Posted by Geo
11-12-23

It has been a snow
filled week here. Once again this morning the snow is coming down
hard and I am wondering if the climate change is bringing an ice age
closer still. Maybe soon I might see Jean Auel’s Ayla and Jondalar
walk past my window on the way to hunt woolly mammoth.

My cat has refused
to make peace with winter. If he had a Congress cat I’m sure he’d be
on the phone trying to get winter recalled/repealed something. I have
a huge picture window in my office that looks out at his favorite
place, the back yard and the woods beyond, and he sits on the window
ledge and just stares out at the white that is everywhere as if he is
in shock. Maybe I will need to get him into therapy. When he does go
out it is the same thing every time. It’s as though he has convinced
himself that the door will open and the snow will be gone. Yet the
door opens and the snow is still there. He tests it with his paw and
then decides whether he will risk the run to the shed where the snow
has not built up along the sides yet. If he does that he sits and
contemplates whether he can make it back alive before I close the
door or not. Hopefully he will just give in to it and accept his fate
along with the rest of us.

Free Books:

The Great Go Cart
Race – Dell Sweet

The summer of 1969
in Glennville New York had settled in full tilt. The July morning was
cool and peaceful, but the afternoon promised nothing but sticky
heat. Bobby Weston and Moon Calloway worked furiously on the go-cart
they had been planning to race down Sinton Park hill, in the old
garage behind Bobby’s house. Both boys had grown up in Glennville…

Glennville 5: The
Great Go-Cart Race

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My Writing Schedule:

I am working on the
Earth’s Survivors books. The Zombie Plagues Book Three is in the
pipe. That will be spring. I am hopeful to have the Earth’s Survivors
books out by then, sooner if I can, but with new material and
editorial work it may be later rather than sooner. I began today to
work on Hurricane which will be the second White Trash book. The
series is held together by one character, Rebbeca Monet. If you have
read White Trash you met her; a small time weather girl working in
Mobile but unhappy with the place she has in life. By the end of
White Trash things have changed. If you haven’t read White trash I
won’t tell you what changed, if you have you already know. But she
is the glue. Every book will feature her, every book follows her
life. Book Two is in the works between Amber and I, so, look for it
this late winter early spring.

I think that is it
for today. I will leave you with a new scene from the latest Earth’s
Survivors book not yet entitled…

The Earth’s
Survivors: Working Title: World Stop

Published by
Writerz.net. Geo Dell, Dell Sweet, W. W. Watson 2023

All Rights reserved

This material may
not be copied and or distributed via traditional print or electronic
means without express written permission from the copyright owners.
There is no allowance for critique in this copyright notice. This
copy is provided strictly as a preview for readers of Geo Dell’s blog
and may not be displayed or posted anywhere else. Thank you for
respecting the hard work of these authors.

This preview is
rated: R

Explicit language
and depictions of graphic violence

KATIE

March 2nd

Market Place: Old
Towne: Early Morning

“I don’t give a
fuck what you think, girl. Get that fuckin’ money in the bag and get
it in the bag now.” He shifted away, leaning back from Kate, but
with the mirrored sun glasses it was hard for her to tell whether he
was still looking at her or away from her. She picked up her cash
drawer and dumped it into the green plastic garbage bag he held. The
ground trembled a little under her feet causing her to sway, and they
both paused… Waiting…

There had been
earthquakes. A few aftershocks in between the major jolts, and then
the power had gone out. This was, Katie hoped, only a tremor.

It had been the new
assistant manager’s bright idea to stay open. To be a gathering place
for people in the neighborhood until someone in charge showed up. It
was three A.M. and no one in charge had shown up. Twenty minutes ago
three people had walked through the front door: All dressed in
military fatigues; all wearing the mirrored sunglasses and some sort
of scarves or bandannas tied around their heads and below their
noses. Hair, eyes, all the features you could look for and remember
were gone. They would probably never get caught, there was nothing to
remember. Never mind the fact that the alarms were out, the cops
hadn’t been seen for hours, and they were robbing the market in the
middle of some kind of disaster. Katie only hoped they made it fast
and didn’t hurt anyone. The oldsters, her nickname for the older
folks that lived in the area, couldn’t handle a lot of shock. Already
some of them were overly frightened and shaking.

Her eyes swept
around to the other two. The one guy seemed slightly heavier through
the upper body. But the fatigues were outsized, so it was hard to
tell. The last had a deep booming voice that he had only used once
when they had come into the market, kicked the chocks that held the
doors open out of the way, and announced the robbery. None of the
three had spoken since then.

There were twenty
eight people in the market, mostly the oldsters from the Old Towne
neighborhood who had come to the market area because the lights were
still on and there were other people there. Old Towne was a far
suburb of the city of Manhattan. Some young couples lived here, but
getting into and out of the city was sometimes too much and before
you knew it a face you had gotten used to seeing was gone. The
oldsters with their pensions and fixed incomes stayed. The commute
into the city, as rarely as they had to make it, meant nothing to
them. Crime was usually low, it wasn’t a bad place to live.

A tremble passed
through the floor once more; weaker than the last. It felt like a
heavy truck passing over a bridge, no more than that, she thought.

Three earthquakes
had hit so far, each one stronger than the last. Katie herself had
watched the lights of Manhattan dim and then wink out. All of those
tall buildings that had lit up the sky over Harlem every night for as
long as she could remember gone in the wink of an eye. The flat
screens that hung above the checkouts had winked out, and the two
televisions at the front of the store that were on every hour of
every day blacked out, and then came back with snow and static.

Katie had grown up
in the Grant projects over in Harlem, and up until a few weeks ago
she had still made the trip back and forth every day. But she had
found a place, a small walk-up, not far from the market. It was okay
for now. And living in Old Towne suited her, or had. She didn’t know
how this was going to change the equation.

The lights ran by
generator. The generator was necessary for the meat department at the
back of the store. It wouldn’t run forever, but it was on now keeping
the meat freezers, and the cold cases working; running the low
powered emergency lighting system inside the market.

The man that had
been in front of her moved down the line to the next register when
the shaking stopped, bag in hand. The other two stood silently at the
front of the store, some sort of rifles with clips held in their
hands, watching, Katie supposed, through their mirrored lenses.

The man with the bag
had reached the end of the line when a much heavier earthquake hit
and things began to tumble from the shelves into the aisles. Above
her she watched the ceiling lift from the painted cinder block walls
and then slam back down once more. One second she had been looking
outside at the massive bare limbs of the oaks that lined the other
side of the street, and the next she had been looking at the backside
of the corrugated panels that made up the roof of the market. It had
happened so fast that she wondered to herself if it had really
happened at all.

Her eyes swept
quickly around the inside of the market. Most of the oldsters were
screaming, cowering where they stood, trying to melt into the floor,
but a few were standing stoically; watching parts of the ceiling
begin to fall. Katie held the side of the dead conveyor belt of her
checkout lane as the floor rose and shook. The robbers scrambled to
stay on their feet, the stock tipped and tumbled spilling across the
floor.

The looks on some of
the oldsters faces said, “I knew this is how it would end,” and
Katie believed in that split second that they really did know all
along that the world would come to an end in Old Town’s Market Square
just like it was right now. They had been children playing in the
school yard, young lovers chasing after one another through the tall
grass, parents watching their first born go to school on that first
day: Pensioners walking to the box to get their check as the little
girls that lived next door played hopscotch on the sidewalk; old
folks coaxing the cat into the house through the back door, and they
had known. They had known all along. Her eyes swiveled back to the
front of the market, and that was when the roof at the front of the
store collapsed. The robber, the one with the bigger upper body
screamed and jumped back, and Katie understood then that he was a
she. It seemed like a signal to everyone and a fraction of a second
later they were all, oldsters, employees and robbers, running for the
back of the store as the ceiling of the market collapsed onto the
tops of the aisle shelving.

The doors to the
back stock room slammed open and the crowd poured into the rear
storage area, coming up against the stacks of boxes and crates and
stopping. Just that suddenly the situation had changed. They were no
longer running for their lives, they were being herded like cattle by
the three and their waving, motioning rifles, holding the doors open,
motioning the last stragglers, cut and bleeding, into the area as the
last of the shaking stopped. Large clips depended in a curve from
those rifles, Katie noticed. They were in their hands, but they also
had other weapons depended upon their backs by straps that looked
every bit as capable as the ones they held in their hands. The one
with the thicker chest, the one who at least screamed like a woman,
kicked the doors shut and they stood, choking and sneezing as the
thick clouds of dust swirled, and billowed in the emergency lights.

Outside:

The old Chevy began
to rock on its springs, lunging first right and then left. It took a
harder lunge to the right and then jumped forward and slammed head on
into the side of the building.

“Fuck, Calvin.
Fuck,” the woman driver screamed. She held a rifle with a long
banana clip that slammed into the ceiling. Her finger squeezed the
trigger tightly for just a brief second and spat a burst of bright
white light and noise; a jagged hole appeared in the roof of the car.

“Bitch! What the
fuck?” Calvin screamed as he tried to roll with the shaking car,
hanging onto the dashboard. The four in the back added their own
comments, and in a second the entire car erupted in to cursing and
yelling. The ground movement tossed the car once more, picking it up
and slamming it sideways into a truck that had slid over three
spaces. The screech of grinding metal and breaking glass silenced the
screams and yells from the car. The car bounced away from the truck,
jiggled from side to side and then settled onto the ground; one tire
flat, the nose bent upward.

“Get out… Get
out of this motherfucker,” Calvin screamed. Bricks and pieces of
concrete block began to tumble from the roof line as the main wall of
the market bulged out and the false roof structure that fronted the
store titled backwards and tilted into the store space. A few of the
huge glass windows that fronted the market cracked with loud audible
clicks: Spiderwebs running like bolts of lightening top to bottom,
and then shooting off to the sides. Huge walls of glass that were now
held together only by the aluminum frames they rested in.

”Jesus… Jesus,
those bitches will go… I know it,” one of the men that had been
in the back seat muttered as he tumbled from the car and staggered
away. One tall window groaned, splinters of glass shooting onto the
sidewalk, and the front passenger side of the car, and then collapsed
in a small pile onto the concrete as if to prove him right. Screams
surged out from inside the store mixing with their own. A thick cloud
of dust billowed out through the opening. The glass glittered like
gemstones in the sparse light from the interior of the market.

“Out… Out!”
Calvin yelled. A small section of brick bonded to concrete block fell
over and crushed the nose of the car, pinning it to the ground. Steam
erupted from the buried nose of the car and rose into the cold air,
mixing with the dust as it did. Calvin skipped backwards, the hard
heels of the combat boots he wore getting little purchase on the
asphalt. He fell backwards with the momentum, his hands splaying
behind him, immediately cut on the glass, and other debris that
covered the asphalt. He wrenched himself forward and began to pluck
at the pieces embedded in his palms. His eyes rose and swept across
the others as his fingers worked. Murder, Shitty, Chloe, Tammy, he
ticked off the faces mentally. “Who? “ he asked. His quick head
count had come up short.

“Rosie,” Tammy
said. She was a thin girl with a shock of kinky pink hair. The name
was picked up by the others.

Rosie had been in
the front with him. She had been the one that had shot the roof of
the car. She was nowhere to be seen. Calvin stood, dusted his
bleeding palms against his fatigues and walked around the edge of the
car. Rosie’s feet protruded from under the car. Not moving. A pool of
spreading blood seeping past the wheel that rested partway onto her
body, and out into the lot. He stopped. “Rosie’s done up,” he
said aloud. He raised his eyes from the pavement as a gunshot came
from inside the market. He swore to himself. “Better see what’s
happened inside. Stay right here,” He frowned as a second shot rang
out. “Fuck… Listen, if it goes bad, get the fuck out… Just
run.” He waited for Murder to nod. Murder was his first. The one he
trusted the most. He trotted toward the front entrance, his rifle in
his hands, safety off.

The Stock Room:

Things moved fast
after the doors swung shut. The one with the thick chest tore off her
bandanna and shook her head as if to get some of the dust out of her
hair. White-blond hair flew about her face. She bent over a second
later and vomited. Katie smelled it on the air instantly and fought
the gag reflex that started in her own throat. A few of the oldsters
didn’t make it, and the small floor area was covered with sprawled
and bent double bodies a second later as more became sick. Katie kept
her eyes on the the three. A second later the other two tore off
their bandannas and Katie’s heart sank.

The one with the
deep voice spoke again: A tall pimple faced white boy, Katie saw. He
couldn’t be more than fourteen. “Get these,” he said as he passed
long pieces of plastic to the other two. The plastic made no sense
until a few seconds later when the other two began slapping the zip
ties around one of the oldsters wrists and tugging another through
the first before pulling them tight.

“Oh God. Don’t do
that to me,” Annie, one of the new clerks screamed. She bolted
forward as if making a break for the now closed stock room doors, and
Katie watched as the pimple faced white boy raised his rifle. He
squeezed the trigger once. Annie collapsed to the floor in mid
stride, like a kite that had spilled all of it’s air at once. One leg
spread before her, the other at an angle behind her. Her body skidded
along the floor an inch or two and then stopped. She sighed loudly.
Her mouth was closed tightly in a grimace as she slowly tipped over
to the floor. Her eyes were open, and for a second Katie thought
maybe she was seeing, but then something in them shifted, and she
knew she was gone. Katie turned away as a few of the oldsters began
to mutter between themselves, a few others began to cry. Jason, the
new Assistant Manager, stepped forward.

“Listen,” he
began in a loud voice. “I don’t know who you people think you are,
but you’ve killed someone now… Killed someone!” He stopped, and
looked incredulously at the three who stood closer to the doors. His
eyes cutting down to Annie and then up once more. The pimple faced
boy raised the rifle once more, Jason opened his mouth and the boy
shot him in the chest before he could say another word.

The blast was
amazingly loud in the closed area. Louder than the other shot had
been, and a large section of Jason’s smock turned instantly red,
puffing out behind him. He sank slowly to the floor, his mouth
working as though he had one last thing to say, but he said nothing.
He reached the floor, tipped sideways, and a flood of dark blood
spilled from his mouth. After that no one spoke: The other two went
back to tying wrists with the zip ties, and time seemed to jump
forward in quick little jerks as Katie watched them do her own wrists
and then move on.

They would kill her
now, she knew it. Nineteen years of living through the violence of
the projects: Making it out; all to die in the back of some market
stockroom over a few dollars that didn’t even belong to her. And they
would do it. There was no reason not to now. They had let them see
their faces. No reason to tie them. No reason to remove the
bandannas. No reason at all.

A sharp banging came
from the side of the stockroom and Katie twisted her head quickly.
The door that lead out to the sidewalk, Katie knew. A voice calling,
and the pimple faced white boy raised his own voice in answer;
turning toward the sound.

“We’re good…
We’re good,” he yelled in that voice that didn’t seem capable of
coming from him. He turned back, his eyes scanning the crowd. They
stopped on Katie.

“Where is that
fucking door?” he asked. “Where’s it go to?”

She motioned with
her head. “Behind the boxes… There, at the end of the aisle. Goes
outside… Out front.”

“Show me, bitch.”
He moved forward and his rifle barrel dug into her stomach and then
upward, dragging heavily across the edges of her ribs as he lifted
the barrel and motioned with it. She stifled the urge to cry out. She
could feel blood trickling downward, across the flat of her stomach
under the smock she wore. She walked the short distance to the door
and found herself suddenly falling as he shoved her hard to one side,
and slammed down on the door width bar; swinging it open.

Katie’s forehead hit
the concrete hard, and she slid forward on her chest, rolling into a
skid of cereal boxes. She was out cold before the boxes tumbled to
the floor around her, hiding her.

The Padlock
Situation:

“What the fuck?
The one called Calvin said as he stepped into the room. The pimple
faced kid held up the bag of money as he stepped forward to go
through the door, the other two behind him. Calvin caught the edge of
his shirt and shoved him backwards hard.

“Why’d you kill
some? Why’d you do that? Didn’t we talk about it? Didn’t we make it
clear? What the fuck?” His eyes swept over the two bodies that lay
on the floor, blood running away in small rivulets toward the floor
drain near the swinging doors that lead back out into the store area.

“The cunt on the
floor tried to rush us… No choice!” The kids frightened,
pale-blue eyes stared up into Calvin’s own eyes. A small smile played
at the corners of his mouth.

“The other guy
played hero,” the blond said. Her face was slicked with sweat,
making it seem even darker than it was. She stepped forward slightly,
trying to hold Calvin’s eyes with her own. Calvin’s hand flashed to
his waist and a second later he bought it up in a sharp thrusting
motion. The kid gasped, his mouth opened, and a small trickle of
blood ran from the corner and across his cheek. Calvin watched the
life begin to bleed from the kids’ eyes before he released him. The
kid slid to the floor as if in slow motion. Calvin sheathed his
knife: The blonde stepped forward as if to catch the kid, and Calvin
raised his rifle.

“You got something
to say?” he asked.

The blond wagged her
head. Tears glistened at the corners of her eyes. She stared down at
the body on the floor.

The Parking Lot:

Chloe looked from
Murder to Tammy. She had already started backwards at the shot. It
had taken all of her resolve not to run. Tammy stood trembling, her
eyes trapped, and unable to stay in one place for long; lighting
first on Chloe, then Murder, then back to Chloe.

“Chloe! Fuck.
Chloe!” Tammy hissed. “Let’s go… Let’s fuckin’ go.”

Far away the scream
of an engine came to her and Chloe’s eyes swiveled back to Murder.
“You know he’ll kill us too… You know it.”

“Shut up! Shut the
fuck up, bitches. Just let me…” Before he could finish the words,
Shitty, who had been standing right next to him, had turned and
sprinted a few feet away. He stopped and looked back, sweat trailing
down his face, panic bright in his eyes.

“That fucking
engine, man. It’s coming here… Listen, man. Listen.” They all
listened for a second. “It’s cops… I ain’t fuckin’ waitin’.”

There may have been
some hope of Murder holding them together, but at the same instance
he had that thought a burst of automatic gunfire came from the market
and he found his own feet moving. He followed the other three as they
ran for the shadows at the back of the lot.

The Stockroom:

Calvin motioned to
the blond and the other remaining kid and they stepped through the
door out onto the sidewalk and the cold air. The blond started to
walk away, but Calvin curled his fist into her hair and dragged her
back. She cried out involuntarily as he pulled her around to face
back into the stockroom.

“Can’t leave it
like this,” he told her. “Your man fucked it up. Unless you want
to be in there with him you better take care of it.” Her eyes
pleaded, but he pushed her away; turned loose of her. He raised his
rifle, holding it on her. “Take ’em out,” he said quietly. “Take
’em out.” She turned to him once more, briefly, and then turned
back, raised her own rifle, and began to fire into the stockroom.
Things happened fast after that.

Unwelcome company:

Calvin turned at the
sound of tires screeching on the wet pavement. A kind of low grade
squalling as the tires slid to a stop, muted by the rain slicked
roadway. He turned, fully prepared to flash the rifle, and show
whoever this was that it might be smarter to take off. He wasn’t
prepared for the sight that greeted him.

A police van had
skidded to a stop halfway across both lanes of the street and cops
seemed to boil out of it. A half dozen. All armed. All dressed in
riot gear, and bulletproof vests, Calvin saw. He fully intended to
keep turning but at nearly the same time he saw them his legs seemed
to be pushed out from under him, and he felt himself falling as an
eruption of noise and smoke filled the air all around him. The blonde
and the remaining man sprinted for the only shelter, the stockroom,
but the cops were on both of them just that fast. They fell even as
they made the doorway, sprawling on the heap of bodies already there.
The rapid shots fell off to single blasts, and then stopped. Two
heavily armored cops ran forward, flanking the door, hesitated only
briefly and then jumped through the doorway into the room beyond. The
silence held for a brief second longer and then one called back.
Calvin fought to keep his eyes open, convinced that if he could do
just that one small thing everything would be alright.

“Toast… Done
up.”

The one that had
called out turned, light flashing dully from his black body armor. He
started for the door when his eyes fell on a thick padlock hanging
next to the door. He grasped it as he leapt through the doorway; the
other followed. They both bent and picked up the few scattered
weapons that lay on the sidewalk; tossing them into the darkness of
the stockroom, and then the first one slammed the door shut. He ran
the padlock through the welded plates on the door and snapped it
shut.

Calvin heard the
click. His vision was lost in the absolute darkness of the space. He
had already tried to move. He couldn’t. It was useless. It had seemed
so important to try to move though. So important just a few moments
ago. A few…. He blinked, but he still saw nothing. A buzzing
started in one ear and then that ear seemed to fill up with static,
breaking the buzzing sound up into little bursts of confusion that
tore away into his brain. He blinked and tried to listen harder, but
there was nothing to hear, then…

“Come on, come on,
come on!” This from one of the cops crouched back by the van were
it idled on the roadway: Vapor curling from the exhaust pipe, and
lifting into the air. The two sprinted back, jumped into the rear of
the van; holding the doors partially shut with their hands, and the
van roared away. It turned two blocks down and disappeared onto one
of the side streets. The motor could be heard screaming on the still
air for a few moments longer, and then it was gone. Silence held the
street, and then snow began to fall a few moments later. Within a
short time the entire street was covered in a coating of snow as
lightening flashed in the dark skies above Old Towne.

The darkness began
to suddenly take on more weight and the fear that he might be dying
settled in more fully with Calvin’s other scattered thoughts. A puppy
he had had… So real… It’s whole body was wagging right along with
it’s tail. It was … was… When? What? Gone… A birthday party…
Not his… He had no gift… The sound of the lock clicking shut…
Echoing, and then as suddenly as the light had left with the slamming
of the door it flared back into existence. A bright ball up near the
ceiling. A light to be sure, but unlike any light he had ever seen.
It flared brighter… Brighter still, and then he felt himself rise,
confused at first, and then stepping from the shadows of the room and
into the bright lights of a hallway. Panic jumped into him… How
could he be walking? How could he be?

He spun, meaning to
step back into the darkness, but the darkness was gone. All that
remained was the over bright hallway that lead to… Whatever it lead
to. He couldn’t make an answer for it come to him. None at all. He
stood briefly, still facing what had been the darkness of the back
room but now was only a smooth white expanse of flat wall, and then
forced himself to turn around… It meant… It meant the end… The
end… He slid one foot forward and then the other, forcing himself
to walk.

Katie:

She came awake in
the dark. She was shivering, the cold of the concrete seeping deep
into her body. Her head ached, but when she tried to lift her hands
to it she remembered that they were still zip tied behind her back.
That caused panic to settle into her for a brief moment until she
realized that whatever had happened was over. The stockroom was
graveyard silent, a thin blueish line of light seeped under the
swinging doors about twelve feet away. Shadows began to emerge from
the darkness as her eyes adjusted: Bodies, and then the thick smell
of coppery blood came to her. She fought the urge to gag.

She was convinced
she was alone, equally convinced that this was just a trick. She
waited, and then waited a little longer, but nothing changed as she
watched the line of light under the door. Occasionally it would
flicker. Nothing else. She made her decision, carefully got to her
feet, and stepped around the bodies to the swinging doors.

The roof was
collapsed onto the tops of the aisles. The steel of the shelving
units held it suspended there. Most of the emergency lighting was
out, but a few lights were still lit: Some hanging by wires into the
aisles. The space in the aisles to the roof was tall enough that she
didn’t have to stoop over as she made her way to the front of the
store. She stopped in the darkness at the mouth of the aisle and
looked out through the shattered front windows in front of her. Snow
fell on the street beyond the glass. Lightening flashed sporadically
in the skies, the sound of thunder sometimes close, sometimes far
away: The lightening blue-white flashes of light on the snow covered
street.

She waited. For what
she didn’t know, but nothing came, nothing changed. She stood,
listening to the clicking and buzzing from the flickering fluorescent
lights of the market. She bumped against the sharp edge of an end cap
that had partially buckled, jutting out next to her: Blood trickled
away from her arm, rolling to her wrists which were still tied and
swollen. Her hands were cold and numb. She turned and used it as
quickly as she could to cut through one of the zip ties that bound
her wrists. Rubbing until one tie flew apart, making a plastic
clicking sound as it hit the aisle floor and skittered away. She
bought her wrists around in front of her and into the light.

A thin line of blood
ran away from the wrist that had been encircled by the tie. Whether
from the sharp metal she had used to escape the zip tie, or the zip
tie itself she could not tell. A few more seconds of careful rubbing
with the sharp metal edge and the other plastic cuff fell to the
floor. She stood and rubbed feeling back into her hands. They came
alive with sharp pins and needles, nearly making her cry out. She
flexed them, working blood back into them, and looked out at the
falling snow.

She stood, looking
around the entire front area of the store. It appeared empty, but it
was hard to see anything; there were few lights working. The roof
collapse had shortened the entire space, trapping what lights
remained working inside the aisles, hanging from their wires. There
were no sounds, no movements. She was alone, she decided. She stood
for a few moments longer, still rubbing her hands, and then walked
past the checkouts, stepped through a shattered front window, and
walked off down the street into the falling curtain of snow.

###

I hope you enjoyed
the preview. If you are a fan/reader you know what that scene is
about. There is no actual title, World Stop is the working title, but
the more I see it the more I like it.

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