Book & Author Details:
Flying Blind
Caroline A. Gill
(The Flykeeper Chronicles, #2)
Publication date: May 21st 2016
Genres: Dystopia, Paranormal, Young Adult
Caroline A. Gill
(The Flykeeper Chronicles, #2)
Publication date: May 21st 2016
Genres: Dystopia, Paranormal, Young Adult
Synopsis:
In a broken America, seventeen-year old Iolani Bearse encounters a world full of wonder and danger.
Lani discovers a secret: houseflies have magic.
Stealers have no mercy.
Armed with memory-draining lanterns, the stone-cold hunters relentlessly follow catastrophes, laying traps, preying on the weak.
Together with her father, Eleanor, Sam, and Mango, her beloved pinto mare, Lani rescues victims from the grasp of Memory Stealers. One by one, she saves whomever she can, looking for any path that leads to safety. When her family’s farmhouse is attacked, Lani must act quickly to save those she loves.
Can Lani unmask their powerful, hidden enemies before the flies’ magic fails and everything burns to ashes?
Will the loss of one of her greatest friends become her downfall?
Can Lani overcome the evil that is tearing her world apart, flying blind?
Purchase:
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Excerpt
As I watched, the vans halted. Doors opened, both the sides and back. Then the bastards waited, eyeing the darkened corners. At first, there was only the silence of their engines turned off, a quiet that settled across the destroyed homes like death's smothering shawl.
Then, like a pack of raccoons, a small family stumbled out of the back of a tilting wood shed, dirty, starving, and finally willing to accept help. Behind me, I could hear Sam cursing. I couldn't easily save them now. I couldn't pull the three boys and the weary mother out of the helping hands that offered assistance.
I couldn't save them, not when they didn't know the danger. That would feel like kidnapping. And they would never be loyal to me, to our fight. They wouldn't know the true face of our enemy.
“Sam, I'm gonna need two cocktails,” I called over my shoulder. I didn't dare look away from the scene that filled the flies' beautiful star pattern. I couldn't stop watching. I owed that to the ones who were going to die.
In my waiting hands, Sam put two glass bottles stuffed with alcohol and rags. I set them down in front of my knees. And then he handed me a small matchbox, its strike strip ragged with use. I arranged them under my fingers, ready to ignite the cloth.
Choosing the moment was key. It was important that the Stealers were left confused. To keep us safe, they couldn't know for sure that it was my skill that stole their prey. I had to leave doubts. The trail had to be obscured. I was already on their radar for my part in Mr. Chong's capture. Right then, I was certain that my abilities were only legends and gossip, easily dismissed. I couldn't afford to give them any reason to suspect me. They knew where my family's farm was located. If they had cause, we would have a war before we were ready. The Rising Sun Corporation had already made it perfectly clear that they would massacre anyone who might expose them. I knew better than to believe that anyone who fought with me was truly safe.
We had to try. By touch alone, I withdrew two matches and held them at the ready.
In the middle of the flysight pattern, the little family straggled out of the planks and broken walls of their old house. The older boys walked with some reluctance toward the two white-painted vans, hope and fear warring on their faces. Lit by the bright headlamps, they were sheet white, almost ghosts come to haunt the wreckage of their street. Desperation drove them forward, against the warning voices that were surely sounding in their heads.
The mother and youngest child stepped forward, waving weakly. Their lips moved in some sort of plea. I couldn't hear the words. Stealers poured out of the vans, all full of compassion and warm blankets, hot soup in thermoses, kind faces eager to help. Anybody could see the deception if they knew what they were looking for, how many canisters of soup do rescuers need to have at the ready? Two or three would have been sufficient. Every person in the ambulance had one, enough to feed fifty people.
With disheveled hair and dirt-smudged faces, the little family reached for the hot food, starvation overruling their common sense.
While two Stealers offered actual soup, three others opened their lanterns. Behind me, I heard Sam and Eleanor's sharp intake of breath. My heart sunk to my shoes.
Three Stealers armed their containers, the eerie light from them turning everyone at the scene a shade of lime green. I could see the mother's confusion warring with her hunger. I could see the two older boys, hesitant and starving. The tired family tried to understand. Events moved too fast for them. For me too. Brilliant green lights pulled at their minds—I was too late. The stealing began.
Mother and littlest boy were out in front, hands out, holding the free soup.
Nothing in this world is ever, ever free. Remember that.
Excerpt
As I watched, the vans halted. Doors opened, both the sides and back. Then the bastards waited, eyeing the darkened corners. At first, there was only the silence of their engines turned off, a quiet that settled across the destroyed homes like death's smothering shawl.
Then, like a pack of raccoons, a small family stumbled out of the back of a tilting wood shed, dirty, starving, and finally willing to accept help. Behind me, I could hear Sam cursing. I couldn't easily save them now. I couldn't pull the three boys and the weary mother out of the helping hands that offered assistance.
I couldn't save them, not when they didn't know the danger. That would feel like kidnapping. And they would never be loyal to me, to our fight. They wouldn't know the true face of our enemy.
“Sam, I'm gonna need two cocktails,” I called over my shoulder. I didn't dare look away from the scene that filled the flies' beautiful star pattern. I couldn't stop watching. I owed that to the ones who were going to die.
In my waiting hands, Sam put two glass bottles stuffed with alcohol and rags. I set them down in front of my knees. And then he handed me a small matchbox, its strike strip ragged with use. I arranged them under my fingers, ready to ignite the cloth.
Choosing the moment was key. It was important that the Stealers were left confused. To keep us safe, they couldn't know for sure that it was my skill that stole their prey. I had to leave doubts. The trail had to be obscured. I was already on their radar for my part in Mr. Chong's capture. Right then, I was certain that my abilities were only legends and gossip, easily dismissed. I couldn't afford to give them any reason to suspect me. They knew where my family's farm was located. If they had cause, we would have a war before we were ready. The Rising Sun Corporation had already made it perfectly clear that they would massacre anyone who might expose them. I knew better than to believe that anyone who fought with me was truly safe.
We had to try. By touch alone, I withdrew two matches and held them at the ready.
In the middle of the flysight pattern, the little family straggled out of the planks and broken walls of their old house. The older boys walked with some reluctance toward the two white-painted vans, hope and fear warring on their faces. Lit by the bright headlamps, they were sheet white, almost ghosts come to haunt the wreckage of their street. Desperation drove them forward, against the warning voices that were surely sounding in their heads.
The mother and youngest child stepped forward, waving weakly. Their lips moved in some sort of plea. I couldn't hear the words. Stealers poured out of the vans, all full of compassion and warm blankets, hot soup in thermoses, kind faces eager to help. Anybody could see the deception if they knew what they were looking for, how many canisters of soup do rescuers need to have at the ready? Two or three would have been sufficient. Every person in the ambulance had one, enough to feed fifty people.
With disheveled hair and dirt-smudged faces, the little family reached for the hot food, starvation overruling their common sense.
While two Stealers offered actual soup, three others opened their lanterns. Behind me, I heard Sam and Eleanor's sharp intake of breath. My heart sunk to my shoes.
Three Stealers armed their containers, the eerie light from them turning everyone at the scene a shade of lime green. I could see the mother's confusion warring with her hunger. I could see the two older boys, hesitant and starving. The tired family tried to understand. Events moved too fast for them. For me too. Brilliant green lights pulled at their minds—I was too late. The stealing began.
Mother and littlest boy were out in front, hands out, holding the free soup.
Nothing in this world is ever, ever free. Remember that.
AUTHOR BIO:
Unusual stories attract me, ones in which the reader cannot easily see the ending or most of the journey. Visiting Rome during university studies, I found a simple truth sitting on buses, traveling all over the ancient city: the joy is in the Journey, in the people I meet, not in the destination. So, I write for you. I write for sanity. I write for chocolate and really good pizza.
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