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In a post-apocalyptic United States David Perkins, a common man with an Air Force warehouseman background is plunged into a lawless environment fraught with danger. His only option is to surrender to the aggressors, or fight back and over time he forms bonds with the only available people he can find who are not being packaged and sent north - women.

Army and Marine Corps trained women have escaped the net and join forces with Perkins, finding him to be a brilliant unconventional thinker, capable of out-smarting the enemy.

Collectively, they live off the land and begin staging militant rescues of other prisoners and escapees. This is book two covering the fourth through sixth year after the "Sickness" plunged the country into chaos.

The Alpha Mike series of books are harsh, adult, filled with disaster, contagion, weather events, killing, death, tragedy, and the realities of living in a country that has been plunged two hundred years into the past.

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 In a post-apocalyptic United States David Perkins, a common man with an Air Force warehouseman background is plunged into a lawless environment fraught with danger. His only option is to surrender to the aggressors, or fight back and over time he forms bonds with the only available people he can find who are not being packaged and sent north - women.

Army and Marine Corps trained women have escaped the net and join forces with Perkins, finding him to be a brilliant unconventional thinker, capable of out-smarting the enemy.

Collectively, they live off the land and begin staging militant rescues of other prisoners and escapees. This is book two covering the seventh through ninth year after the "Sickness" plunged the country into chaos.

The Alpha Mike series of books are harsh, adult, filled with disaster, contagion, weather events, killing, death, tragedy, and the realities of living in a country that has been plunged two hundred years into the past.

To see or maybe purchase this eBook, click here.

 In a post-apocalyptic United States David Perkins, a common man with an Air Force warehouseman background is plunged into a lawless environment fraught with danger. His only option is to surrender to the aggressors, or fight back and over time he forms bonds with the only available people he can find who are not being packaged and sent north - women.

Army and Marine Corps trained women have escaped the net and join forces with Perkins, finding him to be a brilliant unconventional thinker, capable of out-smarting the enemy.

Collectively, they live off the land and begin staging militant rescues of other prisoners and escapees. This is book two covering the seventh through ninth year after the "Sickness" plunged the country into chaos.

The Alpha Mike series of books are harsh, adult, filled with disaster, contagion, weather events, killing, death, tragedy, and the realities of living in a country that has been plunged two hundred years into the past.

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Tommy Nguyen Morris was raised in a deeply structured Catholic home for boys, hating every minute of it and as soon as he was able to leave, he joined the Air Force. Rising rapidly through the ranks, he is commissioned as an officer and completes the three year program to become a pararescue officer and due to his exemplary marksmanship earns the coveted sniper badge.

Born of a Green Beret Special Forces black father and a half-Caucasian/ half Vietnamese mother, both of which died when he was very young, he is often mistaken as to his race. He has a long, muscled, and much bullet-scarred torso and with his naturally peculiar looks attracts attention from women wherever he goes.

Seeking help to deal with his nightmares from Iraq and Afghanistan, he enlists the help of the Veteran�s Administration and is assigned a retired female Army Colonel who ultimately becomes his lover. In the interest of mending his broken mind, she suggests he find employment with an old friend of hers who is the District Attorney for Harris County, Texas and also a ex-Special Forces soldier.

The money is very attractive to the ex-pararescue Captain and the mission he is offered is taking the fight to the Human Traffickers who operate with near impunity. Each completed mission reaps incredible sums of dirty tax free money and being briefed about his targets makes killing them almost a public service.  The trouble with operating outside of the law is the distinction between right and wrong becomes blurred. It is an almost near perfect life for Tommy.  Almost.

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Gunter Wolfgang Miller June 16^th, 1987 is what is written on my birth certificate, but I�ve been called Cub since I can remember. A few ladies have also called me Cubbie. Evidently I was named after my grandfather, who was killed fighting for Germany in 1944 during the Battle of Aachen.

When the Great War ended, my parents relocated to Fredericksburg, Texas and after they were killed in a terrible car accident, I was moved by the state of Texas into a foster home, near a small city called Wallisville on the Texas Gulf Coast. Well, actually it was closer to Anahuac. Seeing I was still a little boy I don�t remember much of them or anything before that.

The folks who raised me were not the most affectionate couple and I was given chores and duties beginning at the age of five. Butch and Marjorie Thibodeaux had lost both of their small children to a flu epidemic that swept through in the mid-80�s and qualified to bring me into their seemingly loving home. They expressed love by furnishing room and board and little more, as Marjorie, I later learned, was damaged goods and incapable of deep affection. I was not the replacement child her husband envisioned.

Everything went well in my life and I started school and got to mingle with other kids and I was accepted as one of them. My German accent disappeared altogether. My adopted parents kept me very busy tending our garden, small amount of livestock, and his trotlines, which was deemed to keep me out of trouble. Dad bought me a .22 caliber Marlin rifle for Christmas in the year 1997 and a shotgun on my eleventh birthday. I took naturally to the guns and was very efficient; rarely missing whatever came into my sights.

This is book five in a series where justice is meted out in a sanctioned vigilante style. The anti-hero is allowed to plot and plan to accomplish the goals set forth by his employer, the Harris County, Texas District Attorney's Office.

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Michael Strong Champion was born in July of 1983 to two loving parents who planned to raise him to be a doctor or lawyer.  He had the best of everything they could give on their meager earnings.  Dad was a diabetic who was often very ill and mom did every sort of household task around town to keep food on the table.  At age five his dad succumbed to his illness and mom, having no other option, reluctantly rented her body out to make ends meet.

This is how I grew up in Long Beach, California and I thought it was normal for a kid�s mom to entertain men late at night.  At six years of age I would act out Mario brothers with the other kids in between the twin apartments until about ten pm and then mom would call out to me in for the night  I remember her loving touch and how she would tell me I would be something one day.

I loved my mom and cried fountains of tears after she got the sickness and died on my eighth birthday. Having no real family around us, the State of California became my parents and my first week in the dorm; I was raped by a fourteen year old boy that took whatever he wanted. I hated him and this activity was repeated many times before he was transferred to a facility in Oregon when I was nine.

I made a lot of friends and a few enemies and after that pervert left, I told myself I would rather die than be subjected to treatment like that again.  Three weeks before my tenth birthday, I stabbed one of the keepers at the orphanage with a Phillips screwdriver when he tried to violate me.  He died in the parking lot and I slept in a state of terror, knowing they would come and get me when they found out I did it... but they never came!

This is book six in a series where justice is meted out in a sanctioned vigilante style. The anti-hero is allowed to plot and plan to accomplish the goals set forth by his employer, the Harris County, Texas District Attorney's Office.
 

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Abraham Monroe Lincoln is the name on my birth certificate, but that's not the truth or is it the date of my birth. No one really knows who my parents were, where or exactly when I was born, and frankly, it doesn't mean jack shit to me. Everyone calls me Linc or Link, or hell, they can call me shit head for all that really matters, as long as they don't say it with attitude.

I was raised in a juvie home on the east side of Houston before it was burned to the ground by some gang bangers and that was the night I first saw what a bullet can do to a man's head. I was eleven and after six years of not being adopted, I had become a force to be reckoned with. No one fucked with me, as I was abnormally aggressive when threatened and over the years had learned what works and what doesn't when it comes to fighting.

The night five young men decided to see what would happen if they robbed the front office and lit the place on fire, I was in detention in one of the out buildings. Hell, I had threatened to knife one of the other kids and the asshole in charge thought I was serious and penned me up for the night. The place suddenly lit up with flames and I eased through the plywood wall in the back corner to get a better look and as I popped out, the five thieves become arsons came running around the side of the building and nearly trampled me.

I rolled to the side and the last one whipped out a pistol and shot the damned thing nearly in my face. Then two things happened. The first was I leaped forward causing the pistol to go off a foot behind my ear and the second was the impact causing him to drop it as he stumbled and fell. He scrambled to grab the small gun, but I came up with it first and pointing it at him, I fired it, like I've seen people do on TV.

There appeared a hole in the center of his forehead and he stood completely still for about three seconds, and then dropped to his knees and fell backward.

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Persevel Jacek Davies is what is written on my birth certificate and that's why people simply call me Jake. I was born in England and my parents we so traditional, that I was given my great, great grandfathers name on both sides. It also makes me the whitest black person in Houston, Texas because I speak with a British accent and have nothing in common with the majority of American black fellows.

Back when I was what? Seven? We left Long Eaton and moved all across the globe doing mission work. My parents who were Baptist missionaries had made triple sure that I maintained a very high level of education; so much so that I passed my high school equivalency test at sixteen and enrolled in Texas A&M on a foreign exchange scholarship. I guess you can say this is where I learned that females have a lot more to offer than eye candy.

As a extremely well-groomed and polite light-skinned black man, I did not understand the cultural taboos of dating white women and had little in common with women of my own race, even though I casually dated a few. It is a lesser known fact that people accept you regardless of your color if you act and behave like they do and it amazes me that people do not make this connection.

My four years at Texas A&M blew by due to their ROTC program and in the summers, I trained in four foreign countries with their military for extra skills and credit. Upon graduation, which my parents proudly attended, I took the oath of a 1st Lieutenant in the United States Army and immediately was sent to jump school at Fort Benning, Georgia.

This is book seven in a series where justice is meted out in a sanctioned vigilante style. The anti-hero is allowed to plot and plan to accomplish the goals set forth by his employer, the Harris County, Texas District Attorney's Office.

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My mom once told me that she thought I would grow up and become a serial killer. I think I was seventeen when she said that and I had settled down quite a bit by that time. When I was quite young, I hated to hear her say the words Kevin Jonathan Harris, because it meant I was in trouble. The rest of the time, everyone called me KJ and this nickname has stuck with me all my thirty-fours years of my existence.

I grew up in North Shore, Texas in a predominately black and brown environment and picked up Tex-Mex Spanish at an early age. By the time I was fourteen I had a total of four knife wounds and at eighteen, one bullet scar. I was what people referred to a "gang-banger" or more politely, a disturbed kid. Oddly enough I maintained honor roll status mainly because of all the hot chicks in the advanced classes. I found school too easy and the answers effortlessly came to me while others failed miserably.

I played football, basketball, and baseball for Robert E. Lee High school when we moved to Baytown right after my sixteenth birthday. I took Spanish and with the help of all the cute Latinas learned it could unlock the legs of most girls and on occasion, their mother's also. Hispanic women dress like do because they need constant validation that they are sexually appealing and I learned that my six foot three frame made me look like I was in my late teens and the moms were accessible because I told them they looked as young as their daughters.

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From as far back as I can remember, I hated the name Sammy, or Sam, or anything other than my given name of Samuel.  My mom named me after a profit in the Bible and he wasn't called little Sammy that I know of.  I don't think people picked on him either like they did me.  Maybe it's because I was shorter than most everyone my age?  I don't know.

My mom began calling me Spike when I was maybe five, because she liked to listen to the old radio comedy featuring Spike Jones and seeing our last name was Jones, it just kind of stuck, if you follow me.  I didn't much care for my middle name either.  Everett.  Samuel Everett Jones.  Sounds like a lay preacher's name and I sure as heck ain't no saint.

Sure, I went to church and catechism, like all the other Lutheran kids, but I never really plugged into it, or so I thought.  Years later I would come to realize most of my true values were because of my church teachings, seeing the church became my guardian after my parents and three older sisters died in what I later learned was caused by a drunk driver, who just so happened to be a county judge.

I was nearly eighteen when a long time friend of my parents told me the whole thing was covered up and the judge is still actively pursuing justice at the Harris County court house in Houston, Texas.  Judge Roy Buckhannon is his name and I vowed right then to kill the man who stole my family from me.  Judge Roy as he's fondly known is familiar with me, believe it or not because I was arrested when I was fifteen as an accessory in a grand theft auto case.  I spent three years in juvenile correction and that is where I learned everything I know about guns, knife fighting, hand to hand combat, picking locks, how to get away with rape, breaking and entering and not leave a trace, ATM machines - well, you name it and I learned it.

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Growing up, I was the kid no one noticed. In group photos or school activities, I was the child on the end behind and out of the way. I made straight B's mainly because I was never challenged. In organized sports, my dad pushed me, but I just didn't seem to have the drive to excel. I was simply average in every way including looks.

I worked after school and saved every penny I could. I wanted to join the various school clubs, but I reasoned it a waste of time when I could be making money. When I was fifteen, I was hit by a car on my bicycle on my way to cut grass. I spent fourteen weeks in the hospital recovering from a head injury that not only changed my personality, but the course my life would take.

I began to grow and develop and by the age of sixteen, I went from 5-4 to 5-11 and began to put on muscle. I went out for JV football and was added as a running back. I became aggressive both on the field and in class and was soon on the honor roll. On the field I averaged over a hundred yards rushing every single game and by the end of the season, I was moved to start on varsity the next year.

Now with all of this change, you would think I would be the BMOC, but I was quiet, abnormally so and word got around that the bike injury had fucked me up in the head. Everyone wanted to be seen with me at school, but no one wanted to hang with me at the Friday night parties. I never bothered to refute the whispered claims and didn't go out for football my sophomore year no matter who tried to convince me including my dad.

Instead I joined a karate school. It was a traditional Korean style called Tang Soo Do Moo Duk Kwan and in this, I found a brotherhood who appreciated my quiet disposition. I rapidly moved up through the belts by studying two hours after school and working out up to six hours on Saturdays. Sundays I attended the local church with my parents and there I learned the moral rights and wrongs I carry with me today... Well, most of them.

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I've heard all my life that big things come in small packages and that is probably because I was almost a midget until the 10th grade.  Over the next two years I went from 5-4 to what I like to think is 5-10, but is probably a bit shy of it. Hell, with cowboy boots on, I'm okay and taller than most of the girls and women I've been with. Anyway, they didn't complain and I more than make up for it below the belt, or so I've been told.

I do not remember my parents. Grams has had me since I was 8 years old and in deference to my mom and her daughter, she has always taught me I was her grandson, not her real mom. To me, she's my mother. Her husband, who would be my grandfather died when I was 4 and I barely recall him. Grams never remarried and has devoted her whole life to raising me and working at the VA as a nurse.

I took to boxing like some people take to fishing and soon Pedro began giving me private lessons. One of his stipulations is every one of his students had to make straight A's in school and between his classes and school, I hardly had time for the ladies. I began competing and winning and by the time I graduated, I was state ranked number two in my weight class. The number one guy was from Brownsville and I simply could not out-box this quick guy and we became friends. Years later I heard he was killed by an IED in Afghanistan.  Hell, the same thing almost happened to me over a dozen times while serving in the Marine Corps.

 How this came about was I received a full scholarship to Texas A&M to train in Judo.  I earned a 2nd degree black belt after 4 hard years of training, which was almost a record advancement, but due to my superior athletic ability and great health, I managed to get nationally ranked and ultimately recruited by the Marines after a national crisis in the Middle East.

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Anthony Roberto Fabrizio Scaramucci is how my birth certificate reads, but everyone calls me Scar, including my now deceased father, who gave me the wicked-looking line on my jaw. It's the reason I grew a short beard after getting discharged from the Corps. I have been self-conscious about the ugly knife mark on my face since I was 10 years old and hated my dad because of it. Mom died when I was 2 and he drank himself into the grave a couple of years after I moved in with Uncle Jerry and Aunt Pat up in Dallas.

Dad never got over mom I was told and over the years leading up to moving he became abusive. Aunt Pat was his sister, but being a kid I never realized that. Both her and Uncle Jerry never had kids, being slaves to their well-paying jobs. The downside of this was I had no home life or attachment and honest to god, felt no mean affection for either of them. I knew they cared about me and that is just the way it was. I was independent and made my own decisions.

I started Shotokan karate within a month of moving in and I wore a bandage on my face to hide the scar for the first 6 months until my instructor finally talked me into removing it. I took to karate the way some people get religion, or fishing. The school had 4 instructors and my first puppy love was for Mrs. Hansen, a 3rd degree black belt. At 13 years of age, I had no idea what sex was. All I know is I loved her and she had kids my own age.

I advanced rapidly and one stipulation of training there is we had to maintain high grades and our instructors demanded we show our report cards each quarter. Mrs. Hansen always hugged me when I showed straight A's and mashed her full breasts against my chest and to be honest, this was the main reason I tried so hard to get those grades. I earned my first black belt in a little over 2 years and Mrs. Hansen tied it on me in the ceremony and when she leaned forward to finish the tie, I saw straight down her Gi and got my first real look at those beautiful globes. I had turned 15 the week before and I must have masturbated four times later that night thinking about her.

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I came to Edwards Air Force base after I left Joint Base San Antonio's Wilford Hall and the Colonel took me as his aide. I was promoted to Captain while I was a POW in Pakistan and the shrinks at Wilford deemed me damaged goods. Hell, I was only a prisoner for 3 weeks before I escaped. My peculiar look is the product of a Korean mother and a black American soldier who had a Japanese father. The result is I am a light skinned Asian looking man with a very muscular build. My hair has a slight kink, but I keep it very short and most people think I am from Tibet or Mongolian stock.

Women tend to agree I am mysteriously handsome.
The Finisher Series is book one, titled Genesis and features reoccurring characters along with a bevy of bag guys and gals and adult situations. Tag lives in the violent underbelly of society and will take you along with him, if you dare to follow.

My name is Sun Tae Sato, but everyone including my parents call me Butch.  I'm 34 and have a degree in criminal justice from the University of Houston in Texas. After graduating, the patriotic reaction was to join the Marines, but a friend of my father pulled some strings and I went Air Force and straight into the office of Special Investigation. Four years into my six year initial commitment, I was jumped and abducted from a whore house in India and smuggled into Pakistan where they beat the shit out of on a daily basis and water-boarded me until I told them anything they wanted to hear including stuff I made up.

The Finisher Series is book fifteen, titled Esther and features reoccurring characters along with a bevy of bag guys and gals and adult situations. Butch lives in the violent underbelly of society and will take you along with him, if you dare to follow.

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Ever since I can remember, folks called me Dickey. Word is it was after the famous guitar player Dickey Betts. Never mind that my name is Harold James Parker and I look nothing like the man. It all started when I was 8 and got a kids plastic guitar. Supposedly I was spotted trying to trade licks with the axe man on You Tube. Someone said I was a natural, just like Dickey and that stuck on me whether I liked it or not.

I was a clumsy enough kid but put a guitar in my hand and I could flat play slide like Warren Haynes, Sonny Landreth, or even Derek Trucks; at least that is what everyone said. I never believed it. I had a couple other passions that I later took on after I busted a tendon in my left hand bailing hay on my Uncle Elmores farm near Liberty, Texas.

To say my guitar playing suffered because of the injury would be an understatement, as I simply could not get my finger placement on the frets. I was 14 years old and it was the summer between 8th and 9th grade. I would have been lost without Uncle Elmores support. He had been in the United States Marine Corps and limped from being shot in the right thigh during the invasion of Iraq. He loved guns and taught me to hunt and shoot and how to harvest an animal, fish, or bird for sustenance.

He also taught me to grapple to help strengthen my messed up left hand. He never talked much about the war or how he earned his 3rd degree black belt in Small Circle jujitsu. Dad and Mom were more than happy to let me stay on his farm, as we never had much of nothing. Dad drank a lot, if I remember correctly (as he was never home). Mom had a boyfriend and he and I didnt see anything in common other than we both wanted momma to ourselves. I lost out. I didnt even realize this until I was in boot camp, but I�m getting ahead of myself.

The Finisher Series is book sixteen, titled Job and features reoccurring characters along with a bevy of bad guys and gals and adult situations. Dickey lives in the violent underbelly of society and will take you along with him, if you dare to follow.

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The casual word around town is I am wasting my education, especially after I got out of the Army. The Army. I can say for a fact the Army shaped me, both for good and for bad, but I imagine everyone can make that same claim.

Since I was a child working in dads machinist shop, I have been inventive and helped my dad develop many marketable products and this trailer could sell if I cared enough to go into mass production. I was named after my dad and after the recession and the closing of his shop, he handled it by shooting himself in the forehead with his favorite handgun, a Colt Model 1911 .45 ACP. He carried one just like it through two Special Forces tours in Vietnam with MACV.

He called me Trap since I first showed interest in running a trap line for the extra cash I made selling furs, but my entire name not only reflects my dad, but our Jewish German heritage - Rutger Manfred Goldschnieder III. With all the Mexicans and Anglos living in Fort Davis, Trap seemed the logical choice.

The Finisher Series is book seventeen, titled Psalms (Harris County code term) and features reoccurring characters along with a bevy of bag guys and gals and adult situations. Trap lives in the violent underbelly of society and will take you along with him, if you dare to follow.

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As far back as I can remember folks commented that I would go far and He�s destined to make a difference and similar promising comments. Adults centered on my future and how intelligent I appeared to be. It began the first day I came off the ranch and met the other kids in kindergarten and because I actually listened to my teachers and didn't �act out�, this perception pretty much continued through high school. They called me �bright� and �smart� and figured me to be a prodigy because I acted five years older than kids my age.

 When asked to complete a task, I simply did it and was polite on top of everything else and I learned early adults liked that.

 I knew what it meant to be called the teacher�s pet and later on I learned how to defend myself. As a mature adult, I never hit five feet ten inches in height and my best attempt at bulking up for any kind of school sports still left me sadly lacking at 140 pounds soaking wet. The girls liked me because I was no threat, but that didn�t stop the jocks from slamming me into the lockers because their girlfriends showed me attention, or maybe it was because I didn't try to stop them and was no threat.

The Finisher Series is book eighteen, titled Proverbs (Harris County code term) and features reoccurring characters along with a bevy of bag guys and gals and adult situations. James Michael O�Rourke  lives in the violent underbelly of society and will take you along with him, if you dare to follow.

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My name is Barnabas Lucas Stivers and folks call me Luke. This is my story.

Enter 9-11 one week after graduation from A&M and I was off to Officers Boot camp in the United States Army. I was 22 years old and thought I was a player both on and off the field. I look at the Air Force calendar on the wall at the Michael E. Debakey VA Medical Center in Houston, Texas and realize many years have passed since that day she gave me the clap. I did not learn her name or ever see her again, but that started a fire that still burns very strong today.

I like women and I like to fight. I like to fight so much, the US Army let me fight a lot and evidently now, my Army shrink thinks they over did it. I have had increasingly violent nightmares over the last year to the point I sought out help. I figured they would write a prescription, but no, they decided I was crazy. Too crazy to kill for my country.

You are not crazy Sir, you are fatigued. I am writing you a couple of prescriptions and I want to see you again in a month. My personal VA doctor is a woman of about 50 who is as tall as I am and looks like a farmers wife with wide hips and  full bosoms and I ask her what my chances are of re-enlisting.

The Finisher Series is book nineteen, titled Ecclesiastes (Harris County code term) and features reoccurring characters along with a bevy of bag guys and gals and adult situations.   The latest Finisher Luke Stivers lives in the violent underbelly of society and will take you along with him, if you dare to follow.

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Tired of the hassle, he gets in bar fights, is thrown in jail weekly, and ends up being cut up so bad he lays up in the VA hospital in Louisiana. His sole possession is his 1961 Ford step-side pickup and leaving Texas behind, he heads for Utah and a chance to start over. What he finds instead are abusive husbands and willing wives who find his many bullet and shrapnel scars wonderfully exciting. An old cowhand takes him under his wing and for the first time since getting back from Nam, Cap becomes productive.

This is a story of a man trying to reconnect to his Lakota Sioux heritage by doing the right thing in a time when blacks, Jews, Mexicans, and Indians are looked at as less than first class citizens... and he proves them wrong.

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Tired of the hassle, he gets in bar fights, is thrown in jail weekly, and ends up being cut up so bad he lays up in the VA hospital in Louisiana. His sole possession is his 1961 Ford step-side pickup and leaving Texas behind, he heads for Utah and a chance to start over. What he finds instead are abusive husbands and willing wives who find his many bullet and shrapnel scars wonderfully exciting. An old cowhand takes him under his wing and for the first time since getting back from Nam, Cap becomes productive.

This is a story of a man trying to reconnect to his Lakota Sioux heritage by doing the right thing in a time when blacks, Jews, Mexicans, and Indians are looked at as less than first class citizens... and he proves them wrong.

This is book two in the series.

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Tired of the hassle, he gets in bar fights, is thrown in jail weekly, and ends up being cut up so bad he lays up in the VA hospital in Louisiana. His sole possession is his 1961 Ford step-side pickup and leaving Texas behind, he heads for Utah and a chance to start over. What he finds instead are abusive husbands and willing wives who find his many bullet and shrapnel scars wonderfully exciting. An old cowhand takes him under his wing and for the first time since getting back from Nam, Cap becomes productive.

This is a story of a man trying to reconnect to his Lakota Sioux heritage by doing the right thing in a time when blacks, Jews, Mexicans, and Indians are looked at as less than first class citizens... and he proves them wrong.

This is book three  and the finale in the series.

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My name is Dirk Van der Bos, and friends simplify it by calling me Dirk. I am an ex-US Army Ranger with ten years in before my knee gave out a final time and I left the service of my country. I'm in my late 20's and in the prime of life. My wife is an absolute knockout of a woman with the mind of an angel and a body made for sin. We've only been married 6 months and her religious background means she is quite inhibited, but loves me and wants to please me. Her name is Amanda and she aspires to be a dentist, but my construction business is making so much money that she reluctantly finishes the semester to take it over. My real desire is to own a security company and I now have a few real pros working for me and more jobs than we can handle. As Tom Petty said, the future was wide open.

Day 1   I sat up in bed and my wife rolled over and sat up beside me. "What was that?" she exclaimed. "We must have blown a transformer or something. Powers out. I swear, this is happening too often." I yawn and she lays back down and snuggles up against me. I have no idea what time it is because the room is fairly dark and the digital clock's face is darkened. I am in the act of laying back down when there is a horrifying sound of electricity and both of us jump up and out of the bed.

"Honey?" my beautiful bride says and I open the door into the living room and through the windows in front, there is an eerie glow outside.  I grab my shorts and T and half hopping get them on. She follows me to the front door, staying so close her toes keep bumping into my heels. She has hold of my t-shirt as I open the door and the bitter smell of ozone is very strong. It is very dark outside and the only light appears to be coming from the many flare stacks a few miles away, in the Exxon-Mobil complex. It has the sky lit up in orange and red.All down the street my neighbors are in their front yard in various states of undress. As far as I can see there is no power and I find that odd, since the front of the subdivision always stays lit. It's on a different power grid, as it was built about 10 years before our own house. "Dirk, honey, I'm scared."

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