Paul Jones - Extinction Point - The End

Emily and Thor crested the rise of the hill.

In front of them, the freeway lay clear and empty, stretching out toward the horizon. Behind them, several miles distant now, Emily could see the town they had left behind, almost entirely hidden within a swirling bank of smoke. Beyond that, she could see the fire stretching away into the distance, a glowing arc of flame consuming everything in its path, alien and earth bound alike. It did not discern between either.

Emily looked down at her dog and then back to the open expanse of blacktop leading north into the distance. “Well boy, are we ready to do this?” Thor gave a loud bark and began padding his way forward along the road.

“Talkative mutt, aren’t you.”

Emily set off after the dog. Whatever lay before them was in the future and right now, in this moment, as strange as it sounded even to her ears, Emily couldn’t have been any happier.

The past, where the old Emily lived, well, that was gone, swept away forever. The future was unknown, nothing more than potential and full of unpredictability. There were very few certainties left. Emily found that oddly comforting.

The one truth she could clearly see was this was no longer her world, it belonged instead to the invaders who had wiped humanity from the planet in a single day. She, and all the survivors left on this rock they called home, were now the aliens.

And it was going to be up to her and whoever was still left alive out there to try to take it back.

Follow the adventures of Emily Baxter in book-two of the series EXTINCTION POINT: EXODUS, coming Summer 2012. Join my mailing list at www.DisturbedUniverse.comto receive early notification of its release.

Dear reader,

Thank you so much for taking the time to read Extinction Point . As you’ve probably guessed, there’s a lot more of Emily and Thor’s story to tell. I expect there will be at least three —probably four—books in total before we are done with their journey. I’m aiming to release two books a year; depending on how well this first book in the series sells.

So, if you’re interested in hearing the rest of their story, I’d encourage you to sign up for my mailing list at www.DisturbedUniverse.com. I promise the only time you will hear from me will be to tell you about a new book release.

As an independent author, I don’t have the kind of resources at my disposal that authors signed to a publisher have. So, I have to (happily) rely on my readers and fans to spread the word. If you have a second, I’d like to encourage you to leave a review (good or bad, don’t hold back) at Amazon and let others know what you thought of the book. You will have my undying gratitude and help ensure that Emily’s story continues.

I’ll be starting on the second book Extinction Point: Exodus sometime in April, and I hope to have it ready for release in August. Things are about to get a lot stranger and a lot more dangerous for dear old Emily. I’d love to hear what you thought of my book, so please feel free to post comments on my blog or send me a message via my Twitter account, @PaulAntonyJones.

As an added thank you for taking a chance on an unknown author, I’ve included the first twenty-chapters of my first novel Towards Yesterday. You’ll find it on the next page.

PAUL. JONES

Towards Yesterday

Dangerous Places (short story compilation)

© 2012, Paul Antony Jones

www.DisturbedUniverse.com

Email: Paul@DisturbedUniverse.com

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author/publisher.

The noise from the street was deafening. Shouting and singing blended with the occasional burst of raucous laughter, which in turn combined with the happy squeals of drunken women. The whoop of a police car’s siren clamored to overcome the combined voices of thousands of inebriated revelers. Instead, it became a counterpoint to the melody of yelling and singing rising from the mass of dancing bodies as the squad car slowly pushed its way through their midst.

Jim Baston, his eyes red and tired, tried to concentrate on the paragraph he was writing, but the blare of the rowdy crowd below his window was just too distracting.

“ Save tonight’s work and forward a copy to the house’s inbox, please ,” he said quietly .

“Yes Jim. ” The female voice of the computer’s AI was soft and comforting. “ I’ve done as you requested Jim,” the AI said a second later. “Is there anything else you would like ?”

“No thank you. You can shut down. I won’t need you for the rest of the night.”

“ Very well. Oh! And Jim… ”

“Yes?”

“ Happy New Year.”

“You too,” he whispered.

For the past ten years, he had been coming to this same hotel. Same room, every time. On first name terms with the owners (a pleasant couple from North Carolina), he didn’t even have to tell them his name when he called two months ahead to confirm his arrival. His reservation for the following year penciled in each time he ended his stay.

This was the quiet part of the city, too; he could only imagine what it would be like in the more popular areas. He felt like throwing open the windows and screaming at the crowd to shut the hell up ! Couldn’t they see he was trying to work? Didn’t they know how important this book was to him?

Of course, who could blame them? It was, after all, New Year’s Eve, and if he had even half a life he would be out there too, welcoming in the New Year in as much of a drunken stupor as the rest of the city.

Instead, he stood, stretched his aching arms — careful to avoid the ceiling fan that twirled almost noiselessly overhead — and walked stiffly to the window, pulled up the blinds, pushed open the French doors and stepped out onto his balcony.

The noise that had been a grumbling rumble now became a cacophony, bolstered in part by Jazz and Salsa bands scattered throughout the city. The sound swelled up like a wave over the balcony, washing over him. From his third story vantage point, Jim looked out over a significant part of the city, its incandescent glow helping the full moon to fight back the darkness. Far off to the south a thick roll of thunderheads, black and roiling, threatened a damp end to the year. But Jim didn’t think a sudden soaking was going to do anything to squash the spirits of the thousands of revelers walking the streets this night.

Resting a shoulder against the doorjamb, he pulled an already opened soft pack of Marlboro’s from his shirt pocket. Tapping out one of the remaining cigarettes, Jim lit it with an antique Zippo, sheltering the fragile flame from the light breeze gusting over the rooftops with a cupped hand.