The Islander—The Battle for the Future
In book one of The Islander, half the nation lives comfortably in the technology of the 22nd Century; the other half lives trapped on pre-industrial Islands, the remains of America’s collapsed cities.
In book two, civil war breaks out. Aided by the mysterious Coven, the Islanders in the Mountain West destroy their confining barrier, escape into the wilderness, and wage a desperate war against the guild dominions. American fights American. Cities and families are torn apart. Galen, an Islander, and his wife, Mata, a guild citizen, fight to keep their family together under intense pressure to choose sides. The war eventually draws them into the mountains, where they are caught between the two armies, which become increasingly brutal in their fight to determine the future of the country.
EXCERPT: He stared at Ben. He was gripping the yoke, but not watching the road. His eyes were peeled to the west where a thick haze rose and merged with the clouds.
“That’s not Lincoln,” Galen said, confused.
“Not even close.”
He looked around. The was no grass, no trees, no waving fields of wheat—only a flat moonscape of crushed rock spreading west, pockmarked by sagebrush, cacti, and stunted shrubs. Aside from the station, there were no other buildings in sight.
“Where are we?”
Ben pointed. “Look.”
He lowered his window, and the smell of smoke wafted in. A few ashes floated by eerily. Over Galen’s right shoulder, distant fires sent up black pillars of smoke. Squinting at the clouds, he realized they weren’t clouds after all, but mountains.
“I hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of taking you all the way.”
“To Halo 38?”
“What’s left of it.”
Ben pulled into the parking lot and set down the weejee. Galen looked to the west, appalled. Between the city and the station a few cars sat askew on the roads, and beside them—bodies? No, suitcases. Some were open, scattering clothes across the desert. At the foot of the mountains, hundreds of fires burned in a vast ring of smoke, as if a caldera had rammed through the earth. From it came a string of muffled pops. Were they bombs? Gunshots? He couldn’t tell. A beam of white light shot into the sky—no, it descended from the sky—searching for something in the haze below—outsiders to rescue or Islanders to kill?
And my plan is to walk into that?