Chapter Twenty-three
WORLD END: T-minus 98 days, 10 hours, and 00 minutes
Containment Zone - The Community Compound, Alberta Foothills.
The air was a biting, unforgiving blade, a true test of the Canadian winter. November had sealed the Alberta Foothills in a deep, paralyzing cold. Heavy, wet snow fell without cease, coating the military perimeter—the LAV-III Infantry Fighting Vehicles, the Armored Engineer Vehicles, and the endless lines of barbed wire—in a thick, silenc
The kids have been the heart of this story, I have loved every second of writing them, and am contemplating writing a Tommy, Jacob and Weston story, perhaps a road trip with them a little older.
Carter's Odyssey.... something simple, non political and coming-of-age ish
I remember hearing about this man when I was 14, maybe 15 on the radio on a school bus. It is a story that always stuck with me as an example of a politician putting the nation ahead of his own ambition. It was one of the formulation principles behind how I wanted to portray Will Carter the politician. In an era of tribalism, it should be noted that he was a Republican and comported himself with honour.
You remind me of Senator Dewey, who was convinced not to reveal project "Magic" during World War 2, a patriotic sacrifice that cost him the election of 1944. Say what you will about the man and his politics, that is the kind of example we need more of in politics the world over.
Chapter 13: The Street Magician
The room was silent save for the low, aggressive hum of the dam’s ventilation system, which felt less like climate control and more like the ominous, suppressed breathing of a hidden giant. It wasn't the concrete shoebox of a holding cell anymore, but a repurposed, sterile office—all institutional beige paint, cheap corporate art depicting bland landscapes, and a single, heavy, locked steel door. The air was thick with the scent of recycled, chilled air and t
Chapter Twenty-two
WORLD END: T-minus 108 days, 14 hours, and 00 minutes
24 Sussex Drive, Ottawa, Ontario.
The Prime Minister's Private Study. Late Night.
The air in the private study was colder than the November night outside. The temperature felt glacial, thick with the scent of old leather, paper, and the suffocating smell of absolute power. The only sound was the tick of the grandfather clock, a relentless, mechanical judge marking the minutes of their coll
Chapter 12: Fever Drive
The frigid air was thick with the smells of burnt oil and pine, but all Kenny could register was the cloying, metallic scent of Alex’s fevered skin. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. If you stop, he dies. The mantra was the only thing holding the seams of his sanity together.
They hadn’t moved far from the Observation Post before Alex’s condition plummeted. The crude stitches Kenny had installed at the radio tower—a desperate, clumsy act performed with trembling han
I blame my editing process there, I added some scenes in and then took some others out. So it caused a little... bump here and there, I will clean it up in a bit when I have some time.
This is one to read, to enjoy, and to exist in. One of the better concepts I have read on the Genre in a long time. I recommend people give it a chance, a read, and let the characters stick with you like they have done with me.
Time to visit a Wicked Little Town.