Welcome to my new work in progress! “Arrival” A Paranormal Thriller.
I will be featuring an excerpt from “ARRIVAL” my latest work (In progress) each week. I have listed this as a paranormal/thriller. I have yet to decide if I should add Dystopian to that genre list.
Your thoughts and comments would be greatly appreciated.
Here we go! (No synopsis)
CHAPTER 1 Excerpt 1.
“Arrival” by Suzanne Burke
The blood was pooling now; the pools becoming rapidly drying rivers in the oppressive heat of early morning.
It caked the whitewashed walls in grotesque patterns, like Picasso on a bender.
The team moved softy, unaffected by the stench of death. As ordered, they were sending ‘activation’ messages to those of the ‘Breed’ that stood watching the carnage without expression.
The other onlookers, the ‘Nontells’ were deemed irrelevant. As always they would do as instructed; unaware, unafraid, robbed of free thought.
Diago Ortega was a Nontell. He watched the Breed team carefully, fascinated as always with the teamwork without words that they excelled at. The poetry of movement between them was a beautiful thing to behold. His brain took a snapshot of the moment, storing it in his photographic memory along with the rest of the horror.
It was only when his own part in this nightmarish scenario was played out that he would stop long enough to reflect. For now the bodies were still warm to the touch; death had not yet visited for long. Dismemberment was carried out in routine order. Diago had a fleeting gratitude that his team did not need to decapitate the body. Taking the limbs was sickening enough.
His face reflected no horror. For he had witnessed far worse.
Why did the the Breed insist that all Nontells leave the room once forensics were underway? Why did the Breed always clean the gore themselves, when they had an army of Nontells to do it? It made no sense.
Why indeed were the ‘Breed’ at all times,the last ones to remain on the scene, and the first to arrive?
Diago tried unsuccessfully to stem the tide of his suspicions. The ‘Breed’ could read his thoughts, he was certain of it; all that kept him safe was their egomaniacal assumption that a ‘Nontell’ would have no thoughts worthy of reading.
He sat. He pulled a beer from the ice-box and drank it down fast; it cleared the bitterness from his palate … for a time. Alcoholism was rampant within the Nontell enclaves; it had been since the ‘Arrival’; in fact, the Breed encouraged it. It was the one thing that the Nontells were permitted to excel at.
Diago remembered well the days before ‘Arrival’. Those days before were forbidden to recall, never to be spoken of. The Breed had succeeded overwhelmingly well in quelling their humanity. But not for all. Not for him.
The memory played out in the theater of his mind, sweet, sweet, memory … of the days when laughter was spontaneous, tears were permitted, and joy was anticipated with delight. Days of sunshine and superman, dogs and children, doughnuts and coffee.
Years of striving to attain a place. Working, long, discouraging, deadly hours; holding on desperately for those times of returning home, to the love of a partner who valued your contribution to their world.
‘Arrival’ had irreversibly altered that sacred pattern.
The ‘Breed-Master’ had declared the days before “Arrival” as a pestilence to be diminished and swept from memory.
It was so ordered.
Diago Ortega chose to disobey.
As did the others … they would arrive soon.
The other Nontells, the ones with enough humanity remaining to dare to be different; to question, to seek the truth … and. perhaps more importantly, to locate within themselves the courage it would take to act on what they discovered. Small pockets of them had begun forming, always alert and always at risk.
Diago waited, allowing his thoughts to drift, permitting visions of yesterdays to enter once more. They blazed with unfettered passion, he could feel the heat as he suffered again in the light.
The loud pounding on the door, startled him. He jumped up, spilling the contents of his beer over an already dirty shirt. He glanced around quickly as if a method of escape would magically appear, it did not … . He located and grabbed his old gun, tucking the Glock firmly in the waistband of his jeans. The pounding continued and his heartbeat accelerated, all his focus now on that door.
They others had a prearranged signal and this wasn’t it.
To be continued….
I do hope you enjoyed this excerpt. Those that read this, will be the first to do so.