The city erupts in chaos and nightmare violence. Communication in or out is impossible. The skies fill with lethal drone copters and airships bristling with heavy-duty cannon. Abandoned to their separate fates among hordes of monsters, the few surviving humans must find a way to elude the military blockade preventing their escape or to defeat the virus at its source—before government forces sacrifice them all.
Breakneck action, rogue science and deft portraiture combine for a grand and gripping tale of urban terror.
Website / Facebook / Twitter / Goodreads / YouTube
David W. Edwards is the writer, director and producer of the feature film Nightscape and author of the novels Nightscape: The Dreams of Devils and Nightscape: Cynopolis. He attended the University of Southern California's prestigious screenwriting program and earned bachelor's and master's degrees in English Literature while working for a variety of Hollywood production companies. He's the founder and former CEO of a successful high-tech market research firm, and a former two-term state representative. He currently lives in Hillsboro, Oregon with his family.
Follow the entire NIGHTSCAPE TOUR HERE
Brought to you by Worldwind Virtual Book Tours
“Maybe I should get the net,” Deliza said.
“No, no,” Von whispered. “Don’t wanna spook im wit you comin in.”
The pit bull twisted his boxy head to follow Teyo’s slow-motion advance, hackles fluttering and tail swishing. Teyo was careful to monitor the dog only out of the corner of his eye and to keep his catch pole pointed away from the animal. He didn’t regard pit bulls as innately aggressive; in fact, if he were to generalize about breeds on that score, he’d rank Chihuahuas higher. The pit bull inched forward on ragged paws, growling and popping its teeth. Teyo froze for a few tripping heartbeats then spun on the dog as it pounced at Von. He snagged the dog with the catch pole while it was in the air. The noose cut short a petulant bark. The dog skidded into the grass on its chin, its right foreleg trapped in the tightened loop.
When Von shot forward, the dog hurried into the corner formed by the red brick of the porch steps and the waist-high chain link fence.
“Whoa, now,” Teyo said, pressuring the pit bull low to the ground. “Down, boy, down.”
Von ran the noose-end of his catch pole through the scrub grass to loop it around the dog’s shimmying hindquarters. “Got your back.”
The bungalow’s front door burst into jagged fragments and a great black-furred creature cut against the porch light. It was a mythical hybrid of jackal and giant. The creature had feral-red eyes and an elongated head topped with posted ears. Wiry arms ended in grasping, five-fingered claws. The creature reared back on its haunches and released a sonorous howl. The echoes alone seemed enough to settle its savage claim on the city.
Under the creature’s gaze, Von forgot himself.
Teyo yanked the emergency release on the catch pole. “Tha blue fuck?”
“Von!” Deliza screamed. “Von! Your gun!”
Deliza’s voice roused Von to action. He wrapped his fingers around the gun’s taped handgrip and loosed the Glock from his belt. The urgency of the moment caught him up.
Blood dripped from the creature’s chin to its sleek chest.
Teyo aimed his catch pole at the monster as though it were a lance, muttering curses and abuses. The pit bull scrambled around the far corner of the bungalow.
Von squeezed the trigger. The shot broke across the starless sky. The blast returned Von to his senses and he fired again and again. To what effect, he couldn’t say. The creature, the bungalow, the sky, everything, had assumed a watery indistinctness. Wounded, or merely annoyed, the creature growled a warning before clattering down the steps. It dropped to all fours on the concrete walkway and loped down the street to disappear in the dark between street lights.
Von lowered the pistol and gasped. He could barely follow his own words. “Can you believe that shit?”
“Muthafucker,” Teyo said, relieved.
“Couldja tell I hit im?”
Deliza rushed into the yard. Her angular chin looked dented and her breath came in troubled gulps. “That was unreal. I thought for sure it—no, wait…” She gestured helplessly toward the porch.
A middle-aged woman in a tattered nightie lurched to the edge of the top step, stagger-blind. Her mouth was a brilliant wound. Her intestines spilled from between her hands, slicking her bare legs with blood and viscera. She tried for a step that wasn’t there and tumbled down the concrete.
“Oh, God no,” Deliza cried. She pitched forward to check on the woman, stopped, trembling, her eyes welling up.
Teyo sleeved the sweat from his upper lip and said, “That seals it. This is a crazy crime scene now. We gotta pursue, right?”
Deliza bobbed her head in agreement then turned to Von, “You’re the best driver.”
Von threw up his hands, frustrated that Teyo had been the first to suggest pursuit, making him out to be a sidekick. He dug the van keys out of his jean pocket and jingled them cavalierly. “Say ‘Hey’ to a new grade a hell,” he muttered.