Books 1 through 4 are available now from Amazon or signed copies available directly from the author. Book 5 will be out this summer in time for Scares That Care in August.
Bonus Teaser
from Dead Song book 5
by Jay Wilburn
A truck backed away in a slow retreat. Men in black caps packed in behind it as the vehicle reversed at a crawl.
Someone else whistled to Tiny’s right. Men parted and laid down as a warrior lifted a launcher to his shoulder. White smoke streaked after the projectile as it hit the front right of the truck’s grill. The cab erupted in red light and then orange spilled out of every window and seam. Men on fire rolled out of the bed and thrashed on the ground.
The men behind the burning truck scattered and gunfire ripped through them, dropping most of them in a wave.
Men ran from behind the other vehicles as others shouted at them to stay down. The whole line opened fire, taking legs out, opening skulls, and tearing through organs. A few ran fast enough to get back to where the explosives still tore apart their camp.
The concussions and machineguns went silent behind them. Then, green flares arced out above them.
The lines broke and the men charged forward out of the scrub. A man in a black skullcap bailed out of the driver’s side of light blue SUV, but took a bullet through the temple before his feet touched the ground. He fell to his face in a heap.
A man on the ground under a truck shot one of the warriors in the hip. A man beside the wounded warrior caught him by the shoulder while three men shot the enemy under the truck all at once.
A few paused to strip bodies. Others rifled through the trucks. More men aimed and shot fallen enemies on the ground.
Tiny passed a truck with two warriors crouched beside it. One nodded and the other raised his rifle over his head, firing a series of shots blind into the cab. Someone inside screamed. The warriors opened the passenger’s door, dragged him out on the ground, and shot him again.
Gunfire popped off from the camp and a few warriors fell. Others dropped to their stomachs and returned fire. They stood and ran. Then, dropped and fired some more.
Tiny swept his rifle from side to side by the back bumper of a vacated pick-up truck. He could not tell his friends from his enemies even with the dust spreading out.
Can they tell I’m on their side?
Calico passed on Tiny’s left. He vacated the side of the truck and ran along behind Calico. Others jumped up and charged as well.
They paused again at a line of rocks and opened fire. Reloaded. Fired again.
Tiny scanned the tents and vehicles ahead. He saw men drop, but did not find a target in the smoke for himself.
Calico moved and so did Tiny. They charged into the camp. Most shots took out men already on the ground.
Someone inside a van yelled “no” over and over again. The warriors opened the door and fired twice, silencing him. They stepped in and fired twice more into the back of the van.
Vehicles roared to life farther back in the camp. Calico crouched and so did Tiny.
“What are they doing?”
Calico raised binoculars to his eyes. “Heading south. All south. You were right. Caradog must be close, but whoever is coming from the north is not yet. That’s good.”
Gunfire rattled off from the center of the camp as vehicles and men pushed south.
“Covering fire,” Calico said as they fired back.
He waved his arm and the warriors advanced.
Someone bolted across from right to left. He took one to the belly and another to the chest before he went down. The Tribe pushed through the breech and onto the remaining enemies in the camp.
A mortar launcher sounded off to the left, but Tiny didn’t hear it hit. A volley of gunfire erupted from that direction.
Tiny steered right and ran around overturned tables and stacks of Rubbermaid boxes. A man stood up from beside a fallen tent not three feet from Tiny and pulled his trigger. A plastic container of toilet paper split apart on front of him.
The sweaty man was all wild eyes and gritted, yellow teeth under his skullcap. He looked three times Tiny’s size, hulking over him.
Tiny swung his rifle around, but his foot went out from under him on an errant roll of tissue from out of the container. His barrel knocked the sweaty man’s rifle skyward where the man fired off another miss into the dusty sky.
The rifle spun out of the man’s grasp and he made a high whine in the back of his throat as he grabbed the stock of Tiny’s weapon.
Tiny released the rifle and drew the knife off his belt. The man grabbed a pistol off his hip left-handed. Tiny closed his hand over the man’s left wrist. Tiny’s rifle hit the ground and the man wheeled backward, pulling Tiny along by the gun hand. The big man stumbled over the material of the tent, but kept upright, running backward.
He backed into a table and dumped a round, yellow cooler of water across the hardpan. The water pooled into a crater blown into the ground beside the charred remains of another tent.
Tiny hooked his knife around from the right. His blade ran hard underneath the jawbone before going hilt deep into throat. The gun went off into the ground, sliding Tiny’s hand from the wrist to the man’s fingers over the gun itself. It then went off a second time into the man’s own thigh.
He collapsed and tilted backward. The hot gun came free in Tiny’s grip and the knife tore out the front of the man’s throat with his weight taking him down. He looked a lot smaller folded backward on the ground with his throat cut out.
He saw the rifle and then saw the gunman holding it rise and charge from the right. Tiny scrambled to get a better grip on the handgun, but dropped it into the crater puddle instead.
The rifle clicked, but jammed up without firing. The tall skinny man in his black skullcap fought to dislodge the round. Then, he reached for his holster to find it empty.
Tiny charged. The man grabbed a knife from his own boot. His eyes widened as Tiny closed the distance. He swung the jammed rifle around, hitting Tiny in the shoulder.
Tiny drove his blade into man’s stomach. A silver knife swung up at Tiny, but he grabbed hold of the man’s forearm and halted it. The man grabbed Tiny’s knife wrist and pulled the blade free of his belly. Blood spilled out over his crotch and leg.
Gunfire popped off to the south no louder than firecrackers at a distance.
They both gripped one another’s arms and twisted in place. Large globs of blood spotted the ground between their feet as they turned. The guy had a painful grip on Tiny’s wrist and he couldn’t get another stab at the wounded belly.
Wait for him to bleed out.
The man twisted against Tiny’s grip on his forearm and Tiny felt his fingers weaken with the strain. Even as the guy bled from his stomach, his knife slashed the air close to Tiny’s wrist. The man forced his arm up and just missed Tiny’s cheek, before Tiny pushed the hand back down.
He wanted to move his grip to the wrist, but didn’t dare let go. The man maneuvered to slash across Tiny’s stomach missing by inches. The two blades rang off each other and he made another attempt back across.
Tiny’s grip slipped from the arm and all he had was a handful of sleeve with the man’s knife twisting hard from side to side in the slack.
Left-handed against the knife in his right hand. Kill him. Fucking kill him.
Tiny brought his knee up hard against the back of his own fist and drove his knife into the man’s belly again. The man held on, but Tiny twisted the blade from side to side in his gut.
The guy let go of Tiny’s arm. He clawed at Tiny’s vest and then went for the face.
Tiny stabbed him in the gut three times more.
The man missed Tiny’s face and only flicked his hat and his earlobe. He grabbed the cord under Tiny’s chin. Tiny’s head came down with the pull and the sleeve ripped out of Tiny’s hand.
The hat popped free of his head in the man’s grasp. As he fell backward, he slashed at Tiny. A blur of silver and a miss.
Tiny stepped back and saw another black skullcap and saw the bore of another weapon.
The man on the ground coughed up blood and said, “Kill him. Do it.”
***
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