Here’s a snippet from the draft of my next upcoming book, Prophecy Revealed; the second book in the World Paranormal Organization series. This is the conclusion to the first book, Cursed Dagger and Dragon (available on Amazon).
* * * *
That evening, after a quick shower, Clari got comfortable on the couch to dig around in the box her father left her. Her hand brushed something metallic, so Clari let her fingers seek the metallic item out. She grabbed it and pulled it out of the box. Oh, a bullet casing? Her psychometry ability kicked in.
The memory-vision played out as though she was thrust into a movie. She watched as the scene played out through the eyes of the female character, Hope Jones, a seven or eight times great grandmother. She experienced this vision as though she was Hope Jones.
Clari Felt the sun beating down on her as she dug into the hard packed red earth. Her bones and muscles fought against the work. “I think I’m getting too old for this,” muttered her great times eight grandmother. Hope loosened the dirt to mix enough compost in to enrich the soil. It has been a while since she gardened and it was her hope to grow some vegetables this year.
* * *
She Saw Hope Jones standing outside of her home as she overlooked her future garden. Clari, still holding the shell casing, was connected to the past and to Hope’s experiences that were imprinted onto the casing.
She could Feel Lucas “Luke” Jones, walk up behind her. “Hey. What’s wrong?” he asked.
Hope kept her attention on the horizon. “Something is coming. Something dark, and filled with evil. And it’s heading straight for us.”
The husband stepped forward, into her sight line. “Do we get the guns?” Even though her husband had a few more years on her, he still stood a good foot taller, putting him at six foot five, so she had to crane her neck to see him. His solid build contradicted the uncertainty and concern in his hazel eyes.
“No. Guns won’t help us with this one, honey.” Hope’s joints ached; her seventy-plus years had started slowing her down.
His frustration was evident as he paced in the dirt. “Maybe I should at least get my sidearm. I don’t like this, Hope. Not one bit.”
Her gentle smile broadcast her understanding. She knew he worried that, since they lived so far out in the desert, isolated, they had to defend themselves. And his preferred method of defense was firearms.
She didn’t dare tell him it was a squad from the dictator’s personal army. She knew he’d be hauling out more aggressive forms of self-protection. She sighed. They were so different, he and she.
They both stood, watching, as the dust plumes rose from the ground, marking the squad’s progress to their home. Comprehension dawned and the husband swung to confront her. “Dang it, Hope, why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve had the perimeter protected!”
Unfazed, Hope gently touched his arm. “Luke, it wouldn’t have mattered. This is more my stuff than yours.”
“What does that mean?” he demanded.
Hope’s eyebrows rose and she waited.
He leaned forward. “You mean they aren’t human? But they’re kicking up dust as they move, so they have to be real, right?”
“Oh, make no mistake. They are real and they are human. And dangerous. But guns won’t change anything. We just wait, Luke.”
The dust cloud moved closer until Luke and Hope had a clear visual. They saw twelve men marching towards them. Each man was dressed in black from head to toe — black hat down to black boots. Each wore black sunglasses. Each carried a semi-automatic. Each had a belt that carried various “tools” of the dark army’s trade. These tools promised pain and misery.
Soon, the dark army halted before them. One soldier stepped forward, out of their formation, and announced, “We are here under the authority of our Supreme Ruler, Robert Chamba. You are to surrender your property and belongings and come with us.”
Luke clenched his fists and spoke through gritted teeth. “I do not recognize any dictator in the United States of America. Get. Off. My. Property.”
As Hope stepped forward, she could see her reflection in the soldier’s sunglasses. Her dirty blonde hair was well wind-blown. Her squinting chestnut brown eyes were the only indicator of her determination. She addressed the soldier. “Please remove your glasses. I like seeing the eyes of the person I am talking to.”
The soldier reached up and removed his sunglasses.
Hope searched his black eyes. “What is your name, soldier?”
by Jan Toomer
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