♠ Resolutions ♠

Start the new year right. Stop living from salary to salary. Achieve Financial Independence. Retire Early. Join the FIRE movement igniting the world.

Follow these weekly posts for solid advice on how to escape the rat race, covering material contained in Hard Money.

This is no get-rich-quick scheme. It won’t be easy. That’s why it’s called Hard Money.

Work while they sleep. Learn while they party. Save while they spend. Then live like they dream.

Read more about the FIRE movement – www.earnest.com/blog/retire-early/

Best of luck for 2022 and beyond.

♠ Merry Xmas (weekend) ♠

“Stompie? Is that you, you greedy bloodsucker?”

“Connor, you frigging oxygen thief. I’d recognize your rancid whisky breath anywhere.”

Connor smiled and nipped around the shelf, heading deeper into the store.

“Not over this stink, Stompie. What are you doing here, anyway? Did nobody tell you this shop closed a couple of years ago?”

Then he saw why Stompie was still here.

“Had nowhere else to go when it first happened.” Stompie looked away from his old customer. “Thought I might as well stay here, rather than my old shack. Then they came around, checking.”

“Looters?”

Stompie shook his head. Which was pretty much all he could do.

“I managed to scare them off. Still had the shotgun back then. But I’d run out of ammo by the time the cops came. You remember before the lockdown, when they tried to shake down those two ladies at the ATM?”

Connor remembered. It had been more than a shake down. Late at night, the parking lot deserted except for the ladies’ car and two police cruisers. It could have been bad, if Connor hadn’t stopped in on his way home and seen Stompie waving his shotgun at the furious officials standing over the half-naked victims.

“They never forgot that night. They never found you. But me…” Stompie finally looked up at his old friend. “They thought it was funny.”

Stompie’s legs had been sawed off just below the knees. Arms, below the elbows. Cauterized somehow, so he didn’t bleed to death. Although that might have been a blessing.

⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud at www.bit.ly/FreeBurning. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥

Remember the Smashwords sale from 17/12 to 1/1. Free & discounted books, including mine. https://bit.ly/SmashBurn

⛥

For a different experience, listen to these weekly episodes as Spotify podcasts, Apple podcasts, or Google podcasts.

⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all the above details and links at www.amazon.com/author/burning.

In case you missed the link while listening to the podcast, that’s www.amazon.com/author/burning.

⛥

Cheers.

♠ Nicked ♠

The man in the red coat covered his nose and mouth. He was going to sneeze. He could feel it coming. Maybe if he scrunched up his nose… wiggled it from side to side…

“Achoo!”

“Bless you.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you alright in there?”

He considered the question. Pondered his response even more carefully.

“As well as can be expected. You could always change your mind. Just forget I was here.”

He waited expectantly for a reply, ears straining in an attempt to hear any clues that might indicate the other person’s mood.

“No, I don’t think so. They should be here any minute now.”

“Look, it was an innocent mistake. I’m dyslexic. I mixed up the house numbers.”

“So you keep saying.”

“The kids are waiting for me up the street. They’ll be worried.”

“You’ll be out of there soon. You can make your phone call.”

“What about all these presents?”

He heard a knock on a wooden door.

“That’ll be the police now. Let’s wait for them to get you out of my chimney before we look at what’s in your bag.”

⛥

Have a restful festive season. You deserve it.

http://www.amazon.com/author/burning

♠ Run runaway ♠

I’ve got my own problems. Fuel gauge reading half full. Or was it half empty? Connor had always been a half full kinda guy. That was good. What was not so good were the several black specks appearing in the bike mirrors.

The second buggery of drones in one day.

Connor twisted the throttle and gave the bike an extra kick of speed. He ramped over a speed bump and steered towards a more built-up part of the city.

The suburbs were no place to hide from drones. The mostly single-storey houses and wide roads provided no cover.

Did the roads still go that far? Would there be a road block? No time to worry about that now. Faded rusty road signs partially hidden by weeds directed him to the CBD.

There was no other traffic on the road. Lockdown law 28-C strictly prohibited that. If he did encounter a vehicle it would be bad news.

He checked the mirrors. He hadn’t lost the drones. They seemed to be getting closer. He wasn’t going to be able to outrun them.

“Petrol station. Perfect.” Connor steered the bike into the forecourt.

He slid the bike to a halt between the pumps and sprinted to what used to be the shop. The glass from the door had long been smashed. Shelves emptied, turned over, looted. Helpless people with their livelihoods taken away had to eat. Eat or die. He covered his nose against the smell and crouched behind an upturned shelf, drawing his weapon.

“They’ll have to come under the canopy to see where I am,” Connor told Shell.

“Who the fok are you?” the owner of the smell called from the far corner of the building.

⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud at www.bit.ly/FreeBurning. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥

Catch the Smashwords sale from 17/12 to 1/1. Free & discounted books, including mine. https://bit.ly/SmashBurn

⛥

For a different experience, listen to these weekly episodes as Spotify podcasts, Apple podcasts, or Google podcasts.

⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all the above details and links at www.amazon.com/author/burning.

In case you missed the link while listening to the podcast, that’s www.amazon.com/author/burning.

⛥

Cheers.

♠ Heading out to the highway ♠

The wind in his face felt good. Stroking his beard and ruffling what was left of his hair. The pack on his back reassuringly heavy with life’s necessities. A gun and plenty of ammo.

The lingering image of a half-naked Charlotte was quickly replaced by the pressing matter at hand. Escaping Johannesburg’s finest. If Noecker was in charge, they would be the best he could find. He always was such a dick. His way or the highway. It took Connor just a few months to choose the highway. Operation Puma right at the beginning of lockdown had seen to that. Noecker gave the order to fire on starving civilians. Connor gave him the finger.

Turning left at the top of Acacia, he sped down empty residential streets. The high walls to either side would once have housed the upper-middle class. Corrupt government officials living next to the morally corrupt bankers and lawyers. Rubbing shoulders and discussing the next way of taking from the poor.

Maybe they were still there. Suffering with the rest, finally. Universal karma. More likely they bribed their way out and found better ways to exploit the poor in the country, far away from the mass populace. Far away from Covid-19.

⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud at www.bit.ly/FreeBurning. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥

For a different experience, listen to these weekly episodes as Spotify podcasts, Apple podcasts, or Google podcasts.

⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all the above details and links at www.amazon.com/author/burning.

In case you missed the link while listening to the podcast, that’s www.amazon.com/author/burning.

⛥

Cheers.

♠ Charlotte the neighbour ♠

Turning back towards the hole in the fence, Connor spotted the bike’s owner in the kitchen window. Charlotte wasn’t wearing much. Some things never changed, even in isolation. She waved when she saw him, a puzzled smile gracing her dimpled cheeks. Connor blew her a kiss, then accelerated towards the alley.

Only one of the sprinting policemen managed to dive out of the way. The other one tried to use his face to stop the bike’s front tyre. It didn’t end well.

Then Connor was out of the alley, turning left onto Acacia Avenue and accelerating away from the shitstorm that used to be his life.

That wasn’t his style. He wasn’t used to moving away from things. He much preferred moving towards them. But for that, he needed a destination. Which required a plan. And plans had to be based on information.

The only information he had was that (allegedly) a mysterious woman had been seen leaving his yard, and had (possibly) planted an envelope for him (or the cops) to find.

Was that it? Was he being set up, after all this time? Why would they bother to plant evidence? The justice system had been scrapped.

Or was this the world’s most adventurous secret admirer delivering the most disastrous love letter ever? He smiled and got a bug in his teeth. Not the first woman to climb over his garden wall. But the way this day was going, it looked like she would definitely be the last.

⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud at www.bit.ly/FreeBurning. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥

For a different experience, listen to these weekly episodes as Spotify podcasts, Apple podcasts, or Google podcasts.

⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all the above details and links at www.amazon.com/author/burning.

In case you missed the link while listening to the podcast, that’s www.amazon.com/author/burning.

⛥

Cheers.

♠ Out of hand ♠

He surprised himself by doing a brief dance step in the alley behind the neighbour’s house. Damn, it felt good to be out. Out of the house, out of cover. Out of his mind, probably, but that was nothing new. No more caution. No more holding back. He’d forgotten how much he missed it.

He wasn’t out of the woods yet. By the sound of things, every cop that ever there was, were gathered there together because –

Stop it. Get a grip.

He used to know people around the neighbourhood. There had been days, and nights – mostly nights – when he’d had to get out of the house, be somewhere else for a while. Before lockdown, when things were still normal.

Connor spat the taste of adrenaline onto a flattened cardboard box at the side of the alley. That had been his problem. He didn’t do normal.

But one of the neighbours… He trotted on tiptoes for a couple of steps, looking over the ramshackle wooden fence topped with rusted razor wire. Yip. That was the one.

He didn’t waste time climbing. With a kick and a shoulder, he was through the rotten planks and running towards the carport at the side of the house. There it was, exactly as he remembered it from last time he was there. An off-road scrambler, just waiting for him. He turned the key in the ignition and knew that someone up there was looking after him when the engine kicked into spluttering life.

⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud at www.bit.ly/FreeBurning. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥

For a different experience, listen to these weekly episodes as Spotify podcasts, Apple podcasts, or Google podcasts.

⛥

Join me on Sunday the 5th, from 9am to 3pm, at BookDealers, 40 Wessel Road, Rivonia, for their last Book Fair of 2021. Come stock up on pressies for those long load-shed nights after Squirrel closes the bottle stores.

⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all the above details and links at www.amazon.com/author/burning.

In case you missed the link while listening to the podcast, that’s www.amazon.com/author/burning.

⛥

Cheers.

♠ Clampdown ♠

It wouldn’t be long before the police extended their search. The houses next door would be first, followed by the whole neighbourhood. They would use it as a training exercise. Blood a few rookies. Failing that, an excuse to break things and kick people. They wouldn’t rest until they had him. Or a body approximately the same age and build they could pass off as him.

“Connaught! Lars Connaught! I know you’re in there.”

I’m not, Connor thought, but his grin was short-lived this time. When was the last time anyone called him Connaught? That was three fake names ago. Back when he was a little more ‘politically’ active than he was now.

“We tracked you down,” the voice continued. That nasal voice. The accent… A deep-buried memory stirred within him. Sergeant Noecker. A dick of note. Bad news and not someone Connor wanted to see right now.

You’re supposed to be dead. Reality or fabrication? Isolation really played with the senses. Was the letter real? And the girl? He hurriedly checked his jacket pocket and felt the envelope.

Yes and yes.

Probably.

No time to read the letter now. Escape was the only option. Can’t go through the front gate. Even now he heard the engine of the police support vehicle coming down the heavily potholed road.

Over the back wall and through the gardens. The overgrown trees would at least offer some cover from the drones if they came back.

⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud at www.bit.ly/FreeBurning. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥

For a different experience, listen to these weekly episodes as Spotify podcasts, Apple podcasts, or Google podcasts.

⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all the above details and links at www.amazon.com/author/burning.

In case you missed the link while listening to the podcast, that’s www.amazon.com/author/burning.

⛥

Cheers.

♠ 22 Acacia Avenue ♠

He wasn’t a regular visitor to number twenty-two. The old couple that used to live there hadn’t been much company since they died two summers ago. Was it two or three? Did time ever have less meaning? Tick the days off until the day you die.

He had smelled them dead long before he saw them dead. Even at twenty metres. He watched their food parcels mount up, taking the best – least bad – for himself.

The government had promised that all bodies would be taken away within three days for screening and safe disposal. Another broken promise. At least Mr and Mrs van der Merwe weren’t likely to ever blab to anyone about Connor’s little digging project.

The house had remained empty ever since. Was there even anyone left to live there? A combination of isolation, bad food, lack of personal hygiene (soap was now a luxury few people had), no hope and good old Covid-19 had really put a dampener on population growth.

He popped his head up, meerkat-style, and looked around. Coming up underneath the van der Merwe’s Ford was a stroke of good fortune. Cover. He slid underneath the car, pulling his backpack behind him. Across the dusty floor, avoiding the oil slick. Ford. Crap then, worse now.

He held his breath and assessed his options.

From his house came the sounds of the police searching. Looking for him. The crunch of a boot on glass, hushed whispers, the rustling of bodies moving through the undergrowth and the rookie cop retching. He must have found what was left of his buddy. Connor couldn’t suppress a grin.

⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥

For a different experience, listen to these weekly episodes as Spotify podcasts, Apple podcasts, or Google podcasts.

⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all the above details and links at www.amazon.com/author/burning.

In case you missed it while listening to the podcast, that’s www.amazon.com/author/burning.

⛥

Cheers.

♠ You’ll always find me in the kitchen at parties ♠

The cop made a grab. For what, Connor wasn’t quite sure. He seemed to be going for Connor’s legs at first, changing direction when he saw a kitchen knife under the blackened remains of the Kelvinator double-door fridge-freezer Francina – the bitch – had insisted on buying during her first and only domestic goddess cooking phase.

Connor kicked the helpful police officer on the side of the head as he turned and sprinted back towards the door to the cellar. Said door clicked shut behind him two seconds before the gas grenades whooshed into the lounge, bringing their flash-bang friends along for the ride.

Down the rabbit hole. Thinking about a masked woman in tight black clothes. Curiouser and curiouser. He wasn’t used to people sneaking onto his property in the middle of the night. Not anymore. Not since the bad old days, before lockdown. The secret days. The violent days. The days he had walked away from, swearing that he would never go back. Before he changed his name. His face. His fingerprints, even.

The rickety wooden cupboard at the far end of the cellar swung open without a squeak and Connor pushed through the shirts and jackets he’d bought at a charity shop to reach the tunnel that ran from his house under the garden wall to the neighbour’s garage.

He’d been bored that month.

⛥⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

For a different experience, listen to these weekly episodes as Spotify podcasts. https://bit.ly/burningpodcast

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Cheers.

♠ Happy Halloween ♠

“Right, let’s try again, shall we? Actually, forget about your name. Your buddies are on their way, so I have to leave. Now, you can tell me, first time, what put me under the spotlight, and I’ll leave you here for them to find. Or you can waste my time, and I’ll leave part of you here, part of you in the bedroom… You get the picture. One chance. Talk or die.”

Connor held an imaginary microphone in front of the man’s face. The policeman drew back slightly, took a deep breath, and made what could be the last decision he’d ever make.

“It was the girl. Routine fly-by saw her sneaking out over the wall last night.”

Connor blinked. Unlicensed weapons. Illegal explosives. Fake documentation. Banned literature. Restricted substances. A dirty mind and a sociopathic attitude towards life in general. He would have accepted, in fact expected, any of those bringing the full might of the law down on his shiny head sooner or later. But this?

Careful to speak into the imaginary microphone, “What fucking girl?”

A shrug. A careful shrug, using only the shoulders, not the lower part of the body.

“Wore a mask. One of those full-face virus jobs. Tight black clothes.” The cop almost smiled, showing a mouthful of broken teeth. “We would have been here sooner, but some of the boys wanted to watch the video more than once.”

Connor dropped the imaginary mike and straightened his bent knees.

“IN THE HOUSE. TOSS OUT YOUR WEAPONS AND EXIT THE FRONT DOOR WITH YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD.”

⛥⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

Halloween weekend sees my books either heavily discounted or FREE, from 30/10 to 3/11, on most online book platforms. Find your favourite retailer and help yourself at https://books2read.com/b/Valhalla

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Cheers.

♠ Burn MF ♠

Screams drew him into the kitchen where another policeman was clutching the large fragment of plate embedded in his leg.

The man had numerous other injuries and was in bad shape.

“Shut up, prick.” Connor smacked him in the head with the butt of his gun. “We can talk later.”

“Where’s the third? You guys always hunt in threes.” Connor turned quickly to look around the decimated kitchen. Cooking was never his thing anyway.

A shadow on what was left of the kitchen window. He’s outside. A gunshot smacked into the oven. Connor crouched low and returned fire. He kept low and hid behind the fridge. The policeman poked his head in through the window. It was the last thing he ever did as the bullet smacked into the side of head.

“Fucking idiot.” Connor walked past him to the living room and looked outside. The buggery of drones had reduced dramatically.

“Where are your drone buddies?” Connor asked the one remaining, before giving it the finger and shooting it out of the sky.

He went back to the kitchen and knelt over the prone police officer. Blood trickled from the side of his mouth, he was panting heavily and his forehead was slick with sweat.

Connor pushed the shard of plate deeper into his leg. Just to see his reaction.

“Hello. You already know my name. What’s yours?”

“They’ll get you for this.”

“Now.” Connor tapped on the shard of crockery. “That’s.” And again. “Not.” The cop gritted his teeth. “Very.” Eyes bulged. “Nice.”

“Aargh!”

Good. Progress.

⛥⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Cheers.

♠ Burn ♠

The cellar contained shelves, with tinned food, a bowl for washing, an oil lamp and a mirror. It was a project he’d started for the worst. Hide underground with food.

He dropped the bag on the dirt floor and looked in the mirror. “We didn’t finish it, did we? Didn’t want to die like a rabbit, did we? Explosions are much more fun. Go out with a bang.” He looked from side to side and started laughing.

“Quiet!” his reflection interrupted. “We don’t want to miss it.”

Connor agreed and wiped spittle from his short white beard.

Boom! From the car. Make them run into the house and then …

Two more explosions. Boom! First from the kitchen. That unused cupboard, spitting knives and broken crockery in a wide arc. Boom! Living room next.

Connor had to cover his ears for that one. He uncovered to hear the shouting, the confusion. The screams.

“Bedroom, then garage.” He counted them on his fingers.

Boom! And then boom!

“Wait for it.” There they were. Second and third explosions from the garage. Always handy to have a spare can of petrol. Or two.

“Let’s go see what the score is.” Back up the stairs, pulling the gun from his pocket. He pushed open the door and crouched along the passage. Dust hung thick in the air. He crunched broken glass as he went. The bitter tang of blood filled his nostrils.

“You were in the right place at the right time,” he told what was left of the first body as he entered the living room. “I guess I’ll be seeing the rest of you later.”

⛥⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Cheers.

♠ It’s the end of the world ♠

Jacket on, pockets full, he raced down the short hall to the cupboard under the stairs, where his keys hung on a hook gathering dust. One hand snatched them from the hook while his other hand opened the cupboard door. The motion-activated light revealed nothing but a duffle bag and a switch on the wall.

Grab the bag. Slide the false switch to the side. Push the red button hidden behind it.

Bang.

The timing was perfect. Connor ducked through the tiny wooden doorway that opened in front of him. Another motion-detector blazed as he closed the door with a click and a smile.

“Bugger the buggery.”

Time for one last look around, patting his pockets and hefting the bag.

Bang. Thud. Crunch.

He’d never liked that gate. It was Francina who’d insisted on securing the property against the roving bands of starving refugees that had spilled onto the streets during the first lockdown.

Bitch.

But he still smiled when he pushed the red button on the inside of the door. His smile grew wider when the tell-tale ticking started.

By the time he was halfway down the stairs leading to the cellar he’d dug out of sheer boredom, he was even whistling. REM, if memory served. Da da da da da da da da da. “And I feel fine.”

⛥⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Cheers.

♠ B()gger off ♠

And everybody knew not to do anything outside, and not to make too much noise if they did anything inside. Especially after those first few months, when several of Connor’s neighbours had suddenly “moved away” in the middle of the night. As far as he knew, the houses on either side of him were still empty, except for the homeless crowd who dropped in occasionally in their desperate dance to stay one step ahead of the authorities.

Now he could hear voices coming from the gate. Bit pointless, really. Couldn’t they see he’d closed all the doors and windows? Now he drew the curtains too, smiling and waving at the small gathering of drones. What was the collective noun for government drones, buzzing together like insects? A buggery?

Now the clock was ticking. The hazmat brigade wasn’t used to being ignored. Especially when their buggery (yes, he liked that word) could see that he was definitely home.

Back to the study. Grab the book. Get the nail. Spare bedroom. Kick the bed. Open the tile. Grab EVERYTHING. Toss it on the bed. Open the cupboard. Find his favourite leather jacket, the one with the extra pockets.

Bang.

He didn’t have to look. That was the steel gate, still holding but no longer defiantly impregnable. Another few bangs and they’d be inside.

He wouldn’t be.

⛥⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Remember to check out the Beyond The Vale Bookshop, open from 1 October in the Edenglen Shopping Centre, Edenvale. You can find my books there, along with a huge selection of other local authors. Beer can be found nearby. Obviously.

⛥⛥

Cheers.

♠ Someone’s looking at you ♠

“Shit!” A low hum was coming from outside. He stuffed the papers under a cushion and ran to the window. “Fuck. A drone.”

Drone surveillance was regular and bad news. He snatched the papers and key and rushed to the spare bedroom. Under the bed was a false tile which had to be prised open with a long nail. The nail was kept on the pillow for occasions like this.

Tile open, he placed the papers with his other prized possessions. Fake ID, his last picture of Francina (bitch), his hand gun and ammo.

Tile back in place, he rushed to his study, found the book with the false compartment and hid the nail. He ran back to the living room window to see the drone was hovering around his garden, its camera peering in through the dirty windows.

“Fuck off.” Connor encouraged the drone to go about some other business. The drone ignored him and was joined by a second.

Despite the heat of the day, Connor rushed to close all the doors and windows. Drones weren’t supposed to come inside without a warrant, but warrants were a formality and could be backdated. The system was rigged, with every advantage given to the military police.

Then, to make matters worse, Connor heard a pounding on the front gate.

It was too early for the food parcel delivery. The real one. Everybody knew the daily deliveries were just an excuse for the hazmat-suited snoopers to keep an eye on the inmates. Oops. Let’s be politically correct. The “general populace.”

⛥⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Check out the Beyond The Vale Bookshop, opening 1 October in the Edenglen Shopping Centre, Edenvale. You can find my books there, along with a huge selection of other local authors. Beer can be found nearby. Obviously.

⛥⛥

Cheers.

♠ Half your age ♠

He pulled the paper out and a key tinkled on the cracked tile floor. He peered down at the innocuous metal object lying between his once-white training shoes, before returning his attention to the paper held like gold leaf between his thumb and index finger. Wait – two pieces of paper.

Behind the hand-written letter was a newspaper clipping. Written in English but not from a South African paper. They had been disbanded many years ago. Early victims of the department for information control. Possession alone would guarantee arrest, detention without a jury, torture to find out where it had come from, and then, if he was lucky, death.

How long had it been since he had seen anything so white? The books on the shelves in his study were yellowing and dog-eared now, they had been read so often.

Keep the body active, keep the brain active. That had been Francina’s parting words.

Bitch.

No, he didn’t mean that. He loved her.

She had left him. Yes, he did mean it.

Bitch.

Where was she now? Probably dead. Forced labour in one of the government’s agricultural programmes. Or worse. Entertainment for the brave loyal military police. Passed round and shared like a bottle of tequila at a braai. She wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet. She would have stood up for people’s rights and she would have faced the consequences.

She was the past. Francina’s pretty face and athletic body was shunted back into a deep dark part of his memory. The split was rammed down underneath that.

“No!” Connor shouted at the world. “I will not think about that.”

He slowed his breathing and turned his attention to the contents of the envelope.

⛥⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at No.1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Cheers.

♠ Message in a bottle ♠

Nothing written on the front, or the back. Where had it come from? Who was it for?

Connor got to his feet, only bothering to brush the dirt from his knees when he tried to get it off his hands. He looked around. Pointless. Of course, there was nobody there. Nobody could get into his garden. Unless they crawled through the delivery slot cut in the bottom of the steel gate.

The envelope looked fresh. Clean. New. It had been so long since he’d seen anything fresh or clean or new – or different – that he didn’t know what to do with it.

So he took it inside and tossed it into the decontamination corner while he washed his hands. Next to yesterday’s food parcel and three bottles of brandydrink he’d been saving for a special occasion.

Automatic reflex. Anything that came into the house sat in the corner like a naughty child until any trace of the virus had been starved into submission.

But as he dried his hands, he shook his head. How long was paper supposed to be left? Wasn’t going to happen. There wasn’t enough self-control left anywhere to ignore an unopened envelope for longer than the few minutes it took him to grab a pair of gloves and a new facemask from the box he kept on the hall table.

He reached down and picked up the envelope. Held it up to the light. Shook it. Almost put it next to his ear to see if he could hear anything rattling around inside.

Instead, he sat in his favourite lounge chair, took a deep breath, and broke the wax seal.

⛥⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at #1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Cheers.

♠ 66 6 packs ♠

Reliance on government became total. Food, power, TV, radio. There were two options. Acceptance, or face the consequences. Most accepted, aided by the government-produced brandydrink. Sickly sweet and a guaranteed release from the horror that daily life had become.

What Connor wouldn’t give for a beer. A six-pack would be better, but he’d settle for just the one. He wasn’t sure there were any left. They’d been an early casualty in the clampdown. Four hundred million bottles, destroyed. His own considerable stockpile had lasted a few weeks. He’d had to conserve them, obviously. Only two or three each night. Except for weekends. To be honest, he’d lost track of which days were “work” days and which weren’t, but there was something about cracking open a cold beer on a warm Saturday afternoon…

His foot caught in a strand of kikuyu and he found himself flat on the path, face to face with a tiny green praying mantis. It raised one spiked arm. Attack? Defence? Saying hello?

“Hello.”

Satisfied with Connor’s response, the tiny predator shuffled off to carry on with the important business of the day.

Connor envied it. Business as usual. Hunt. Eat. Sleep. Hunt. Eat. Sex. Decapitation. Yes, he’d dated women like that, too. He smiled. These days, it would almost be worth it, just for a change of pace.

Hello. What was this?

Lying in the neglected grass jungle, covered by brown stalks and invisible from any other angle, was a rectangular piece of paper. He reached out and plucked it from its lair. It wasn’t just a scrap of paper. It was an envelope. Crisp white stationery. Sealed with an old-fashioned wax seal.

⛥⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at #1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Cheers.

♠ Mother ♠

“Eskom guarantees each household three hours of electricity every night.”

“Data cables under the Indian and Atlantic oceans remain down.”

“The government blames anti-establishment rebels.”

Connor knew the headlines by heart.

“Anti-establishment rebel gatherings intent on spreading Covid-19 suppressed by the heroic action of Johannesburg’s finest military police.”

The metro police had long since been amalgamated into the country’s defence force for a more efficient use of scarce resources.

“More efficient way of suppressing civil liberty,” Connor mumbled as he leaped up and over what was once his car. Now it was just metal and glass poking through the weeds, and a handy obstacle to keep him fit.

That was the sort of talk that would get a person taken away. Criticism of any form would instantly categorise you as anti-establishment. In the beginning of the lockdown, however long ago it was, anti-establishment talk was rife. It was a proper movement back then. Goals, aims, members and a leadership structure.

The attacks were swift and ruthless. The leaders disappeared. No one knew whether they were in hiding or taken away to God knows where. It was certainly nowhere designed for pleasure.

Rumours spread. Forced human vaccine testing. Labour camps. Hangings. Back when rumours could be started. Before the data cables were severed.

Cellphone towers were blamed for Eskom’s power failure, and removed. Everyone remembered where they were the day the internet stopped.

Businesses failed. Food stocks dwindled. Money became pointless. There was nothing to buy.

⛥⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Instagram, Twitter, Tumblr, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at #1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Cheers.

♠ NEW STORY – STARTS TODAY ♠

Isolation. For how long now? Connor tried to remember as he stared up through the leafy canopy to the blue Johannesburg sky ahead. Keep fit, keep active, he told himself as he started running the bare earth of the path around his garden. Around the house. Weeds poked through the bricks of the driveway and Connor slapped them with his hands as he ran.

What else was there to do, but run? Push ups, chin ups, star jumps. Connor knew how to take care of himself. Abandoned as a baby, he spent his life in and out of institutions. Orphanages, abusive foster parents, school and then the army.

The alternative to keeping fit was what? Veg in front of the TV like everyone else did and wait for death to come. When was the last time there was something new on? No sports, no new programming. All gatherings had been banned. How long ago was that now?

Just government-approved news. Connor tried not to watch. It had become an exercise in frustration, with the spokesperson never bothering to show up on time.

“My fellow South Africans, thanks to your government’s swift actions to contain Covid-19, deaths have been kept to a minimum.”

“My fellow South Africans, do not leave your homes.”

“My fellow South Africans, our borders remain closed to protect you against foreigners with Covid-19.”

“My fellow South Africans, rely on your government to deliver your state-approved groceries. We will do our best to help you through these difficult times. Help us by staying at home.”

⛥⛥

Read Big Day Out in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Or read them on Kindle Unlimited.

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at #1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Cheers.

♠ Nothing ♠

Thanks to everyone who came out yesterday to support new authors in Rivonia.

Weekly instalments of Dancing in Valhalla have come to an end. From next week, I’ll be serializing Big Day Out, a mad mercenary romp through the dystopian nightmare that Covid-19 might have become. Might still become, if we don’t keep our self-appointed leaders on a very short leash.

Check it out on Amazon, if you like. Or sit back and wait for weekly bite-sized chunks to be thrown your way.

⛥⛥

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Including the Burning Books sampler booklet (also available on Kindle Unlimited).

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at #1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

⛥⛥

Cheers.

♠ Songbird ♠

Noddy reached Janine’s door, focused on what he had to say. He’d been practicing on the way down from the roof. It was clear in his head, on the tip of his tongue. He turned the handle and stepped into the flat. He had to get it out now, while it was still fresh in his mind.

In his eagerness, he left the door open behind him. Janine looked up and smiled. Then she stopped smiling, eyes growing wide and straying from his face to look anxiously over his shoulder.

*

“Ah, man… Mick never liked you, did he?” Dirk took a last drag of his smoke, leaving it to hang from the corner of his mouth. He reached out with his free hand, stroking the tiny black feathers that covered the bird’s head and chest.

“Sorry, dude. You’re too far gone to save. At least your worries are over now. Poor bastard.”

He gripped the bird’s head between his thumb and forefinger and twisted.

That’s when he heard the gunshot.

⛥⛥

Read Dancing in Valhalla in weekly installments on FaceBook or WordPress. Receive notifications via Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, GoodReads, or Amazon, where you’ll find the whole book – 13 decadent twisted tales of mystery, music, magick & mayhem.

This is the last instalment I’ll be releasing on Facebook. If anyone cares what happens to the characters, check out the last chapter on Amazon.

Download FREE sampler previews of all my books – and some complete short stories – from PCloud. Including the new Burning Books sampler booklet (also available on Kindle Unlimited).

No charge. No obligation. No sign-in. Read for free. Share with your friends.

⛥⛥

If you have a book you’d like to publish, contact me to claim your 15 minutes of bestselling fame at #1 on Amazon. Find all my details at BurningBookLinks

Or catch me at the New Authors Book Fair in Rivonia on 15 August, if the govirusment lets it go ahead.

⛥⛥

Cheers.