TLF Season One – Diabetes Factories

Excerpt from The Last Flag

Diabetes Factories

The place seemed full, but the herd of obese diners that waddled quickly to and fro seemed to vanish off and on. He’d look and there wasn’t anyone around. He’d look again and the place was full. The patrons ate with gigantic, white, square teeth that were only possible in a dream and he heard their teeth scrape forks and bones, saw the food stains on the white enamel with insane, hyper-detailed clarity. The retro style diner booth he sat in was comfortable and he sank in the red fake leather cushions as the chrome details of the napkin holders reflected the cold hard light. He picked up the menu but it didn’t help much, as every time he read it the text changed, and in the end he just knew to order the Super Big Boy Winter Deluxe Supreme.

The waitress managed to be motherly and sexual, a brunette and a blonde, fat but at times slender, she delivered a plate that took most of the table’s surface. Half of it was loaded with waffles and pancakes, with and without toppings. The other half was covered with omelettes, eggs over easy and scrambled, potatoes and bacon, sausages and hash. His hollow guts growled with anticipation. The food steamed in the cold air and fogged all the windows. God, this is amazing, he thought. If only it wasn’t so damn cold. So cold.

Cagey, he looked over his shoulder; sure someone would come and take his food from him. And with a spike of fear he saw that they were all staring back at him: the waitresses, the cooks, the customers. They watched him like a hawk, while they chewed air like their life depended on it. Jaws muscles bulged and worked under the smiling faces—bulged and worked, the sound getting louder. He better hurry up and eat, he had to get out! He snapped back to his plate and dug in, shoving food into his mouth, an amazing forkful of pancake, bacon and fruit, slathered in real hot maple syrup. He had had to unhinge his jaws like a boa to fit it all in. His audience clapped and chewed louder in admiration. From the corner of his eye he saw cameras. They would love him worldwide. He snapped down his unhinged jaws…

…on a mouthful of cold air and pain. Theo came awake with a yelp, stiff and confused his muscles tight from the cold.
“Ith mah thongue. Owww,” he complained softly and sat up with the taste of blood in his mouth. The earliest of morning light filtered through the windows as he got his bearings, confused he realized that the chewing noises had followed him from his dream and for one crazy second he happily thought that the large breakfast had too. Still groggy from sleep, he turned toward the noise.
Alvin. Busy at Eliza’s neck, stared back at him…

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Illustration by U.K. artist Luke Spooner
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TLF Season One – A link To The Outside

Illustration by Luke Spooner for the novel The Last Flag

A link to the outside

Illustration by Luke Spooner for the novel  The Last Flag

The mostly dead woman got up from the graveled ground where she had found herself kneeling, and began to walk down the road, confused as to why she had been there, and confused as to where she was. It felt as if she kept waking from a dream within a dream with shorter interludes of darkness in between. She hated these fugue moments, these blackouts, and she wondered how many she had before she had become aware of them. What happened to me? She thought. What is this, where am I, who am I?

She slowed to a standstill and focused on remembering. Closing her eyes and trying to exclude everything from her mind but memory. Slowly, with a tunnel like focus, it returned to her. The feeling consolidated to a memory. Something in the sky…she had seen something — a plastic bird? No, crazy. A toy then? No! A drone. That’s it—a drone.

Drone, DRONE, drooone, the word itself felt like a victory and she let it repeat in her mind, savoring it, attaching meaning to it. Finding joy as she understood its meaning and connotations.

She thought it had seen her, whoever had piloted it. It had returned for a second swoop, but then it had moved on without seeing her. Maybe there was something like that left in town, something that would allow her to communicate, to call for help. There had been a store. She had seen drones that looked a lot like the one that flew over her. And smartphones. Laptops. Desktops. She closed her eyes again and tried to remember. She stood blind and deaf to the world until it came to her. Schlegel’s Electric Shack and Hobbies.

“Oh God! Yes.” She shouted euphoric for having brought back the memory from the endless dark void her brain seemed to have become. Yet something was wrong…the silence, “Yes!”
No sound came out and after minutes of confusion she gasped like a fish and forced air in her lungs, and let it out as she spoke.

“Oh God, yes.”

There! There, she heard it this time. It had been barely audible, forced, but she heard it. Thank you God, she thought. Thank you God, don’t leave me know.

The crowd that surrounded her noticed too then, paid her the briefest attention before returning to their aimless existence.
The woman had no precise memory of when she had first regained awareness and no memory of her reaction to her blighted dead companions, but she was now blasé to their presence, unafraid of them. She had found them boring at first, but as her consciousness had crept back she had tried to connect. Each one of them had a story they couldn’t tell her, an explanation maybe for the situations that they couldn’t or wouldn’t share. She tried touching them to get a response but there was none, and now it was time for her to move on, and without a backward glance she left for her new goal. It took her hours to walk the relatively short distance to the hobby store. Once there she found the door locked and chained and lost even more time scavenging for something to break in. With a large rock she found a block away, she managed to smash the bottom glass pane of the front door and crawled inside, then sat on the floor of the store as she plucked glass shards from her knees and the palms of her hands. Something oozed out, but it wasn’t blood.

Not good, she thought and stood up in the darkened shop, silhouetted by dim natural light that came through the battered windows and shattered door she staggered behind the counter. A ratty office chair, an old desktop computer, and other pieces of electronics with and without their shells sat to the far side, next to the everyday debris you’d find in a small and old business. But no power; there was no life in these abandoned bits of technology, but surely there’d be a battery here.

She set about scavenging the place. Everything moved so slowly. No, no it didn’t…she was slow. Like a geriatric. Was she one? No, she didn’t think so, but that thought stopped her. Who was she? She stepped in front of a sunglasses display and looked in its mirrors.

Read what happens next!
Also on Kobo and other stores.

Illustration by artist Luke Spooner
Luke’s website
Luke’s Facebook page

The Last Flag. Race the dead, book 1.


Your death will be televised.

What would you do to pay the bills; to survive, or to just get rich, would you compete against other teams in a quarantined town filthy with zombies wanting to bite out your throat?
Emma and Lewis sign up for the race, they need the money to save his life. But they won’t just be racing the dead, the surprise blizzard or the other contestants.

Because anger and vengeance know no bounds and like everyone in the blighted town they become pawns in a game of retribution.
Continue reading “The Last Flag. Race the dead, book 1.”