NOTE: This is a repost of a Bleeding Kansas excerpt that I’ve already reposted once to Google+ this week. This is the kind of thing that happens when authors have to do their own marketing. Enjoy:
The following passage strives to capture that special feeling when you go to your room on the 15th floor and realize you’re watching the sun go down on a completely different world than the one you woke up to this morning. From Chapter 7 of Bleeding Kansas, “In the Night Kitchen”:
On my way down the hall to my room I’m startled by the whump! of a body throwing itself at the other side of a door, roaring and snarling like a frustrated predator behind the glass at the zoo. Thank God that thing hasn’t figured out how to work the latch. Thanks again for being many doors down from mine. I don’t want to have to try and sleep with that thing’s angry, hungry yowling in my ears.
I open the door to my room, this same room I woke up in this morning. The same room on another planet, where the hotel staff is dead or food for the same. I close the door behind me and secure the latch.
The sun edges below the horizon, its orange-yellow beams blazing like a silent scream through the window. I look down onto streets that were completely empty this morning. Still no cars or trucks rolling about. Just…people? It’s like Mardi Gras, wall-to-wall bodies and not one of them walks a straight line. I see no cars or trucks, armored or otherwise. No muzzle flashes of rifles or sidearms. All you see are these erratic, atomized little blotches, every one a stone killer.
Mardi Gras of the dead. I like the sound of that. Not sure I’d like the smell, taste, or feel so much, but it sure sounds like fun!
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Bleeding Kansas Copyright © 2013, 2014, 2017 by Lawrence Roy Aiken
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