He does not need to look at the incoming number to know who is on the other end it’s the call he has been waiting for with a mixture of hope and dread belayed by his neutral exterior.

“speak”

“Deacon“ the voice says in its robotic twang as ever altered mechanically sounding completely inhuman “Next job will be sent via e mail code triple three complete by-”

Deacon interrupts the voice before they can finish with one word.

“No”

“What? Deacon I don’t understand”

“No”

Silence hangs on the other line it stretches for seconds that feel like an eternity. Finally Deacon against his better judgement continues.

“I told you before I’m out finished the answer is no”

“That is not an answer that is acceptable or realistic”

“nevertheless it’s the only one you will get from me” retorts Deacon already knowing this would be the reaction and prepared for the consequences whatever they may be.

“Deacon man it’s not gonna happen, do the job and the company will consider alternative positions for you”

Deacon smiles at the use of the word “man” only one person he knows would use that term.

“Eddie its been a while, you more than most should know when I say something I mean it”

Eddie chuckles down the phone.

“yeah we’ll just this once ya gotta rethink man, what did I tell ya the day you joined?”

The question is rhetorical they both know Deacon is fully aware and would have been whether Eddie had told him or not. No leaving no running no retirement you take the job it’s your life and your death.

Its Deacons turn to chuckle down the phone.

“sometimes rules are meant to be broken you taught me that to”

“not this one it isn’t a rule it’s a choice you made a once in a lifetime choice, no going back no changing, do the job D do it then when can talk about what happens next. No matter how good you are and your good this you won’t be able to do. You have two choices again D, live or die”
Deacon frowns a lights a cigarette already waiting for him next to the phone not caring if it’s seen as a sign of weakness just needing his nicotine receptors to be flooded with toxic joy. He exhales the blue smoke for what seems like an eternity before answering.

“Remember what else you taught me Eddie?” he asks in a slightly mocking tone.

“Taught you a lot of stuff D most of it aimed at keeping you alive which is what I’m trying to do know”

“True enough and number one rule or was it number two I don’t remember but it was right there at the too. Be prepared, be prepared Eddie, this has been coming a while and given me time to do just that. I reckon it will as always increase the chance of success”

“Fuck you D” replies an exasperated Eddie.

“What you think the company don’t know about your secret stash of money or the fact you have booked a plane ticket to Switzerland using an alias? You don’t stand a fucking chance man not a fucking chance!”

This information knocks Deacon slightly he had half expected it and half hoped they would not find out either way did not matter much in the long term.

“Well ain’t you all the smartest cookies now Eddie, still don’t change shit to me or the answer, live or die it will be my choice”

“Ok Deacon” a pause while Eddie sighs “Nice knowing you”

And with that he cuts the connection. Deacon is surprised at the finality of Eddies last words and to be honest expected him to try and convince him more. It’s almost as if he was only half trying as if the outcome had already been known…….

“Shit” mutters Deacon under has breath as the word finishes he is out of his chair spinning round to face the back of it then he r-e-a-c-h-e-s. the world becomes a grainy black and white void of all noise any at all. deacon looks into the. Shocked face of a Marin his twenties, Company written all over him, shaved head and suit, his right arm is through the back of the chair hand reaching for the place where Deacons heart had been a split second anger.

Snarling in anger and frustration at his own stupidity, Deacon acts, grabbing the mans hand in his own ripping the thumb back until it silently snaps. The mans mouth opens in a soundless scream, his concentration broken he flips back into the real world.

A second later Deacon joins him and know the mans scream is piercing as he holds the stump of his arm. The rest lays twitching half in the chair severed as the Company man entered this world.

Deacon ignores him now as the threat has gone, he curses at himself once more for his stupidity. The company knew everything or thought they did the phone call was a trap, and he had almost fallen prey to it stopped only but sensing the tone of Eddies last few words.

Time for plan B so far he had been lucky. And lucky wasn’t worth shit.
He spared a glance at the man slowly bleeding out over his floor. He was desperately trying to staunch the flow of blood with a tourniquet made from his belt but Deacon could see he was beyond fucked.

Deacon throws himself into the kitchen staring intently at the floor to find just the right spot, there he spots the knot in the wood. Pausing to give the dying man a sarcastic thumbs up he reaches and allows himself to fall through to the emergency tunnel running beneath his home. Knowing it would only be a matter of time before the Company put their own plan b into effect.

Eddie spun his chair slowly round. No matter how old he became the joy of a swivel chair still made him smile. Even at a time like this, face crunched in concentration he spun around a few times before facing his desk once again. Deacon that what are you playing at? He wondered. He should have seen this coming, he had known the man for over Twenty years, they had first met when he was Deacon’s age now. Christ that thought made him feel old, like old man time.

He had been with the company fifteen years by then, well established and in his prime. He still remembered the disgust he had felt at being ordered to look after the new boy. In those days people were found by chance. Deacon had survived a car crash that should have killed him, no two ways about that but instead he had been found twenty feet away from his cars mangled remains, without so much as a bruise, impossible according to the group of head scratching police and paramedics. Unlikely thought the Company but certainly not impossible.
He had been watched for six months, almost constant surveillance. And behind the scenes subtle changes to his life, being made redundant from the job he loved, seduced by a stranger in a pub who latter admitted it to his soon to be ex girlfriend. All designed to nudge him toward the right moment, the right time and circumstances leaving him ripe for the picking. It had happened quicker then expected, but Deacon had no close family or friends, had run out of money due to having a feeble savings account, normal for someone his age. Driven to the brink about to become homeless as well as penniless he finally did what the Company had contrived for him to do.

He had reached crossed the line from this real solid world into another, just as he must have done when faced with the prospect off being launched through a car window screen at sixty miles an hour, only this time he chose where and when. Predictably it was in the early hours of the morning and even more predictable it was an expensive jewellers. Surveillance showed him there one minute then not the next, then a few minutes later back pockets stuffed with jewellery and face split into two with the smile plastered on his face. It had stayed there until he had arrived home to see Eddie sitting cool as can be in his flat a chocolate bar in one hand a gun in the other.

Deacon had taken it all rather well, Eddie used the usual mixture of threats and priase with all the work that had gone on in the background to slowly destroy Deacon’s life he really had very little choice but to become like Eddie had a Company man.

Eddie’s displeasure at having to take Deacon under his wing had soon faded and together they had formed a bond closer than mentor and student, until Eddie reluctantly but with growing joy had discovered Deacon had become as close to a son as he would ever have. And now this, in some ways he shouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe seeing what Eddie had become had spurred Deacon on. Washed up and useless, spending day after day training men and women drawn from the military turning them from vibrant people into Company robots with no reprieve or retirement.

Eddie reaches into an open draw and brings out a half empty bottle of whisky. He winces as the alcohol burns his mouth then enjoys the slight warmth in both his body and mind. He gives a silent toast to Deacon tapping the bottle gently on the desk before taking another larger drink. Well he had done all he could, Deacon was either alive and running or dead and being disposed off. Either he had picked up on his warnings or not. The real question now was whether those warnings had been subtle enough. Eddie more relaxed now, due to the whisky and the resignation in his mind slumps slightly in his chair. Subtle he whispers under his breath. Subtle enough and convincing? He continues. He feels the cold metal of the revolver’s barrel touch him gently on the back of his head. Apparently not, is the last thing Eddie says, a second later the trigger is pulled. His desk is strewn with skull fragments, blood and brain mater.

The respite is only brief. Exactly five minutes later the game starts again and this time the rules are no snooze button. Another hand tentatively reaches out to join the first, the alarm clock is twisted so the clock is toward the head that slowly emerges. Pale blue eyes which seem magnified by an almost ghostly white face, lips polled back in either a snarl or a grimace all framed by a tangled mess of long black hair. Jacob moans as the clock seems to gleeful show the time to be 5.30am. He reaches next to him out of habit seeking K before consciousness reminds him she left three months ago. The pain stabs him in his heart as if it were yesterday.

A half blind scrabble locates clothes dumped next to the bed and slowly he manages to dress under the blankets seeking the security and warmth they provide for as long as possible. Finally ready Jacob slips out a glance at the clock reads 5.35am on schedule.

He switches on his kettle, and while he waits for the water to boil heads outside. His house like all of the houses that surrounds him stands on eight foot high stilts. All linked together with a series of winding disjointed gangways. Perhaps house is to generous a term for his abode. A tiny bedroom, kitchen/living area and a sink. Still he’s lucky in some ways, if head a family the house size would be the same, and of course his has the “fireman pole” leading down into his garage.

Jacob leans agains the wooden railing that surrounds the veranda and walkway and looks down. It’s pretty quiet today only one or two of the dead are shambling around. Ken is almost beneath him, one arm hanging by a thread of gristle a leg shattered and useless he’s unable to move around much. Jacob only knows that ken is ken by his faded name badge for a company long forgotten and guesses he is one of the oldest dead around.

“Morning Ken” he greats him, causing ken to point his long dead eyes upwards at the noise.
“The delivery man has a delivery for you!” and so saying Jacob has a much needed piss, his stream of urine steaming gently in the cold morning air. Most of it hits ken in the face washing away some of the ingrained dirt and dried blood. Ken softly growls, not in any offence but excited by the noise and live meat he can sense close by. Jacob finishes and gives a cheery wave good bye. He’s gonna miss Ken when the next culling appears in a few months. Fuck it he thinks to himself as he goes back inside to drink his first of many cups of coffee for the day and get ready for work.

He lights one of his precious cigarettes to smoke whilst drinking his coffee. Not perhaps the healthiest of breakfasts but about all he can face this time of the morning. All to quickly both are finished and it’s time to get into his work clothes. A collection of biker gear reinforced with thick duct tape, a crash helmet with the visor removed and skateboarding arm and knee pads. With his hand axe and revolver in their holsters strapped to his waist he likes to think he looks like some futuristic gladiator but in truth he resembles a giant insect.

A two second slide down the pole and Jacob hits the floor of the garage. The quad bike starts first go and with the trailer firmly attached he raises the garage door and slowly sets out heading for the warehouse.
As he slowly makes his way, others emerge from their homes. He waves a good morning to one or two, but most just ignore him. Like him they many piss over the sides of their house. Others throw buckets filled with their waste into holes dug in the ground for this purpose. Occasionally one of the dead will fall in and flounder amongst the waste. When the time comes for the holes to be filled and fresh ones dug they become trapped in a prison of filth forever.

Jacob can sense his progress being monitored by the army of CCTV cameras that cover the area. So it’s no surprise that as he gets close to his destination a shot breaks the morning silence and one of the dead collapses to the ground missing most of its head. With its second and hopefully permanent death it leaves the area around the seven foot high gate that protects the warehouse clear and it slowly opens. Jacob takes a mental deep breath before heading in, hoping that Baker won’t be there this morning. He hates Baker for several reasons and with good reason.
Today offers a brief glimpse of hope as initially he can only see Dexter and Lewis, both complete idiots as far as Jacobs concerned but still a minor annoyance in comparison. He pulls off his helmet, steam appearing briefly above his head as its released, giving him an almost supernatural appearance.

“About fucking time” sneers Lewis steeping forward. He doesn’t scare Jacob, well not that much. He showed his true colours at the last cull when one of the dead managed to almost take him out, leaving him a quivering tearful mess. Since then his hard man act had doubled in intensity resulting in an unpredictable fuck up off a human.

Dexter by comparison is almost normal, laid back most of the time and a lethal shot with a rifle, it was almost certainly him who had taken down the undead at the entrance.

Due to this Jacob address him pointedly ignoring Lewis.
“All right if I take a shit?” he asks, the warehouse being blessed with one of the few working toilets around.

“Make it quick, Baker wants a word” comes the foreboding reply.
With his mood rapidly sinking at this unwelcome news Jacob heads into the oasis of the small cubicle takes down his trousers and crashes onto the toilet seat head in hands.
Baker his nemesis a man who truly scares everyone he has met and many he has not by his reputation alone. He has only been in position for six months following the suspicious death of Adams the previous overseer. Since that time the lives of nearly all had become markedly worse, a reduction in their daily rations on top off longer working days and demands for extra productivity had produced a grumbling of discontent. But Bakers leadership style of violence, terror and subjugation had meant nothing had progressed further then the grumblings of discontentment.

Jacob had suffered perhaps more than most. As the delivery man he had previously been in a relatively good position. Baker had seemed to despise him from their very first meeting and would like nothing more than to replace him with one of his own men. Aside from this he had also taken the most precious thing in Jacobs life and the only reason he had found to keep living in a world filled with bleakness and grey.

So today i bring you a book review another soon to follow (excited aint ya) so without further ado here it is….

OUTPOST by Adam Baker

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Outpost-Adam-Baker/dp/1444709046/ref=pd_bxgy_b_img_c

When the end of the world comes do you want to be the first to go? or the last to survive.

I happily purchased this book from a local charity shop (i have confessed all to the author, worry not) and boy oh wow was i pleased i did.

The premise;

Picture the Arctic ocean now imagine your a small crew left behind on a derelict oil platform just waiting to be picked up and taken home. Sadly it never happens, the rest of the world has gone to shit, with only a brief clue as to why before all communications with the outside world end.

The Good;

I love the premise and the author brings this world to life wonderfully. You have an incredible feeling of the vastness both of the Arctic and the disused oil rig, but these are also both incredibly tiny worlds due to the situation and environment.   The cast of characters is also quite small, with a few main players in the story fleshed out, why they do the things they do is always believable due to this.

The story evolves with great pacing and some interesting twists and turns. It also makes sense whatever happens due to the writing. I wont talk about the plot or what happens as they would spoil it for any future readers.

I really like the authors writing style, no excess fluff or wandering the almost kind of short sharp sentences that still convey a world alive to all your senses is sublime. Here is a tiny example.

She cooked a pinch of powder and siphoned the syrup into a hypodermic. A humourless smile.

I plan to read it for the third time shortly and recommended it to anybody looking for a great read. It’s certainly not a typical zombie novel in any way shape or form and the bald one thanks Mr Baker for the words and world.

Julie stands at a sink filled to the brim with hot water and bubbles from the sweet lemon smelling washing up liquid. A plastic flower covered apron protects her impeccably ironed cream shirt. She hums a song quietly to herself amazed at just how content she truly is.
She turns to her Daughter Poppy, Ten years old,her face framed by long brown hair, her nose almost touching the dining room table as she peers with incredible intensity at the drawing she has half completed.
Julie’s heart swells with pride at the site. She shakes her head, and to think when the compound had decided over a decade a go that she would mary Jack, she had been horrified and rebelled against the decision. But then she was young and headstrong, her reputation as being fiery and different had already been established throughout the torturous years of school. So full of questions from such an early age, why had quickly become her favourite word, to teachers and her parents. Why do we have to live in the compound? The answer always the same. Outside was dangerous and polluted. Hazmats had to be worn even within the compounds walls, outside even they could not protect her.Why did only the men work and why were the women not allowed to know what they did? Because its always been that way. For safety, protection and for the future it was necessary. These questions and oh so many more, but those seemed somehow the most important the most demanding in her mind and the answers never felt right.
And then of course their was Jack. A tall awkward nineteen year old, solidly built his quiet placid and calm demeanour did not seem possible when encased within his huge muscled torso. But that was Jack solid and strong but so gentle and calm. The compound could not have chosen better. Her anger crashed against him like the sea against a rock. His patience seemed to have no end until finally she had nothing left to throw at him.Within months she had fallen madly and deeply in love with him and all those questions whilst still there had slowly faded into the back of her mind soon to replaced with the joy and hard work of motherhood.
She checks the large clock above the cooker. Ten minutes to five, Jack home at five, their evening meal on the table by ten past. She finishes the washing up, dries her hands and asks Poppy to clear the table. Poppy frowns at her, her drawing pen clamped firmly in her mouth. She gives a curt nod of agreement and although visibly annoyed at her concentration being broken she begins to clear away.
A brief look of worry for her Daughter flashes across Julie’s face. So different from either of her parents, to bright for her own good in many ways. A strange burning intensity seemed to burn inside her very soul. Still she was without doubt the greatest gift ever to be given to either of her parents. Lost in thought she had not noticed the door being opened and when she catches the huge figure in the door it makes her startle her hand automatically reaching toward one of the kitchen knives within their large wooden block.
It only takes a second before she realises its Jack and fear is quickly replaced by joy. He stands in the doorway and dressed in his bright white hazmat suit face hidden behind the black visor its no wonder she was scared however briefly. The air purifier has stepped up its speed to compensate for the open door and Jack steps in and quickly shuts it. He pulls off the large helmet and respirator to reveal his smiling slightly sweat covered face and his sparkling warm blue eyes. “surprised to see me” asks with a big grin on his face.
Julie just smiles at him soaking up the prescience of her husband.”Take the rest of and wash up” she smiles at him.And that’s what Jack does, even after wearing one for all of his life he struggles. It’s just easy for someone of his stature. Julie turns back to face him when she hears the sound of him hoping up and down on one foot. It’s then that she notices the watery red liquid which has run off from some part of the suit standing out with remarkable clarity against the white tiles that make up the entrance to her home.She can’t help but feel unsettled at the sight so wrong so alien in her perfect almost sterile world and worse she finds herself reverting however briefly back to her old self and question what it is her husband does.

As with everything on the world of wonder there appears to be at time some conflict (although not to the extent of religion v religion v atheism) So a particular example of this caught my eye (located slap bang in the middle of my slap head) and it goes a little something like this;
WRITE EVERYDAY!!!! something a few lines half a book complete rubbish just WRITE EVERY DAY!!! force those tapping’s from your keyboard. Sit in front of it with a face covered in sweat as you desperately attempt to pass constipated words. WRITE EVERY DAY!! come on you lazy good for nothing call yourself a writer person do it do it do it etc etc. Now I may be exaggerating slightly (Not at all)but that’s really as far as the chrome domed one can make out of the advice, in a nutshell, boiled down.

And its in a lot of places, even someone who is a real person not a web of wonder and woe creation told me. Oh dear I thought, I dont do that, I cant do that, I’m to tired/busy/have a life/children to do that! I’m never going to be a writer (I am of course, for instance I’m writing this) tears of sadness rolled across my stubble covered face to drip slowly on the pad of the i of the apple threatening to drown its little pixies. Thats it then dreams crushed, pulped withered and died. Not really because, well because I cant be the only person who does not do this can I? A while back i did some writing, i had a window of opportunity and i had to write so i did and i asked a FB friend what they thought And thus was I told this (roughly anyway i did not write it down or anything) “Well its not terrible….but….not as good as you usually write, were you in the writers zone or was it forced?” So you see there ya go indeed they were correct indeed!

Now according to the WRITE EVERY DAY advice thats fine thats good dont worry you wrote. But its not fine with me!! No not at all, if i dont like it myself or believe in it or enjoy writing whats the point!! exercise my creative muscle? well I do that every day its called daydreaming, and yes during this time I’m twirling stories around my little mind, around and around the go, threads of plot and characters, half written stories have their next part written and stored away for later use, whilst fresh new lovely smelling pink and cuddly stories are born into the world(Well my head).
Is that ok? is that enough? Well it is for me anyway and yes of course i wish i could write more and yes i want to publish a novel but thats my dream and passion. Sometimes its slowed down or put on hold, because other things come first, paying the bills, looking after loved ones and sleep!

I did read and was glad I found it someone else a published author who believes (Roughly once again as i cant find the site anymore!!) the tip top important thing about our writing is that WE DO IT BECAUSE WE ENJOY IT so there you go, I think that too WHAT DO YOU THINK?

Alex crawled slowly through the trench, a putrid mixture of water and the remains of the fallen, gagging on the sweet cloying smell of death. Its walls painted in a myriad of colours, red, green, bone white and brown. He slips on what once had been a man, his face engulfed in its putrefying slime. The urge to scream, to stand, to run hit him badly but he gritted his teeth, to stand was to die. For three months now, he had been living in this hell.

He remembered when , himself and his fellow prisoners recently released to join the “Army of God” had been handed uniforms, undertaken physical examinations and been ordered to assemble in front of the man responsible for their training.

They had stood in rows of twenty, still unsure as to what truly was happening but all to a man convinced it had to be better then prison. Armed robbers, murderers, arsonists and political prisoners all stood together, gang affiliations forgotten waiting to hear more about their fate from the General stood ramrod in front of them.

He had greeted them, his tone pleasant and welcoming, calling them brave volunteers, ready to face the enemy, side by side with the regular Army. Then asked for one of them to step forward to assist with part one of the training, out of all the men stood with him that day Alex would never forget the man that stepped forward, huge tall man covered in gang tattoos, he slowly sauntered up to the General towering above him. The General continued to smile and asked him to stand slightly to the side of him. The man nodded his agreement and stood there, arms crossed, looking defiant.

The General’s tone changed “That is the official line, me? I feel you are a bunch of scum, not fit to live yet alone fight with us. You will do as your are ordered throughout your training, failure to do so will result in this” And with that he drew his pistol and shot the man in the head. His body hit the ground, as one the rest of the prisoners began shouting and some started moving forward. The General and his soldiers calmly levelled their weapons at the moving prisoners, the shock of the death overcome by self preservation. Two shots fired in the air was all it took to ensure no one moved another step forward.

Shaking his head from either the memory or revulsion Alex continued. Up ahead he could see what appeared to be a corpse, as he got closer he realised not only was the man alive, but a fellow prisoner one of the hundred as they had become known. It was Davies, Alex had not known he was this side of the trench and looking at him slumped against the dirt wall, face racked with pain and eyes soulless mirrors of despair he wondered if that is how he looked.

“Davies” Alex said in greeting “What you doing here?” he questioned.

“Seemed like a good enough place as any” Davies wearily replied, attempting a smile which only reached half his mouth and never his eyes.

Alex could see the pistol in Davies right hand, bloodied fingers curled so tight, the knuckles shone white in stark contrast against the blood and dirt covered hand.

“Enough?” he asked. Davies just nodded and with his left hand placed a cigarette between parched and cracked lips “light?” he enquired. Alex light the cigarette for him and Davies threw the rest of the packet to him. Alex wanted to do or say something, anything, but knew the time had come to go. “See ya” his final words to a man and the final words the man ever heard. When the shot rang out Alex did not even turn around.

Captain Green sat behind the desk in his personal quarters. He swiftly drank his second glass of whiskey and guiltily adjusted his clerical collar, once so pristine white now a faded grey. He was waiting for the arrival of one of the hundred. Fighting fire with fire as how it had been first described, fighting evil with evil Green thought and if so how could good ever win? With this disturbing thought in his mind he drank another whiskey, this time without bothering with the glass.

Alex finally arrived at the Captains quarters, and with great relief stood up, muscles stretching and bones clicking, he threw a half hearted attempt at a salute almost as an afterthought.
“Private Williamson reporting sir” Green gives him a look, somewhere between pity and contempt “Very good private, you I take it are aware of the reason why you are here?” he asks.

“The line is crumbling, a full retreat, you want what’s left of the one hundred to stay and cover you, does that some it up?” Alex replies.

Something in Green changes with these words, Alex can see it, the truth is this man does not want to order this to happen. He looks on him and the rest of the hundred with pity.

Embarrassed Alex asks “When does this happen sir?”

“As soon as you can gather all your men here, most of the regulars have pulled out already. Hold them for as long as you can, they retreat, demolishing the trench and buildings as you go”

“Do you know how close they are?” asks Alex.

Green rubs a hand over his bloodshot eyes “Close, we think, they seem to sense when we are at our weakest, they seem to smell our fear and desperation”

The rest of the one hundred where all gathered together, they all sensed what was happening, on the way they had seen trenches being destroyed and the regular troops leaving the front. This would be the third time this had happened and they knew not many if any of them would survive what was to come.

Leeder sat with the others, willing his hands to stop shaking, staring at them willing the weakness to leave him. Through all his life, the beatings from his parents, the crime, prison a terrible rage had burned through him, fuelling his need for violence, he had killed four men, two inside prison and been confined to solitary confinement for months on end, but the rage had got him through everything. Now he realised it had left him.

He looked up at spotted Mercer staring at him, he had a constant look of amusement on his face which seemed broader then usual “Hands shaking eh” Mercer stated “Well happens to us all, even big bad killers like you”

Leeder looks him in the eye “Just tired and hungry Mercer, don’t worry about me” he grunts in reply. Mercer just smirks and goes back to cleaning his weapon.

“Worry about your fucking self” Leeder mutters under his breath, wondering how much longer until Alex gets back.

Private Garwod sits slumped against the trench wall, not long now he thinks to himself then heading back to base, those fucking scum can stay here and rot. He hates sentry duty, feels isolated and alone, he looks once more at his watch “come on, come on” he says to it, willing the time onwards.

He feels a gentle cold sensation against his neck, curious he lifts his hand to it, and touches metal. He breathes in deep, ready to shout as loud as he can. He is startled to find nothing escapes his lips, looking down he sees a carpet of red covering his chest, then nothing, he is gone.

Alex and the Captain enter the cold dimly lit underground warehouse containing what was left of the one hundred. “Officer present” shouts Alex, some of the men stand but most remain as they are. He turns to Green and shrugs an apology.

Potter a giant of a man and as far as Alex is concerned a complete bastard stands rigidly to attention. “Permission to speak sir?” he bellows at Green, who looks slightly taken aback.

“Permission granted” he replies.

“Sir are we to be once again left behind to fight ? Sir” queries Potter.

Green once again looks slightly embarrassed as he nods a yes.

“Sir then may I ask what the fuck it is we are fighting?”

“As you all know the enemy are demons, the devils army sent to wipe out mankind and prevent the will of God from being done”

“Fuck you” screams Potter “Are they fuck, no one knows what they are but they aren’t no demons. You can stay here if you like but we have had enough!” and with that Potter and three others, weapons in hand, start to slowly back towards the exit.

Alex’s gun is in his hand and he looks around to see if he has any back up, but no one meets his eyes.

Green is red with rage and fumbles desperately for his own gun in its holster. Alex reaches other and stops him. “You will die” he tells him simply.

“Where you going to go Potter?” he asks

“Never you fucking mind Alex” Potter replies his eyes sweeping the room for any threats.

Suddenly the man next to him is thrown back, a three foot long spear is embedded in his skull. His gun fires of a few rounds as his finger convulses in death.

Potter twists round as fast as he can, but far to slow, as he falls to the ground Alex sees the arrow jutting out from his eye socket.

The room is bedlam, shouts and screams, gunfire at enemies unseen as men try desperately to kill or escape.

Alex had pushed Green into cover the moment he saw Potters death. Green however had jumped back up gun in one hand bible in the other.

“Get down” Alex orders him, adrenaline is now coursing through his body, he screams in outrage at an enemy still unseen.

Green stays behind cover but raises his head to watch.

“What now?” he asks

Alex just shrugs, licking lips made dry with. “Christ knows”

Three regular soldiers come into view, faces frozen in bliss they walk slowly not looking were they walk or even seemingly aware of anything. They get closer and with them comes a noise, a haunting song of beauty. Not of this world but another, its melody washes over the men and slowly but surely their eyes begin to glaze over.

“Fuck” exhales Alex he raises his gun in the air.

“One hundred” he screams over and over whilst firing over and over until his gun is empty.

Others join in firing and screaming. The melody is shattered with the noise and fear and hate behind the mens screams. A hiss of anger echoes around the warehouse, an apparition appears behind the soldiers who have been completely unaffected by the noise.

Well dear friends and readers what news can I vomit on you like a bald headed guru? Time ticks along as it does for us all, scary is it not. This relentless passing of time does however bring summer that tiny bit closer. Its interesting to note that since a drought warning was announced and a hosepipe ban forced upon the dear folk of Norfolk it has rained almost incessantly! How this has tickled the funny bone of the Baldone.

On a personal note life seems to continually throw a rather large amount of the smelly brown stuff towards me, but hey thats life at times. Nether the less this does mean writing blogging and reading take a poor second place to everything else. Looking back this seems to have been the reason or excuse for what feels like an eternity.

So today after a goods night sleep (a rare but oh so welcome occurrence) the hairless wonder has decided to take matters in hand! To which a series of determined well thought out and desperately needed actions were planned. This treasure of a post being but one!
More writing= the completion of two short stories. Instead of cursing about the lack of time to write my first novel, the Baldone will start and finish stories he can manage! genius!

More blogging with frequency increasing to two to three a week. Manageable with the joy of the i pad and more blog reading again more likely with my apple pad of joy.
The scariest of actions also happened today………. Formally an avid hater of Facebook for many a year my conversion to acolyte must surely be complete! The bald wonder has….. drum roll please…… has… created a facebook group. My heart and soul is split between pride and shame. Writers haven aims to be a place to talk to other writers about writing, publishing, inspiration etc. The baldone knows the odds are firmly against the fledgling idea but sod it what is there to lose?

So dear sweet beloved supporters brace yourself for the terror to come and feel free to join Writers Haven a group beyond open

Well hello dear friends and welcome to the new and hopefully improved rantings of the bald man, although it should perhaps be called Im a nurse get me out of here! Tired that one word just defines the current being of the bald one. I guess its called work for a reason and oh my days truly its work currently. Sadly life has been filled with lots of life difficulties over the last five months and time spent not stressed or exhausted is short to say the least.
The novel has been scrapped for now. It may resurface as a novella should life give me a break but we will see. The bald one has been thinking hard about the whole blog and writing game and the hopefully good news is both shall continue. My current aim is to write short stories in an attempt to finish stories and maybe publish them via self publishing for a low price possibly even free. Whilst this may bring in a tiny amount of income it should also hone my writing skills. Currently I am trying to finish two short stories both for others so finished they shall be.
The blog also needs more work and commitment, the current statistics are rather depressing but hey the support its always received for a hardcore group of wonderful people keeps the bald one typing. And to you I say thank you.
A long slow approach is my aim to writing and publishing infamy and so the fight between what I have to do and what I want to do continues. Until next we meet farewell and may the odds be ever in your favour.