A Bit of Apocalypse Weird: Ironheart

So, I’m a little over 75 percent through drafting Ironheart, my sequel to The Serenity Strain. I’ve really enjoyed writing this novel, and I wanted to share a little snippet with you. (If you’re subscribed to my newsletter, you might’ve seen this already.)  Ironheart should be published early in 2016. Keep in mind, this is draft copy. I hope you enjoy the snippet!


The Maestro gripped his axe with both hands. He listened hard to hear if officers were answering the call-to-arms from anywhere nearby. He heard rustling, an echo of the radio from somewhere on the second floor.

They were coming.

Ambush. That’s what he needed. To set up an ambush.

That’s the old school way.

Marsten and his weapon of choice.

Marsten and his weapon of choice.

Marsten quickly assessed his options. Heavy boots were already headed his way.

The ladies’ room.

Perfect.

He slipped his way in and closed the door, quiet as a whisper. The Maestro pressed his ear against its smooth surface like an Indian on the trail.

Heavy boots, clomping closer.

He turned, planted his feet, and flattened his back against the door. Just in case.

Marsten paused for a moment to catch his breath. He hadn’t noticed until now just how exciting his one-man mission really was. He’d missed that. The rush of red murder, burning in his veins.

Then he noticed the shadow in the stall. A shadow that moved. No, more than moved. If a shadow could tremble, this one did.

The boots passed by on their way to somewhere else.

“Little pig, little pig…” breathed Marsten, staring at the space beneath the stall door. He levered himself off the ladies’ room door with his axe handle. “Let me come in.”

The Maestro stalked the short space to the stall with its door latched tight.

A thin defense, that, he thought, with a glance toward his fireman’s friend. Just what you were made for.

He waited a moment. Let the sow behind the stall door see his shadow. Let her wonder who it was, run through the possibilities in her mind. Would the intruder do her harm? Unspeakable things? Or maybe it was a nice policeman, come to save her.

Yeah, not so much.

Marsten lightly tap-tap-tapped on the stall door with his axe. But he didn’t say a word.

The piggy lost her perch on the commode and fell backward into the stall. Frantic breathing gave her gender away. Female for sure.

No shit. Ladies’ room.

The Maestro curled his massive fingers over the top of the door so the piggy-sow could see them and rattled it in the frame before tap-tap-tapping again. A little louder this time, with increased enthusiasm. Like a lover, whose touch grows heavier when his heart begins to race.

He saw the shadow of a shin become skin beneath the door. The latch turned. Marsten stepped back. He swallowed the saliva pooling in his mouth.

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