June 19, 2013 · 12:56 pm

Traveling With the Dead


Traveling With the Dead; 1995 Barbara Hambly; Del Ray, NY773989

This is number two of Hambly’s vampire/murder/suspense novels involving Dr. James Asher, his wife Lydia Asher and their unwilling, older than dirt, vamperic associate Don Simon Ysidro.

As always my reviews are not as much about the content of the book as it is about the over all flow and structure. But let me state here that I think of the three books in this particular series to date – “Those Who Hunt the Night”; “The Magistrates of Hell”; and “Traveling With the Dead” -  book number two is by far my favorite, at least in terms of story and plot.

What I like most about the author’s stories is their ease of  read and that almost all of her characters are even easier to connect to; something I can’t say about every author’s work I read. It’s not that the plot is simple or that the characters have no depth or emotional texture to grab hold of – just the opposite. But if Hemingway wrote to stimulate the soul, then Hambly writes to entertain it with intelligence and ingenuity. And though I wouldn’t use  terms like ‘brilliant’ in connection with her prose, I wouldn’t hesitate to use ‘astute’, ‘clever’, ‘cunning’, ‘intriguing’ or ‘vulnerable’.

“What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much, though.”― J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Mechanically speaking I think it would be hard to fault Hambly’s efforts (but then I’m the one who loves a truly convoluted tale whose main characters have been known to switch plot lanes without turn signals) but correctly structured stories still don’t guarantee the story is worth the read. In this case she’s managed to do both: write a well structured story while telling a good tale.

If I were looking for something to stimulate my cerebral cortex I’d probably have gone with Hemingway. But on the other hand if I were looking to unplug from a long day of writing, SM, and life in general and I needed to be delightfully entertained, I’d go with “Traveling With the Dead.”

On my reader scale of one to five stars I’m giving Traveling With the Dead 3.5 stars.

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June 18, 2013 · 12:38 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


Nanya-Rock-Formations  Ch. 34 Hemingway Walks Out of the Bar

There was only one way to access the island from Luna Beach and it was on the same trail Brother Theopholis and the three damphirs were now on. Starting at the head of what appeared to be a sheer rock wall the trail he now hiked down had seen more than two hundred years of priests, traders and local inhabitants  weaving back and forth between its boulder strewn, tree felled edges. Recent storms had added even more obstacles to negotiate resulting in taking  him  far longer to reach his friends than anticipated.

Occasionally the trail would open up enough for him to be able to look down and catch glimpses of where they were on their upward ascent but that stopped as soon as the path jogged into a series of serrated plates of shale. Formed out of a time when the Juan de Fuca still buckled between the ebb and flow of earths  North American  and Pacific Rim Plates, the region now called Puget Sound became a cornucopia of water, rock and stone eruptions, some of which were big enough to support entire mountain ranges, others so small sailors often mistook them for breached whales. On Vashon Island these manifestations of geological wonder often presented themselves in the form of vertical funnels of rock. Like Hemingway walking out of a bar, their appearance was neither convenient nor predictable, simply there to be negotiated with no other way around.

By the time the monk made it out the other side he was beginning to worry he wouldn’t reach  his friends in time. It didn’t matter that he could not have done anything until the vision finished its course or that he’d been slowed down by the excess of debris. Given the urgency of what he’d been shown,  every delay meant the chances of reaching Aryan in time grew less and less.

Lost in thought Brother Theopholis almost lost his footing skirting around a clump of broken tree limbs and looking up found Aryan collapsed in the center of the trail, the section of her pant leg not hidden by an oversized jacket stained a dark shade of red. Squatted on either side, their faces a mirror image of fear were Fendar and Pedal. Hearing his approach the latter looked up and cried, “Theo thank God Aryan said she saw you but then she collapsed on the trail and we tried to wake her up but we think she forgot to take her shot and then she was shaking and …Fendar reached across the unconscious girl and squeezed Pedal’s hand. “Shhhh. It’s okay.” He crooned, ” Theo will know what to do.”

But seeing his friends ashen face, obvious loss of blood, knowing that an even now nanomites were boring their way through her side in search of vital organs the monk wasn’t at all sure he did know what to do or that he would have time in which to do it.  Silently he prayed,  ”Lord we’ll be needing one those miracles now.”

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June 17, 2013 · 2:20 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


Nanya-Rock-FormationsCh. 34 Hemingway Walks Out of the Bar

There was only one way to access the island from Luna Beach and it was on the same trail Brother Theopholis and the three damphirs were now on. The well worn path the monk now hiked down had seen more than two hundred years of priests, traders and local inhabitants weaving back and forth between its boulder strewn and tree felled edges. But with  all the added debris from recent storms a decent that should have taken less than twenty minutes was taken him much longer.

Occasionally the trail would open up enough for him to be able to look down and catch glimpses of where they were on their upward ascent but that stopped as soon as the path jogged into a series of serrated plates of shale. Formed out of a time when the Juan de Fuca still buckled between the ebb and flow of earths  North American  and Pacific Rim Plates, the region now called Puget Sound became a cornucopia of water, rock and stone eruptions, some of which were big enough to support entire mountain ranges, others so small sailors often mistook them for breached whales. On Vashon Island these manifestations of geological wonder often presented themselves in the form of vertical funnels of rock. Like Hemingway walking out of a bar, their appearance was neither convenient nor predictable, simply there to be negotiated with no other way around.

By the time the monk made it out the other side he was beginning to worry he wouldn’t reach  his friends in time. It didn’t matter that he could not have done anything until the vision finished its course or that he’d been slowed down by the excess of debris. Given the urgency of what he’d been shown,  every delay he encountered meant the chances of reaching Aryan in time grew less and less.

Lost in thought Brother Theopholis almost lost his footing when skirting around a clump of broken tree limbs he looked up to find Aryan collapsed in the center of the trail,  her pant leg and  oversize jacket stained a dark shade of red. Squatted on either side, their faces a mirror image of fear were Fendar and Pedal. Hearing his approach the latter looked up and cried out, “Theo thank God Aryan said she saw you but then she collapsed on the trail and we tried to wake her up but we think she forgot to take her shot and then she was shaking and …Fendar reached across the unconscious girl and squeezed Pedal’s hand. “Shhhh. It’s okay.” He crooned softly, ” Theo will know what to do.”

But seeing the girls ashen face, obvious loss of blood, knowing that a even now nanomites were boring their way through her side in search of vital organs, the monk wasn’t at all sure he knew what to do or that he would have time in which to do it.  Silently he said,  ”Lord we’ll be needing one those miracles now.”

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June 12, 2013 · 12:55 pm

Dawnthief: The Review


th_ebf486218337267c1b432845a3df25be_1301584663_magicfields_cover_artwork_1_1Dawnthief; James Barclay, 2009; Prometheus Books, Amherst, NY

Dawnthief is a first for author James Barclay and myself, and I must say for a first book-date it was  pretty sketchy. Not that I don’t think the novel (first in three series “Chronicles of the Raven”) was an intentionally badly written book. I actually thought for a fantasy novel the author created a rather unique story line. Which lets face it, with over one hundred thousand new authors cranking out manuscripts per year, is not all that easy to do.

No, my issue with the book wasn’t about content or characters or even story line; all three aspects of the book have what it takes to create a really good tale. What I was disappointed in  was that the author took the ingredients for a really great story and only wrote half of it. Kind of like having all the ingredients for a frittata, then only cooking it half way through. The result being, Barclay ended up with a story that, in my not so humble opinion, is one of the most underdeveloped, finished stories, I’ve ever read.

What only took the author 399 pages to say, should have taken him at least twice as many, if not more. Where he was given incredible opportunities to create layers of richly done back story, intrigue, and world building, Barclay  instead chose to serve up only what he absolutely had to and still call it a book. Almost as though he was afraid that if he used too many words he’d bore the reader. The only boredom this reader suffered was the recurring disappointment of a half told story.

I generally file novels in one of three categories: Bad, Good, and Fabulous. After reading Dawnthief, I now find myself compelled to create a fourth: Had all the potential of a great novel but…

Will I be reading “Noonshade“; #2  in the “Chronicles of the Raven”? Let’s just say my perpetually optimistic outlook is the only reason I’m considering it.

On my reader scale of 1-5 stars, “Dawnthief” gets 3 stars for overall read, and 4 for potential. Crossing my fingers my generosity is not wasted.

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June 10, 2013 · 12:59 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


_57885474_cashpointCh. 33 Dairy Queen Blizzard

The creature slipped under the broken guard rail dropping to the oil gummed floor below. Within the pits narrow channel the smell of grease, burnt rubber, gasoline and decayed rodents blended into a fragrance strong enough to overpower even the most discerning olfactory glands.  A shaft of sunlight slipped through one of the windows from above,  dissecting the chambers width and forcing the creature to move closer to the cement wall. Quickly it made its way towards a door whose existence had been strategically camouflaged behind  a barrier of  shelves cluttered with empty containers advertising Dairy Queen Blizzards,  premium belts,  superior oil filters,  10-30 and 10-40 wt. lubricants as well as  first-rate synthetics.

Revenants, as they are called by beings whose existence they view as nothing more than food and entertainment, were not themselves the result of great wars or experiments gone awry. Neither were they young in comparison with humans nor so old as to be thought of as the counterparts of Anakim. Without any need to reproduce themselves they naturally tended to be solitary creatures and had, as far as the few who knew anything about them could determine, never hunted closer than five hundred miles to another of their kind. Of their numbers only a handful had ever been documented.

Pushing a collection of rusted car doors, broken ladders and automobile seats long relieved of their usefulness out of its way,  the revenant slipped through the opening into the room beyond. To the doors right, those who called Seattle’s underground terra firma home, had stacked half a dozen torches soaked in oil ready to be lit. Grabbing them up the creature walked across the tiny room,  stood before a floor to ceiling length electrical panel, swung its gun metal gray door aside and stepped out into the tunnel beyond. Then careful to stay away from the tunnels center it dropped to all fours and scuttled in a southerly direction.

Before long the tunnel was intersected by several more and taking the one closes to its right, the revenant  sped along until piles of rock and support beams devoured under the combined assault of termites, beetles and subterranean fungi began to block its way.  Abandoning  the torches in favor of freeing it’s clawed hands, the revenant began digging with the  dexterity of a mole until it wasn’t long before it found itself at the edge of a vertical shaft.  For a moment it waited, its hairless pate cocked sideways.  When it heard whatever it was it had been listening for,  the creature scooted its shapeless body forward until metal rungs  from a ladder used during the days when humans still  labored to keep Seattle’s tunnels and sewer systems free from obstruction and homeless vagrants, were within it’s reach.

As the creature climbed higher the shaft began to fill with a deep humming, its sound wafting across fifty feet of dirt and exiting  through a vent cut within the oil pits concrete wall.  Motioning for everyone to stop Spider tried to remember where he’d heard the sound before.

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June 5, 2013 · 12:08 pm

A Searing Wind: The Review


12352360Battle for America: A Searing Wind; W. Michael Gear & Kathleen O’Neal Gear, 2010; Gallery Books

Book #1: The Coming Storm

Book #2: Fire the Sky

Book #3 in Contact: Battle for America brings the story of Pearl Hand and Black Shell to an unresolved ending. Why do I say that? Because no matter how well Michael and Kathleen Gear tell the story about the battle of Native Americans to save their land, and the failed attempt of Hernandez de Soto to conquer and subjugate its citizens, the sad fact remains that he was one man in a long line of  megalomaniacs who would continue to believe it was their appointed destiny to bring the ‘barbaric savages’ of the Americas under the rule and reign of whatever nation and god these demonized conquers claimed to represent.

And we who call ourselves ‘Americans’, are living proof of that fact.

Frequently in a series of books, there will invariably be one or two I like better than the rest. Take “The Lord of the Rings” series for instance; I like “The Fellowship of the Ring” and “The Return of the King”, but didn’t care too much for the “The Two Towers”. Not that the second novel wasn’t important to the over all story, only that J. J. Tolkien didn’t make me feel as emotionally invested in the second, as he did in the first and third.

But I can’t say that about “Contact: Battle for America”. In each book Gear and Gear captured my mind, will, and emotions, then compelled me to be as invested in the one as I was in the other. Truth to tell, it is the developing intimacy between the main characters that allowed me to hitch a ride on their journey and experience first hand the hopes, disappointments, outrage, fear, and sorrow of the books many heroes.

If I had any criticism about the overall story, it would have been that I might have enjoyed them even more (if that were possible) had the POV been divided between the two heroes, rather than predominately Black Shell. Several times I felt like a particular scene or battle could have been experienced better through the eyes of a woman versus those of a man. But as I said, doing so would have only heightened my enjoyment of an already well told story, not defined it.

On my readers review of one to five stars, I’m giving “A Searing Wind” 4 stars for overall story, and 3 stars for making me cry.

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June 3, 2013 · 12:37 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


post-apocalyptic-kids-gas-masks-underground-tunnel-digital-art-1920x1080-hd-wallpaperCh. 32 Bladder, Bowels & Musical Bowls

Knowing the creature was waiting down in one of the oil pits waiting to ambush them and actually having to face it were two entirely different  things. The first just made his bladder weak but the later… Spider was grateful he didn’t have bowel problems.

The revenants ability to blend with its surroundings made it all but impossible to detect, particularly if those surroundings were beyond daylight. But damphirs, like reavers, were as much a part of the night as the creature and so by focusing on the absence of light in an objects structure Spider had been able to track the creatures acrobatics across the warehouse trusses, down it’s metal siding to the floor and oil pit.

He signaled for the reaver and Wrench to join him. “We’ve got company.”

The reaver didn’t say anything but Wrench looked skeptical. Jerking his head in Gloriach’s direction said , “Ya mean somethin other than im?”

Spider thought he saw the reaver’s eye twitch. “Yes. We, the reaver and I, think it’s a revenant.” He watched the skin beneath Wrenches freckles blanch. He knew exactly how  the boy felt. No one wanted to take on a revenant, not even reavers it would seem.  “We could try another way.” he offered, knowing this was their only option but feeling like he needed to offer him a choice all the same.

A spark of hope filled Wrench’s eyes. “Is there time?” he asked. Turning towards the reaver, “Can we get there before the rodaanians do?”

Shaking his head Gloriach answered, “No. For the past year the rodaanians have been working with the strigori, varloc and humans, tracking your movements. It’s how I discovered your plans to leave the city.”

Spider felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He and Oz had known that sooner or later their plans to go north would eventually be discovered, they just hadn’t counted on it happening before they’d actually left. “How… Wrench began but Spider held up his hand, “Later. Right now gettin to Trevor and the others before the rodaanians do  means going through the tunnels.”

Knowing there was really no other choice,  the damphirs and reaver started towards the oil pits and the darkness that waited below. Careful not to step into a trap or worse, get blown to pieces by an innocuously hid explosive, they darted in and out of the debris like a game of musical bowls.  By the time the three reached  where the revenant had slipped down into the pit, Spider had made his decision.

Grabbing Wrenches coat sleeve he said, “When we get below I want you to stay behind me and the reaver.”

“But I…” Wrench began.

“No. Your faster than I am and I need you to get to Trevor and fill him in. If you don’t see me in twenty minutes, you and the others take the wagons, gather the rest of the tribe and go to Oz. He’ll know what to do.”

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May 29, 2013 · 12:09 pm

Fire the Sky: The Review


8872989Battle for America: Fire the Sky; W. Michael Gear & Kathleen O’Neal Gear, 2010; Gallery Books

Fire in the sky is the second novel in Gear & Gear’s “The Battle for America” series. Just as with the first book “Coming of the Storm”, the authors have done a remarkable job of drawing this reader into the social, political, spiritual and geo-agricultural life of the Native American Indian. And even though the book is a fictional archology of the history and  culture of Indigenous Americans during the time Spanish explorer Hernando de Soto and his mercenaries landed in Central America, it is never the less a great historical read.

By creating characters like Black Shell and Pearl Hand who,  as nomadic traders,  would have had inside knowledge about numerous tribes, their politics, trade, geographical terrain and cultural differences, Gear and Gear  have woven a very credible story. My only complaint is that historically, it is depressing to realize that it was simply the Native American’s ignorance of Spanish iron and horses that became the crippling force behind de Soto’s unstoppable success: that and the fact that he just flat-out fought dirty.

Another aspect of Gear and Gear’s authorship that I appreciate is the way they centered the conflict around the spiritual beliefs that would have been indelibly embedded within both the Native American and Spanish culture. Not because I think every novel needs to have that factor within it, but in this case its important to realize how integral to the overall story it is that both cultures were, and to some extent still are, heavily influenced by their spiritual beliefs.  If we remember our history, one of the greatest religious persecutions in antiquity finds its roots in the Spanish Inquisition, and therefore important to the overall justification of conquer and conquered, that de Soto and his mercenaries would have felt while massacring thousands of people who did not worship or perceive the spirit realm in the same manner as themselves. In their minds, any race that wasn’t Catholic would have been considered devils, demon worshippers, and therefore deserving of subjugation and death.

On my reader scale of one to five stars, I’m giving “Fire the Sky” 3.5 stars for overall story, and 4 for historical integrity.

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May 28, 2013 · 12:35 pm

Loosing The Dogs of Social Media


353503I’ve been a  FB ‘Like’ fan of Anne Rice’s for some time. Though not always in agreement with her take on life, I have, until recently, appreciated her desire to provoke her fans into action on subjects she herself is passionate about. Now if I share Anne’s passion for whatever topic she’s posted that day, I read on. But if I don’t it simply goes the way of all the other posts I’m either tired of hearing about, not interested in, don’t share the same level of passion for or are just plain offended by – ignored or spammed.

Generally Anne’s unread posts fall somewhere within those parameters. Except for a couple of weeks ago when I followed the thread of her comment to Kayleigh Hebertson, aka Ms. Articulate, who had come across one of her vampire books – “Pandora” – at a second-hand store. It seems the blogger in question was looking for a book to use in some art project and purchased it with the intent of ripping out its pages (the sacrilegious desecration  of  any book  sends chills down my spine). I can’t remember why, but prior to tearing it apart she elected to read the book then write of very honest and candid response on what she thought about it.

Sounds pretty innocuous right? Author writes story. Story gets published (albeit fifteen years ago). Book gets found in used bookstore, read by unfamiliar reader, and viola – receives a review (very much like moa). Not a great review, but not an ugly one either. And admittedly the reader, being unfamiliar with Rice’s vamperic characterizations, missed a few key elements that are the hallmark of her work. But really, isn’t that part of the life of any writer? Some like what you write, other’s don’t. Some get it, other’s not so much.  So you learn to savor the good reviews and either use the one bad ones as a catalyst to improve your stories or tear them up for fireplace fuel. Either way they’re both useful.

Now why did this story catch my attention? Why take time out of my own writing schedule to comment on something as trifling as one persons opinion about anther author’s work? Don’t I have enough things to write about  that I don’t need to sit down and pound out a response to something as seemingly insignificant as an famous authors response to a little known blogger?253347_10151662481040452_1268361199_n

Well let me ask you, the reader, this. Why, of all the reviews that Anne Rice has received, and will probably continue to receive, did she highlight one obscure blogger honest enough to say she didn’t like “Pandora”? Why single out a gal because her impressions of the vampire genre, which in all likelihood has been shaped more by YA  that it has by Baby Boomer’s, challenges Anne’s humanization of them? Is the author so worried about what kind of impact this one review will have on the thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of other reviews? Is her ego that fragile that it can’t take one not so great review? After all these years? And if that’s the case, why subject herself to the bad when I’m sure she is undulated with so many good?

These were some of the questions rattling around my head. And the more I thought about Rice’s response to the bloggers review on her book, the angrier I found myself getting. And the angrier I found myself getting, the more I decided that I couldn’t stay quiet about an author who, in my not so humble opinion, has used her voice and considerable influence in the internet community to unleash the hounds of hell on someone far less known or influential. (Even the blogger was intuitive enough to think her response strange.)

Now you might ask, “How did Anne unleash the hounds of hell?” “Did she actually go to the bloggers page and write a comment?” “Did she post a scathing article on her Timeline linking it with the bloggers post?” She didn’t have to. All she had to do to release the Internet Furies was go on her Timeline, mention the review, add the link, and let the chips fall where they may.

Authors like Anne Rice, who know the power of the pen, also know the power of fan loyalty. And let me assure my readers  no one has a wider, more loyal fan base than she does. It’s why she is as socially engaged on Facebook as she is. It’s why she does her own author PR. It’s why she can drop a pebble in the social media pond then stand back and watch the sharks feed. And it’s why quiet frankly, I find such passive abuse of power far from flattering.

If Rice feels like she must comb the internet for reviews, or entertain the not so subtle CIA like actions of  her followers, then at least have the decency to go and engage the poor creature in a conversation herself, rather than sit back let the social feeding frenzy do it for her.

There are umpteen million things I like about Anne Rice as an author. There are also umpteen million things I don’t. But until now it wasn’t personal. Now?  Now  I’m having a hard time separating the authors  lack of social integrity with the quality of her work. Maybe in my case ignorance would have been bliss – for me. But what about the blogger who got slammed for using her blog to write about her life and the things she does and doesn’t like? It wasn’t like she went over to Anne’s blog and used its very public forum to take an emotional dump. Even her counter response to Rice’s pit-bulls very rude and occasionally insane remarks was restrained and courteous.

Yes I know that I’m always raving about author loyalty and how I believe one bad book doesn’t define the quality of those to follow. And yes I’ve got a real issue with people using social media as their personal soap box to rant about others. But isn’t there a time when even people as socially non-confrontational as myself need to stand up and say “Are you kidding? Was it really necessary to turn the dogs loose on someone just because they don’t like your fictional characters or call into question your portrayal of that particular genre or subject? Shouldn’t an author of Anne Rice’s caliber be leading us wannabe writer’s into greatness by setting an example of benevolent social integrity rather than author pettiness?

I’d like to think so. I’d also like to think that had Ms. Rice really thought about what kind of legacy this sort of public display of bad PR leaves behind, she would not have done it – but rather censored those fans who tried. Anne Rice was a pioneer in the humanization of the vampire genre and a bridge building forerunner between fantasy and regular fiction. I would hate to see  her burn it.

So for the time being I feel compelled to remove Ann from the list of authors I’d most like to immolate.  That doesn’t mean that I won’t change my mind or that this one incident will blacklist her from my bookshelves. But it does mean that the lesson I most learned here is when reader’s give an author the power to influence the world, they need to use it sparingly and use it wisely. It takes a long time to get to the top but only seconds to fall to the bottom.

Additional Links to this story:


http://www.dailydot.com/culture/anne-rice-pandora-review-backlash/


http://www.dailydot.com/culture/anne-rice-pandora-review-backlash/


http://www.dailydot.com/culture/anne-rice-pandora-review-backlash/

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May 27, 2013 · 12:55 pm

The Remnant: 500 WC Prompted Novella


387444-bigthumbnailCh. 31  I Meant Well

Trench’s information loosed an endless stream of possibilities into Trevor’s mind. In a city with as many different life forms as Seattle, all vying for a piece of the landscape, anything was possible. And living in an area that was the gateway to just about everything west of the Cascades was not just about survival. It was about dominance, power and food. And the tribe, clan or federation that possessed those three things ruled the city and everyone in it. That’s why Spider and the others decided it was imperative they get out and that they do it now. Too many people were missing,  more than just those lost to reavers or the strigori. People like Axel and Twist disappearing without a trace. Humans using their kids as bait to trap other races for food.

It used be that people came into the city to survive. Now? Now they left it.

Someone calling his name broke through that train of thought. “Sorry. Ready?”

Trench nodded, “Sedona and I were watching the northern tunnels, you know the ones over by that old warehouse and the factory where Aryan gets all that stuff for making…?”

“Yea, yea, yea…” Trevor said impatiently, resisting an urge to grab the boy by the jacket and tell him to just get to the point…He shoved his hands in his pockets instead. “Ok. So…?”

Taking a step back, Trench went on, “Well anyway we hear all this noise, like somebody’s throwing stuff. You know. Like when you and Pedal go hunting for rats.” He waited for Trevor’s  nod. “Well it sounded just like that. Cept Sedona said she thought she heard somebody who sounded just like Spider yelling something.”

By this time the boy was beginning to look like a fish out of water.

“It’s okay Trench. Breath” Trevor said, knowing that giving into his frustration wouldn’t make the story come out any faster. Between the boys size and his tendency to get short-winded, the information would come out when it came out. Shoving his hands even further down his jeans pockets Trevor gave him another moment than asked, “Okay?”

Swiping a chubby hand at the dirty sweat dripping from the end of his nose, Trench nodded. “Anyway, by the time I got to where Sedona was standing…I was guarding the tunnel under the factory…so by the time I to where Sedona was standing, Spider and Wrench were running out of the tunnel leading to the warehouse with this huge reaver behind them, yelling for me to go and get you guys.”

Gathering up his bow and ax from the wall next to him, Trevor glanced to where he’d last seen the others. Finding no one he pointed in the direction of the storage rooms, “You go find Dash and Signal and tell them what you just told me. Tell them to bring weapons and meet me at the old B Street Warehouse.” As he started off towards the same tunnel the other boy had come out of he yelled back over his shoulder, “Tell them its reaver time.”

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