The
Fourth Generation feature
Ahoy, lovely readers!
Sorry for the temporary
silence, but I’m happy to say that I am safe and sound on American soil again!
Japan was excellent, and I have a few more stories to tell about the
experience, but I’d like to get right back into what I love doing best. That’s
right, it’s time for another fiction feature!
This time, I’m happy to
introduce a new author and his debut novel. Meet Chris Von Halle and his novel,
The Fourth Generation!
In the future, no adults exist. Ever since the plague swept the
world 100 years ago, no one has lived past seventeen.
Sixteen-year-old Gorin, a collector of curious artifacts left
over from the pre-plague civilization, is on the verge of perishing from that
deadly epidemic. And his last wish is to find a way to visit the rulers’
reputedly magnificent, off-limits mansion.
Up against the clock, he and his friend Stausha steal into the
mansion and discover a secret more horrifying than they ever could’ve
imagined—a secret that holds the key to the survival of the whole human race.
Sounds like a winner for anyone who’s into the hot topic of
teens in a post-apocalyptic world! Only living to 17? What a crazy, short life!
But don’t let me ramble on about this exciting tale. How about I tease you a
little more with an excerpt?
I
raced up the stairwell pretty fast for someone in my awful condition. My empty
backpack bounced on my shoulders, my feet landing just in front of the steps’
worn, chipped edges. Sunlight leaked through the dusty windows at the top of
each landing, enough to light my way to the decaying apartment building’s
eighth floor.
The
rest of the Valuable Objects better still be there.
No way I was losing the Tournament
of Prestige this year, and the VOs could be worth just enough prestige points
to finally push my faction into the top spot. But if someone else found them
while I was gone…
At last I made it to the eighth
floor. My chest heaved as I sucked in breath, my burning legs threatening to
crumple.
You’ve
gotta be kidding me.
The second door on the right lay
wide open. My heart banged against my ribs, making it tough to breathe, as I
crept to the door as quietly as only I could.
I peeked inside the room. My gut
clenched, even though I’d seen it coming.
A boy about my size—taller than
average with good-size muscles—stood in front of the old wooden cabinets on the
left side of the room. He had blotchy, dark gray skin, so was about sixteen
years old like me. His back looked a little crooked, like his spine wasn’t
quite aligned right. Mine was probably in similar shape.
Even
from the doorway I could see through the cabinet doors’ inlaid glass. Empty,
except for one measly glass bottle. Sure enough, the boy started to turn away
from them. I jerked my head back into the hallway, then peered back in. He made
his way to the right side of the room.
No—not
there.
He stopped at the faded loveseat
wedged against the wall. Patches of peeled leather formed large, complicated
shapes that looked like continents on a globe.
Get
away from there.
Then again, this room had been
scoured countless times over the past fifty years by generations of supply
hunters like us, and none of them had found the short, tiny closet behind the
sofa. Chances were slim this kid would.
Please,
Power, this is my last year, my last chance. Please don’t let him find the VOs.
He walked to the side of the
loveseat and put his hands on it. He was about to push it!
I yanked my flashlight out of my
pocket, snapped open the battery compartment as quickly and quietly as I could,
and hurled a battery across the room. Wasn’t like I needed it. Our faction got
fresh batteries every week from the mansion, and could probably get more if we
asked.
The battery smacked the back wall by
the open window—I felt a light breeze, even from where I stood by the door—and
hit the floor with a thud. The boy stopped pushing the sofa. Thankfully, he’d
only moved it a couple inches. Not enough to reveal any of the closet.
“What the…?” He watched the battery
roll across the wooden floor a bit and stay still.
He walked toward it.
Yes.
He picked it up and headed toward
the window, his back to me. Probably thought someone had thrown the battery
through it.
I crept toward the sofa as quietly
as I could, so there was no chance the kid could hear me. Few people had feet
as soundless as Gorin of Faction 235.
I navigated around the squeaky
floorboards. Good thing I’d memorized them during my first two trips to this
room, after I’d found the jackpot of a closet this morning. Could never be too
careful or prepared for a situation like this. Every VO counted, especially
ones worth as many prestige points as DVDs.
When I made it to the loveseat, I
shoved it aside as hard as I could and burst into the closet.
“Hey!” the boy cried as I lifted the
lid of the plastic blue bin inside and started to stuff the last of the
whopping stash—a stack of plastic DVD cases coated in thick dust—into my
backpack. Not sure exactly what they were or what they did in the Old World. Us
supply hunters weren’t trained to know stuff like that, annoyingly enough,
though I’d give all my limbs to be given one hint.
Feet shuffled toward me. “Get your
filthy paws off those. They’re mine.”
I turned my head toward the boy. He
towered over me, at least by a foot. Thick, muscled arms framed his sides.
Okay, so I was wrong—he was bigger and stronger than me. He dug his gaze into
mine with pebbles for eyes on his overly broad forehead. A large, beak-like
nose jutted from his face.
“Sorry, you know the rules,” I said.
“I got to all of these before you, fair and square.” Which meant I got to keep
them. Actually, I’d gotten to them way before
him, but I had no proof of that, so no use mentioning it.
He folded his meaty arms across his
chest. “Sorry, punk, but I don’t play by the rules.”
As most of you know, I’m all about
deadly competitions, whether they’re in written form or a part of one of my
video games, so I am very honored to show you all a bit of The Fourth Generation!
The best part is you can buy this
good read now at these e-book links!
But how about we meet
our author before you rush off into his world, eh?
Chris von
Halle has had many different lives in many different worlds—the near and
distant future Earth, other planets, and even other dimensions—and his books
recreate his childhood memories of such outlandish locations. In this world and life, he lives in
Ridgewood, New Jersey, and enjoys such extraordinary activities as playing
videogames, tennis, and basketball, and writing the occasional comic strip.
You can reach out to Chris on his personal sites below:
Website:
chrisvonhalle.com
Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/chris.v.halle?fref=browse_search
Blog:
http://chrisvonhalle.blogspot.com/
Twitter:
@ChrisvonHalle
That’s it for now! I’ll be posting more frequently to give
you Reverie updates and other great
fiction features!
Until next time, keep readin’ and dreamin’!
-Fred
