with a plan. One apocalypse. Any questions?
Aika Lareto is a descendent of St. Brighid in her incarnation of all things fire and warfare in a time when heroes were revered as gods. In 2025, this means Aika is hunted by all things demon and government. All she wants is to get on with her work as guardian of the dregs scraping out a fringe existence in London’s blitzed underground—the lost, forgotten and the just plain ignored.
Declan Pryce is the hacker who finds her first. Quite a feat, considering current ruling government conglomerate Dreamtech has issued a bounty on Aika’s head for her ability to bypass their security systems.
When she escapes Dreamtech’s net, the vote is unanimous—
Aika is a liability in need of immediate resolution—dead or alive is entirely her choice.
No choice, really. She’ll take death over disloyalty every time. Declan has a plan that doesn’t include falling for an impossible woman in an impossible situation. She has plans of her own that don’t leave room for a love life.
If they’re incredibly lucky, it just might work.
Warning: Contains a hot hacker with a penchant for redheads, battles with demons, a little light torture, explosions and a heroine willing to do whatever it takes to do her job.
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