About Eight Cylinders:
He awakes among a tiny community in the middle of nowhere. A mountain range circles the hodgepodge of shacks like prison walls looming high. And the warden that resides in those mountains is big, ugly, and deadly—a creature straight out of a Lovecraftian nightmare.
If Seb hopes to escape that wayward way station, he’ll need enough cunning to outwit a force beyond comprehension… and a fast car. With a little luck and a ragtag group of would-be monster mashers racing alongside him, Seb just might have a shot of making it through the mountains alive.
Proudly represented by Crystal Lake Publishing—Tales from the Darkest Depths.
Excerpt:
A soft tapping on Seb’s cheek woke him from anxious dreams that vanished with the light, his thudding heart and a short gasp the last indicators of a fretful slumber. A long pink tongue lolled over his face, and hot breath blew through his eyebrows. Another droplet of drool spattered on the bridge of his nose.
Fangs? Seb stared, bewildered, at the saliva-gleaming teeth set in black gums then pushed the short-haired mutt away. Getting a closer look at the animal, he gasped, jerked back in his bed, and cowered against the wall. He sputtered, struggling to speak, until words came to him at last. “A fucking coyote!”
Fear snapped away whatever fogginess remained. Seb groaned in pain, his side burning from the sudden movement. Bandages were wrapped so tightly around his otherwise bare ribs that he could hardly breathe. The room he found himself in was so swelteringly hot that his bandages were wet from a combination of blood and sweat. The bedsheets around him, not his own, were likewise soaked. On top of them, more disturbing than the foreign surroundings, was a coyote, standing sentinel.
A fat man in overalls entered the room, holding a glass of water and carrying with him an aroma of bacon grease and unwashed gym socks. He walked up beside the canine and stroked it behind the ear.
“This here’s Juke,” the man said, patting the coyote’s side. “He’s a big softie.” He snapped his fingers, and Juke jumped off the bed to sit on his haunches at his master’s feet.
“And I’m Earl,” the man continued. “I guess you can say I’m what passes for a doctor in these parts.” His triceps hung loose, jiggling as he extended his arms, offering the water to Seb. His extra weight hid some of the lines in his face but not enough to conceal the marks of someone tired and worn. Sweat ran in a V down his stained white T-shirt and beaded on his forehead, beneath close-cropped blond hair.
“I’m also the village mechanic, cook, handyman…you name it. Round here, we all wear a lot of hats. Those of us that are left, anyway.” He laughed. “Man, have we got a lot of questions for you.”
Seb crept forward on the bed, his eyes trained on the strange pet. His side screamed with pain as he reached for the water. With the stinging came recollection. He’d been shot. Carlo, his partner, took one in the head. Did he make it to the car? No, he was already dead. Where’s the car? Fucking Ling. He scowled. Ling’s men had all but chased him out of Vegas. That was…how long ago was that?
And how did I get here? He looked around for his gun, but it, his clothes, his things—all were missing. He was naked. His face flushed, and he pulled the sheet over himself. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been without his piece, and he didn’t like the feeling. For that matter, he couldn’t remember the last time he woke up naked in a stranger’s home, and the coyote was a whole new element entirely. He laughed uneasily.
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