THE TIME STOPPER, chapter one excerpt

THE TIME STOPPER

is now live on Amazon

This is book 3 in THE TIME BENDER series and is the alien Marcum's story. Here are the first few pages:

WHEN KLAQIN’S TWO moons pass in retrograde orbit above our farm in Turlektrad, making the mists rise from the lakes and ponds, it’s time to help with the harvest. There are several entrances to the reaping caves, but tradition dictates that we go to the middle of the field and find the oldest opening, the one with precisely measured stone steps that descend into a well-lit cavern. My mother Krimar has already placed baskets at intervals and my father and I have to pull on the dangling roots to cause the crops to slip through the spongy ground and drop into the baskets. Occasionally we hear the sounds the vegetables emit above as we yank them from their constant sun and daily mistings.

“This will be your last harvest, Marcum,” my father Pauro says. “Krimar and I have decided to let you train.”

I know I should thank him, but the words catch in my throat and my ears uncontrollably wag like a weediq’s tail. All I can do at first is grunt a civil “Ehk.” I stretch to reach a particularly short root and tug gently. “Krimar made you change your mind, didn’t she?”

“No.” Pauro picks up his full basket and walks toward a shaft. “I met with a leader of the Gleezhian refugees.” He looks over his shoulder to judge my reaction. But I am brave, as I’ve been bred to be, and I show no concern over this startling revelation. In my head my thoughts are whirring. Without realizing it I pluck the pechans too close to their stems.

 “You know a little of the last invasion, Marcum, but at the Academy you’ll study more and learn to fly.”

Learn to fly. I am certainly old enough. At last. Sixteen solar orbits, no longer a child.

“There’s a transport through here in two double-moons. You’ll go then. They’ve received your genetic analysis and one Commander in particular is quite eager to have you.” Pauro returns for my basket. Tiny droplets of moisture glisten on his lashes and coat his cheeks with a wetness like tears. He carries my basket off and repeats the system of sending the full containers of produce down the deep shaft to the food processing plant ten stories below. A skeleton crew of workers slaves to change the colorful harvest into condensed pills or liquid vials that will sustain the Klaqin space Commanders for extended periods of time. I yearn to be one of those Commanders.

I finish another basket and carry it past my father as I calculate all I’ll need to do in the next two double-moons. I am not sorry I’ll miss the animal harvest scheduled for four double-moons from now; it’s a difficult time for me because I’ve befriended most of them, even hidden some in my room for training. But Pauro has always depended on my help since mother refuses to go near the house processor.

My thoughts dart from pets to flying to invasions and alien wars. “But what did meeting with a Gleezhian refugee have to do with your decision?” I ask, wondering how safe my mother will be if there are exiles around.

“The refugees are gaining political ground. I stumbled upon some females prowling the area. They’ve been here a long time and still can’t speak our language.” He shakes his head. “They were armed, of course, and forced me to one of their sites where their leader spoke a fair bit of Klaqin.” He clucks his tongue as is our custom and snaps two fingers before he pulls down a triple root of yellow plickken. I see by the wiggling of his ears that he is excited to tell me this. “I got the feeling that something unexpected and dangerous is in the works. They threatened me … wanted me to join them. I pretended to sympathize with them for our safety, which brought me to my decision. I want you to be a trained and accomplished Commander and not just some farmer’s son who doesn’t know an arc-gun from a spike-rod. I want my child to be daring, courageous in battle … heroic.”

He still calls me a child and I hate that. But I cluck my tongue in agreement and smile on the inside. I’ve heard many stories about the resistance, the refugees, the anti-Commander factions and of course the Interstellar Combat Academy. The Academy used to be highly regarded and extremely difficult to earn a place in, but not now. The First Commanders, it is rumored, plan to draft all males above childhood age. There is private talk of acquiring females my age, though that will be for the females’ protection and for population insurance. There is no longer a test to pass for entrance. But there should still be plenty of competition. I want to join not out of patriotism or obligation, but because I want to explore the farthest regions of space.

I spend the rest of the harvest time speaking sporadically to my father while daydreaming about flying the latest spacecraft. He admonishes me not to join any clubs; there are ones, he says, that addict a man to mechanical pain inducers. I contemplate the warning for a moment then turn my thoughts back to piloting. He counsels me against taking leave to the Fringes of the big cities such as Plickkentrad or Cormenor. The Fringes, he says in a voice loud enough to interrupt my daydream, are gateways to banishment. That piece of information is new to me, but I can ignore it since I don’t expect to take any breaks from the Academy.

   ***end of excerpt***

If you haven't read THE TIME BENDER you're missing out on my favorite series to date. 

EDGE OF ESCAPE, the novel - another excerpt

Rebecca awoke choking. She turned onto her side and spat out the popcorn. She felt around her mouth with her tongue for any more kernels. The long hair fell forward and she swatted at it as if she were being attacked by a furry animal. She yanked it off her head and threw it across the room. What was going on?

Light, sounds, and smells were sifting in through the open window. Someone had been in the room! She leaped up and stumbled over the backpack as she reached for the window. She changed her mind about closing it and grabbed the bag instead and headed for the door. It wasn’t locked!

She had to be careful now. She thought that Mike must be in the house. And what about Ed? Mike must have done something to Ed!

She felt woozy and her mouth was dry. Why would he stuff her cheeks with popcorn? Her mind flitted back and forth. She was groggy. Why was she groggy? How did Mike do this to her?

She ran her hands down her clothing. She was still wearing the same outfit. She hadn’t been molested, thank goodness, and she still had her shoes on.

She opened the door and listened. Stepping out, she could see into the living room. The front porch fixture was on and it shot feathered arrows of light under the drapes. She listened some more.

There was a peephole in the front door and she had to get on her tiptoes to press her eye against it. The front steps were littered. Mike must have sat here and gloated after drugging her. How did he do it? It must have been the orange juice. And if Ed drank some, too?

She turned from the door and crept to Ed’s bedroom. The door was open and she could see that it was empty. The bed wasn’t even slightly mussed.

What time was it? Twelve? Two? Three? Well, whatever time it was, she was on the run again. She took another look through the peephole and studied the dark shapes of the trees, some of the leaves clearly visible in the glow from the porch light. A few leaves moved and suddenly . . . there was Mike Sylver’s face in their place.

EDGE OF ESCAPE

THE GUARDIAN'S DIARY, excerpt #2

They chased after the sound of crying and doubled their pace. The extra effort made Jedidiah cry out; he felt the warmth of blood as the sores on his leg broke open.

“There!” Allison screamed.

The chief was carrying Domingo on his shoulders and was using a stick and his machete as canes for balance. He was more than halfway across the river. Twenty feet behind him was Chaska. She held the basket on her head, balancing it with one hand while she used a stick to beat the waters around her.

Allison started screaming at her. The woman turned, lost her balance and dropped the basket with its precious contents into the dangerous water. Allison plunged in as Chaska grabbed hold of the basket and threatened to tip it. Allison froze. Then Chaska started screaming in terror.

She pushed the basket away and turned for the other shore. Chaska emerged on the far side of the river; the chief pulled her the last few yards. Lines of blood streaked down her bare legs.

Suddenly Allison screamed in panic and pain as tiny sharp teeth started to rip her flesh.

THE GUARDIAN'S DIARY

SHELTERED, excerpt #2

Emily hurried from the car to the house and tried to slip out of her shoes and coat quickly, hoping to get out of the cramped entry before she was forced to share the small space with Ben. Being fourteen inches apart in the car several times a day was almost too much. She smelled him, breathed in the delicious scent of his cologne. She had bought it for him for their meager Christmas exchange and he had worn it every day since.

Ben came in as she hopped up a step to the kitchen.

“Em, your pants are soaked. We really need to find you some boots.”

She only nodded and turned away. Her socks were wet, too, and she left a damp trail across the worn linoleum, the long frayed hems of her black pants mopping the dirty floor. She was saving up for boots . . . again. Perhaps, she thought, if she chose something more feminine than army boots this time, Cori wouldn’t take them.

Emily paused at the door to the staircase and listened to the newscaster’s voice as it filtered through Mrs. Kremer’s door. For the seventy-third night in a row she wished it was her mom in there listening to the radio. She wished the door would open and loving arms would enfold her. She wished . . .

The radio broke off mid-sentence and out went the soft glow beneath the door taking away that strip of hope. Good night, Mrs. Kremer. Emily only thought the words. She closed the staircase door and fingered the hook and latch. The one time she dared to lock it Cori screamed a tirade. It was all right, though, for Cori to lock Emily out. Maybe the new girl would stand up to Cori’s outbursts.

Maybe the new girl would be equally as bad.

SHELTERED

OUT OF EXODIA, excerpt #2

We’re on an outcropping of rock, our thousand foot descent abruptly stopped far short of a deadly plummet. Barrett has cushioned my landing and taken the shock of the long fall.

“Bear?” I don’t dare move, but his right arm still circles around me. Limp.

I can see straight up, maybe thirty or forty feet to the bank where frightened faces peer down at us. I scan the rock face; there are no marks, no scratches to define our trail, no path to ascend. My scrutiny ends a foot above me where only a dew-beaded spider web, one end split from its harness, proclaims our helplessness. I lift my right hand to wave and Barrett’s arm slips off my chest.

If his back is broken … if his breath is knocked out of him and I’m too heavy … if—

They shout at me from above, but I can’t wave for rescue. I can’t because I’m holding Bear’s wrist, not feeling a pulse, not sensing his life at all. My head is tucked below his ear, cradled like that child I saw in his mother’s arms. Tears track from my eyes as more faces appear above. I don’t need to count to know there are eighteen. Eighteen spot us. Hundreds more are hanging back.

Time slows to an eerie beat. Two minutes. Three. Four. I’m crushing Barrett.

OUT OF EXODIA

EXODIA, excerpt #3

I round a corner and head up Burnell Street. I slow a bit when I see a group of Red kids, probably all around fourteen, lucky to have missed the Culling Mandate, lucky to be alive. They’re bullying a smaller kid and for some reason I think of Lydia’s smile, her eyes, and the whole pleasure of her beauty and how she looked at me. And I imagine her now prodding me to intervene. So I do.

“What are you doing to him? Leave him alone,” I say this with all the confidence of my height and weight advantage, not to mention my combat training.

“Who are you to boss us around?” the ringleader says. He waves a stick in my face. “Are you going to kill us, too, like you killed Sarkis Tait last night?” He shocks me with these words. My heart skips a beat, restarts with a hollow thump.

I forget about Lydia. I forget about the pages of notes in my sack. My tongue is stuck and I can’t swallow. If my awful deed is known here, and among children yet, how is it that I have not been seized by my grandfather’s men or shuttled off by my mother’s servants?

I look at these children’s bold faces and panic. I run. I reach the fence, the capitol grounds, the side door. I make it through unseen. I search for my mother. She’ll know what to do. Maybe she’ll send me to my nanny.

Punishable by death … punishable by death. But maybe not. Maybe being the Executive President’s grandson will have its privilege.

Maybe.

I come to my room. My hand is on the knob, but I hear voices behind the door. And scuffing, and banging. Guards are searching through my things. It won’t take long. My heart’s in my throat now; my mind’s racing through a million things. I step away as quietly as I can, turn down the back hall and take the farthest stairwell.

And run.

EXODIA

A SOUL'S KISS, excerpt #3

I must have blacked out. When I open my eyes, I’m staring at my knees. They are covered by a brand new, clean hospital gown reaching to mid-calf. I’m sitting on the edge, the very edge, of a hospital bed in the recovery room. A nurse is turned away with her back to me. She fiddles with the monitor and runs her hand along the tubes that braid their way toward my head. My other head.

I hop down and look at myself lying on the bed. So pale. Still not breathing on my own. I sigh and then wonder how I can sigh. My senses seem sharper. I can read the fine print on a label across the room. I hear the two-beat thuds of a keyboard beyond the door. How can I hear individual letters being typed sporadically? The sickly scent of antiseptic cuts through the faint whiffs I get of the nurse’s mouthwash, deodorant, and hand sanitizer. She turns and looks at me—well, through me, I guess.

“How ya doing, Jessica?” she whispers as she adjusts all the paraphernalia attached to me. “Keep on fighting, sweetie. You’re gonna pull through.”

Well, that’s encouraging. Her words warm me. In fact, I feel warm all over. My feet no longer beg for socks; some ugly green footies are serving my toes very well. Huh. I touch my abdomen. No pain. I check for blood. No blood. There’s a pocket, though, and something is sticking out. A paper. Maybe a lab report? Or discharge papers?

Or love note?

Silly me. I try to pull the paper out, but it’s part of the pocket, stuck or glued.

“Hang in there, Jessica,” the nurse says. I get distracted for an instant and suddenly there’s no pocket on the gown. Of course not. Now I’m not certain I ever saw a pocket or a piece of paper. Those super sharp sensations I experienced a moment before flee as I watch the nurse squirt something into my IV line. I move toward the door and scoot out behind her when she leaves.

I wander around a while trying to figure out where my family might be. I am oddly calm, not fighting for life, or panicking. The hallways seem dreary and lifeless. The early evening light spoons dimpled shadows on the walls near the windowed waiting room. It’s empty. I take the stairs and search floor by floor. All the waiting rooms are vacant. By accident I find Keith’s room, but he’s sound asleep. I try twice but I can’t get into his head.

The last place I look is the main floor waiting room. It’s kind of noisy, but there’s a “grief room” in the corner. The door is shut and a sliding sign says “occupied.”  Hoping I’m invisible to whoever is inside I will myself through the door. Easy.

I’m shocked. Rashanda. With Tyler. Not who I was expecting to find hidden away in a grieving room.

In each other’s arms.

No way.

The tiny room has a love seat and two chairs. They are cuddled together on the love seat. Rashanda’s head is on Tyler’s shoulder, his arm around her, and his other hand holding one of hers. Cozy. I don’t know why I should feel the least little twinge of jealousy, but I do. They’re obviously very comfortable. So comfortable that they have dozed off. I get it. They haven’t slept much the last couple of days. This is traumatic for them. Still . . . this is . . . off.

A SOUL'S KISS

OUT OF EXODIA, excerpt #1

I CLIMB DOWN, duck through the crowd, and run nearer to the edge. I clasp my hands over my ears to muffle the painful cries. I see ribbons of blue diminishing into the depths, but I’m not close enough to see the bottom. The crashing sounds of metal are distant pings underscored with explosions. The thump of each body hitting the rocks so far below is not audible even to me, but I know when each scream breaks off.

Lydia and her mother, Jenny, come up on either side of me. Lydia pulls my arms down from my ears and takes hold of my hand. There is only a single breath of silence before a cheer goes up.

“We’re free!”

The joy is palpable. From their sleds and packs people pull out banners and flags. Children grab the ends and parade around while adults shout and sing and whistle and make more noise than a thousand lions.

Mira leads dozens of women in a dance line that follows the children as they snake among us. When she passes us she pulls Lydia away and I hate that I’m no longer touching her hand. Without her euphoria coursing through my being I feel as if my special gemfry powers are shutting down.

Suddenly the shouts and claps fade to nothing. I spot a large group of Reds who have stopped their jubilation and appear to be marching toward me. As they pass through the crowd people act bewildered, ashamed, even horrified. All eyes are riveted on this group. The spontaneous excitement of our victory over the Blues has morphed into a wretched misery. Too quiet.

“The Mourners,” Jenny whispers.

“What do they want?”

“You.”

OUT OF EXODIA

EXODIA excerpt #2

I walk away from the fence to get another perspective of my home. At night it doesn’t look much different than the dilapidated dwellings I just passed, only bigger. I feel no tender pull to return home.

I hear a growl that makes me stop mid-stride. My head and hands and feet freeze. My eyes track around the shadows. Before I get to the edge of my peripheral vision I see the dog. He’s a stone’s throw to my right. If I charge the fence and leap up I’ll make it. He takes a single step and his throaty rumble is only slightly louder than the pounding in my chest. I hope I’m only imagining the slow advance of other dogs in the distance. Stalking shadows. Though a pack of wild dogs tearing me to shreds seems like justice for the crime I committed.

The growling intensifies, grows deeper and my fingers tighten on the knife. I judge the distance. I need to run.

I need to run now, before he launches himself, knocks me down, and locks his fangs on my neck. My knife is only a few inches long, not good for much more than peeling an orange or picking at my dirty nails.

His front leg moves up. I’m wasting precious seconds. My legs move before I consciously command them. I run full out toward the nearest section of fence, ten feet closer than Barrett’s spot to cross. The wild dog lunges, crosses the distance between us in an instant. I jump too soon and catch the links lower than I should, but I clamber up a couple feet as the dog hits the fence, and his hard body sends a quiver along the wires. I almost lose my grip. His claws reach the metal inches below my heels and I crab up a little higher. I transfer my knife to my mouth so I can get a better hold and climb to the top.

The barbs are fortified with razor wire here so I cannot climb over. The dog has yet to bark. His growling gurgles with the saliva that drips off his fangs in anticipation. No other dogs have joined him. He is a lone killer.

Like me.

EXODIA

Wednesday - Work in Progress (excerpt)

The candle cast flickering shapes down the hall. Cool. She tried to remember which drug Jason gave her last. She paused at the new girl’s room. A quick check of the door and she knew that Benny boy had helped new girl with a lock. Cori cursed aloud. She set the candle on the floor and dug through her pockets. She had nothing that would work. She went to her own room and looked around. Her head began to nod in mock anticipation as she picked up a wire clothes hanger from the floor and bent the rounded end into a sharper angle.

Slowly, quietly she opened Megan’s door the allowed eighth of an inch. She slipped the wire through and lifted up. The hanger caught the latch and she unhooked it in seconds. Her short black-polished nail tapped the door the rest of the way.

The candle still flickered from its spot on the floor. The tiny light made Megan’s shape loom larger and higher on the wall.

Cori fell against the door frame, grabbed it for balance. This could not be. The new girl was floating at least half-way between the floor and the ceiling.

Cori strained her eyes, grabbed for the candle. She burned her palm and thumb and swore again, stumbling backward. The candle went out, the hanger struck the floor and Cori backed away. She damned Jason for giving her something weird; she damned the new girl; she damned the candle.

Wednesday - Work in Progress (excerpt)

Megan twirled her hair and tried to form her next question about Mrs. Kremer when headlights swung across the front window and a car pulled up and out of sight. A moment later they heard a car door slam and then the side door exploded open.

“You first.”

“No, you first. Out of my way.”

Ben chuckled. “Hey, Chuck,” he called, “come and meet Megan, our new roomie.”

Something was thrown down the basement stairs, there were hushed whispers, and then a tall, thin boy walked into the living room. He was finger-combing his hair behind his ears. He stopped and looked from Ben to Megan.

“Hello,” was all he said.

Megan greeted him back, watching for signs of something. Weirdness, danger, something. But he only seemed shy, hunched a little, much less sure of himself than Adam who had bowed with a certain elegance. Chuck had no style.

“You okay?” Ben asked him.

Chuck stared for a beat or two before replying, “Sure.”

“Take your . . . vitamins, buddy.”

Chuck’s eyes flew to Megan to see if she discerned the hidden meaning.

Wednesday - Work in Progress (excerpt)

Megan fingered the thin door key and pressed it into the hole in the knob. A couple of fumbling twists and pokes and the mechanism sprang. The sounds of the house seemed amplified in her pounding ears: the hum of the furnace, the drone of the fridge, the radio behind the door that earlier bore Cori’s beating.

She pushed it open and slipped into the bedroom, closed and locked the door behind her. The shades were drawn; the bedside lamp was on, providing plenty of light to snoop around. The closet door was closed. She started there. Four blouses, two pairs of slacks, three dresses, a night gown, a jacket. Not much of a wardrobe. She conjured up an image of Mrs. Kremer in the first dress. Not likely. It was a petite, size 4, and the next one was a woman’s 22. The pants were size 10 and size 16, all the blouses medium. And nothing smelled of the cigarette smoke that Mrs. Kremer’s clothes had.

Megan frowned at the floor of the closet – no shoes.

She checked the dresser. Pillowcases and scarves in the top drawer. Nothing in the second and third. No personal objects anywhere.

The radio shut off. Megan froze. She could hear groans.

Wednesday - Work in Progress (excerpt)

She ran her fingers along the edge of the bed and traced an outline of his head on the pillow. She buried her nose in the pillowcase and took more pleasure in the faint scent of his cologne than she should have allowed herself. The pounding in her ears was muting her hearing. What if she was caught in here?

She raised her head too fast, light headed. She panicked at the thought of fainting here and having Ben discover what a trespasser she was. Emily dropped to her knees and started crawling out of the forbidden space.
And that’s when she saw what may have started her nightmares. The exposed parts of the basement floor, where the throw rugs didn’t cover, showed dark red and brown stains exactly like in the laundry room.

Are There Kids on your Christmas List?

I struck gold. Really. Literally. As I came slamming out of the hot tunnel I swerved to avoid falling on top of Samantha and my right arm struck an outcropping of rock that was solid gold.

“We’re still in a tunnel,” Samantha said. Did she even notice the gold?

“Yeah,” I muttered, rubbing my elbow.

“But maybe we’re going to go somewhere else. We’ll have to walk out of here.”

“Maybe here is where we’re supposed to be,” I said. “Maybe the adventure will all take place below ground.”

I pointed towards a light bulb that was dimly illuminating the length of tunnel.

“Sure glad we have light. I’ll bet we would have had flashlights in the bags, if we had gotten the bags.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. Then she screamed really loud. Probably because that’s when the light bulb disappeared and we couldn’t see a thing.

“Ow!” I yelped.

“Sorry,” Sam said. She clutched my arm and said, “I just don’t think we should get separated in the dark.”

Oh, boy. If she would just wait a second I was sure that our eyes would adjust and we’d see some daylight from somewhere.

Of course, maybe it wasn’t daytime here.

It’s a funny thing about these missions we go on. Sometimes it’s like we travel through time and space and planets in a matter of seconds.

So far I, Nick Bazebahl, champion reader, sports hero and middle child, along with Samantha Tennes, girl, have saved a sailor, a witch and a child, and have dealt with aliens, wolves and mountain lions. Not to mention we have been weightless, invisible and magical.

Sam and I became friends first because everyone laughs at our last names. We think it’s cool that they sound like sports. We’re just waiting for the day someone with a name like Polo or Soccer or even Joaquin moves into our school and then we can be like the three Musketeers. Only we’ll be the three Sportsketeers.

Sam’s grip on my arm loosened. “Look!” she said. Sure enough, I could make out a ray or two of daylight coming around the corner of the tunnel ahead.

Then something covered our heads and everything went dark again.

(excerpt from NICK BAZEBAHL AND THE MINING TUNNELS, book 4 in the Tunnels series for kids 8 - 12, now out in paperback and ebook, copyright 2011.)

Excerpt from Mystery's Grave

MYSTERY'S GRAVE is book 2 in the Big Pine Lodge series for kids ages 8 - 12. Here's an excerpt from chapter 9:

Missy and Kevin had divided up their job of knocking on the guest room doors in the lodge and then went cabin to cabin together with no luck.

“Let’s keep going that way toward the stable,” Missy pointed. Kevin agreed and they followed the path.

“You don’t have any quicksand around here, do you?” she asked.

“No, but wouldn’t it be funny if he found another way into the caves?” Kevin stopped. “Hey! We should have checked the little playroom under the stairs.”

“I did.” Missy had kept walking and now Kevin caught up. “When you went down the hall on the right, I checked right away. The secret door was locked and I even checked the secret staircase behind the poster to see if he snuck up to the attic.”

“Good thinking, Missy. Well, maybe he’ll be at the stables. I hope the bobcats don’t get him.”

Now it was Missy’s turn to stop. Her right hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no! That would be awful! Come on, let’s run!”

They raced to the stable and searched diligently, but there were only medium and large size footprints in the soft dirt.

Missy and Kevin walked past the stables and out to the access road. The old, old cemetery was across the road and Missy had found her great-grandmother’s grave there the first week she had spent at the lodge. She automatically looked in the direction of that gravesite and was astonished to see Scooter walking toward them, tightly clutching something.

“Scooter!” she yelled. Then Kevin started yelling, too. The little boy stopped for just a moment before realizing that he knew who Kevin was though the girl was only vaguely familiar.

“Look!” he hollered back. “I found a kitty.”

Missy and Kevin ran up to Scooter and he held out the baby bobcat for them to see.

“Where did you find him?” Missy wanted to know. Scooter thought about not answering her since he didn’t really know her, but then he pointed at the fallen tombstone and started to explain.

“He gots a sister, too, but the mama cat came and took it away in her mouth.”

“Oh, my gosh, Missy, I think Scooter has a bobcat kitten.”

They examined the tiny wild thing more closely, then agreed.

Suddenly there was a loud screeching scream from the oak tree and all three sets of eyes went wide with fear.

“Put the kitten down, Scooter. We better get out of here!” Missy was scared to death. She didn’t want another encounter with a bobcat even if the cat was tame. And there was no guarantee that this was the same animal.

“I want to keep it.” Scooter hugged it closer.

“I really think you’d better let the mother cat take care of it a while longer,” Kevin coaxed. He pried the kitten from Scooter’s grasp and set it on the grassy mound of a hundred year old grave. Then he and Missy each grabbed one of Scooter’s arms and took off in a six-legged race where half the time Scooter’s legs were off the ground.

They heard another cat scream and they went even faster. Kevin bravely glanced back to see the mother bobcat gently retrieving her baby and bounding off into the woods.

Copyright 2010 by Debra Chapoton

Excerpt 3 from Tunnels

I should have been confused by Jackson’s statement, but, oddly, I knew she was right and we were definitely here on this bluff about to save two poor souls on a raft.

But how? We had no tools, no equipment of any kind. At least I didn’t. I looked toward my matronly partner and waited for the next flash of lightning. And there it was. Her shape was etched on my retinas with fading red clarity. There was a strap across her shoulder and a large satchel under her arm.

“What’s in your bag?” I asked, turning my attention back to the flickering boat lights below. I could just make out the square shape of the raft entering the arc of illumination.

“The usual,” she said, “ipad, knives, guns and for back up: paper and pencils.”

Did I hear right?

“Oh, and a flashlight, of course,” she added as she shined a narrow beam in my face. Then she fanned the light over my body and asked, “Where’s your bag? Didn’t you pick it up?” My hesitation must have made her consider another option, despite my nametag. “Are you Paige? Who are you?” And then her light picked up the larger duffel bag behind me. “Oh, there it is. Open it, would you?”

The zipper stuck every couple of inches, but I managed to force the thing open. Inside was another flashlight, rope and a ton of rock climbing gear. I smiled. This was one sport this yuppie mother of three was fairly adept at.

The sound of the raft cracking up below was not the only reason I hurried to pull the supplies out. The growling to our left was especially menacing.

Edge of Escape, now $.99 on Kindle

Here's another excerpt from chpt. 1 of EDGE OF ESCAPE:

Eddie had a crush. Becky was the cutest girl in the school. He couldn’t remember when he didn’t like her. He named all of his cats after her. There was Rebbie, Becker, and Lil Beck. Sometimes he would just watch his cats out by the tool shed as they pounced on mice and played with them. He could sit as still as they did and he mimicked their movements, snatching imaginary victims and swatting paws, slowly devouring helpless rodents. Eddie, of course, didn’t eat mice but he would pretend that he was catching a certain girl and kissing her.

At the bus stop he just stared at his shoes but his peripheral vision was extraordinary and he was aware of Becky looking at him as well as the yellow of the school bus drawing nearer. His heart began to pound harder. He could feel it in his neck and he could hear it in his ears. He would be a cat now; what would Rebbie or Becker do? If Becky was his mouse this morning could he stay still enough to catch her? The Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland grinned a lot, maybe he should smile. He raised his eyes, turned his head slightly and smiled at Becky.

Time stood still for Eddie. He looked into her eyes in that first quarter of a second and just knew that she would one day be with him. The next quarter of a second played on his mind’s eye like a tiny television showing reruns of every moment that Becky had ever shown an awareness of him. But that last half a second sent his heart rocketing down through his stomach as Becky turned away without smiling back. Eddie was crushed.

copyright 2010 by Debra Chapoton