Book Spotlight: Immortality by Kevin Bohacz

Title: Immortality

Genre: Techno-Thriller
Author: Kevin Bohacz
Publisher: CPrompt
Pages: 389
Format: Paperback/Kindle
Purchase at Amazon

Without warning, something has gone terribly awry. In the remote and unnoticed places of the world, small pockets of death begin occurring. As the initially isolated extinctions spread, the world’s eyes focus on this unimaginable horror and chaos. Out of the ecological imbalance, something new and extraordinary is evolving and surviving to fill the voids left by these extinctions. Evolution is operating in ways no one could have expected and environmental damage may be the catalyst. Once discovered, this knowledge changes everything.

Excerpt:

Amazon Forest: January, present day.

The rainforest had a humid, earthy smell that reminded him of home. Diego was twenty-two years old and, like most of his village, he’d spent half his life away from home. The bulldozer he was illegally operating was idling in neutral. In front of him were a half dozen control levers and gauges. With a worker’s rough hands, he compressed the squeeze-grip on a lever and pushed forward. He heard the sound of grinding gears. The tree cutter failed to engage. The huge dozer was thirty-year-old army surplus. There was a cable problem in the lever he was working. The problem sometimes caused the squeeze-grip to snap shut when the transmission grabbed. If he was not careful, the squeeze-grip could badly pinch his hand. Diego pushed harder on the lever. He could feel teeth missing in the gears from how the lever bucked back against his push. Without warning, the gears dropped into place as the squeeze-grip bit his palm. It was like a vicious dog. An angry welt throbbed in his palm. He cursed the dozer. He cursed the steaming heat. He’d drunk two quarts of water since breakfast, and lunch break was still hours away.

The rainforest was alive with insects. Diego had never seen this many in all the years he’d illegally logged the deep forests. There was a steady drone which was louder than the diesel engine he controlled. Tiny no-see-em’s, biting things, had left a rash across the back of his neck that felt like sunburn. Earlier, he’d scratched it raw but now had a bandanna tied around his neck to remind him to leave it be. The bulldozer rocked into a depression as the cutter began chew-ing through the trunk of a mahogany tree. Diego fed more fuel into the beast’s engine. The dozer’s treads dug in; there was a hesitation. He could feel the strain building. Tons of steel lurched forward pitch-ing him in his seat. Another tree tumbled, its branches snapping like rapid-fire gunshots as it crumpled into the ground. The front of the beast was equipped with a chain driven saw instead of a dozer blade. The fixture had a pair of serrated edges that shimmied back and forth like steel teeth. Pieces of shredded green leaves and bark caught on the teeth’s edges. Diego had long ago decided the beast was a sloppy eater.

The insect sounds of the forest had stopped. As far as Diego knew, these insects never stopped. He dropped the beast into neutral then switched it off.

There was silence.

Out of this stillness, a faint crackling sound rose from the distance, then disappeared, and then came again. He listened carefully. It took him a moment to realize the faraway sound was trees falling. The log- ging company operated a small army of dozers, far apart now; but by evening they would all meet up, connecting each of the separate cutting tracks into a solid plot. Diego swung round in his seat and gazed back. A swath of fallen tropical forest lay behind him: mahogany and cedar and even some rosewood along with countless varieties of plants and bushes. The largest trees were left standing so their canopies would hide the results of his work from the few government scouting planes that were not on the company’s payroll. Heavy tractors would come through later to drag out the good logs. He got paid by the yard for mahogany, rosewood, and cedar; the rest was trash. Today it looked like he would earn a small fortune; tomorrow might bring nothing. He lit a cigarette and left it hanging in his lips. After starting the engine, he ground the shifter into a forward gear and moved out. He drew cigarette smoke into his lungs then exhaled through his nose. No time to rest. He needed every bit of money he could earn. He didn’t blink as a cloud of insects flew into his face as their nest was churned into rubbish by his dozer’s teeth.

The humidity was so high that water had begun to evaporate into a fine mist. A steam cloud floated through the tops of the trees blurring the upper canopy into a milky green. Diego swung the beast around in a stationary about-face. The base camp was miles behind him by the river. The camp was a dock and tents with ratty screens. Beside the camp was a tree covered clearing that at night was filled with sleeping dozers and other heavy equipment. By now, a pot of beans would be simmering for lunch. A hunk of flat bread and canned beer would complete the meal. No meat. He’d lived worse. Everything here had been secretly brought in by river barge, including him and the other labors. With luck, he could cut a second swath back toward camp and arrive by lunch. Today would fill his pocket with more than two hundred Reals… a new record.

The logging ride out of the forest turned out to be easier than the ride in. The trees in his new path were an ideal size for cutting. Diego began thinking about his wife Carla and their dream. She’d been anx- ious to come with him into this hell. He had kissed her and told her no… no wife of his would suffer in a place like this. In seven months, he would be a father. The foreign company running this operation was taking good care of her. She’d written last week that the company had paid for a test with a machine that was like an x-ray but used sound. The nurse had told her the baby would be a boy. Diego smiled with that memory… it was a good one. He would have a boy who would grow up to be his friend. That was a new part of the dream; the old part was still a small house outside Maceio, the coastal city where Diego was born. Diego instinctively slowed the dozer to the speed of a man’s stride.

He squinted watching a cloud of rain moving toward him along the path he’d just cut from camp. The rain didn’t appear heavy, but when mixed with ground steam it was solid enough to bring a false twilight. Nothing could be seen inside the cloud. The dozer had a roll cage. A piece of corrugated sheet metal had been welded to the top of the cage as a roof. Diego switched on spotlights. Drops started hitting the sheet metal with rhythmic pings. The humidity grew heavier. The air surrounded him like a damp towel. He pulled off his t-shirt and wiped his face with it. A storm of birds fled from some trees his dozer was about to consume. Their colored shapes moved past him at eye level like watercolor paints in fog. Diego cocked his head to one side. He sensed something wrong.

Grinding the shifter into neutral, he idled the machine. As the noise of his engine simmered down, he was able to hear the far off sounds of a dozer racing at top speed. He heard an engine revving at its highest rpm… no, it was two engines. More than one dozer was racing through the forest. This was very unusual. A hollow feeling began gnawing inside his chest. He remembered stories of odd things that happened to people alone in the forest. He heard a different sound like a wet towel hitting the ground in front of him. He leaned forward, squinting into the fog. A bird tumbled from the air bouncing off the cab, the sound startling Diego badly. The bird fluttered, then righted itself on the ground and took off. He saw another bird fall a couple yards away, then another, and another. They would roll around a bit, then fix themselves and fly off. This was very strange… too strange. He now understood why dozers were racing through the forest. Something very bad was happening. He shoved the dozer into gear and slammed his feet into the pedals. The beast jumped forward at top power. He heard muck spitting into the air off the backs of the tread-plates. To devil with cutting the second track. To devil with the money. He was going to get out of here as fast as this dozer could race. The treads were clanking at an accelerating pace as the beast slowly picked up speed. He disengaged the tree saw to gain a few more drops of power. He plowed through the top of a tree he’d cut earlier, then another. He was doing close to ten miles per hour. A man might run faster, but not through this brush and not for the miles that remained to the camp.

Without warning, he felt dizzy, an ill kind of dizzy. The fingers on his right hand went numb, then paralyzed. He tried to move the fingers, but they were limp. Coldness was spreading up from his hand. The more he tried to flex his fingers, the worse it got. In seconds, his entire right arm was hanging flaccid at his side. Whatever had gotten the birds was working on him. He knew it. The trees kept moving past him in a blur. He realized with an odd disconnect that he was having difficulty drawing breaths.

He thought about Carla and the baby. His jaw squeezed tight. His lips formed a grim line. He would make it for them.

The dozer glanced off a large tree and kept going. The impact rocked him. He wheezed, attempting to draw air into his chest. Maybe two miles remained until base camp. He began veering off the trail. The saw-blade snagged on a mahogany six feet in diameter. Diego was pitched from his seat. Dizzy and unable to hold on, he fell from the cab. His shoulder hit a moving tread-plate, which tossed him off the rig. He was like a paralyzed sack of meat.

“Umph!” He landed on the ground. He thought how odd it was that he’d bounced. He didn’t know people could bounce when they hit the ground. The tractor rumbled beside him. Without his feet on the pedals, the dozer had stopped. The left side of his face was a mix of blood and dirt. He tried to draw air into his lungs but failed. His mind felt like it was beginning to evaporate. His entire body tingled. He felt no pain. The muscles that worked his lungs were no longer responding. He thought of calling for help, but without his lungs he could do nothing. He gave up struggling and stared skyward at the treetops and thought of Carla. Moments later, his heart stopped beating. He felt calm as what was left of his mind faded into a warm nothing.

New Jersey: January

Sarah Mayfair opened her eyes. The nightmare was still around her. Her vision was not in this world but in some other. The nightmare was of underground water, great arteries of rivers and streams and lakes. Where the liquid pooled, it was cool and deep. She sensed this water was alive with thoughts, evil thoughts. A teaspoonful of it teamed with plans of death. She was floating deep under the water, staring as drowned people glided past her face sinking into the depths of a bottomless pool. Looking down, she saw a trail of countless tiny bodies slowly pirouetting as they drifted into the yawning darkness below her feet… Headlights from a car traveled across a wall of her room. The lights dwelled on a wooden credenza, then moved on. She followed the glow with her eyes seeing reality for the first time. The simple act of seeing began to clear the veils of her nightmare. Her breathing slowed. She realized she was covered in sweat.

Outside, a subzero wind was blowing unimpeded through a forest of leafless trees and ice crusted snow. The windowpanes rattled and hummed. Small drafts snuck through the rooms. She shivered as the drafts caressed her dampened skin. She was in the living room of her home. She recognized the shadowy details of furniture and walls. Her boyfriend Kenny was in the bedroom asleep. She remembered getting up and walking out here to be by herself to think. The nightmares had grown worse, more of them with each passing week. She was starting to see the faces of people she knew in these nightmares. She sensed it was some kind of horrible parade of those who would die. She remem- bered Kenny’s image from the dream.

Her body stiffened. A disembodied voice was whispering into her left ear. The words were unintelligible… garbled, but unmistakably evil. This can’t be happening. She screamed out in frustration and grief at the seeds of budding madness.

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 About the Author

I am Kevin Bohacz the bestselling novelist of Immortality and a lucid dreamer… Welcome to my dreams. I am also a writer for national computer magazines, founder and president of two high technology corporations, a scientist and engineer for over 35 years, and the inventor of an advanced electric car system – the ESE Engine System (circa 1978). I was also a short order cook for I-Hop, flipped burgers at McDonalds, and delivered Chicken Delight. All of those careers and more are behind me now that I am a full time storyteller, a catcher of dreams. Thank you for reading my stories and making this all possible.

His latest books are Immortality and Ghost of the Gods.
Visit Kevin’s website at www.kbohacz.com.

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Magic, Muskets, Immortality and an Editor

Hello everyone!

Today's guest author is Chris Evans. I didn't discover him the way I usually discover authors, I just stumbled upon him, blind luck really.

Sometime in early November, I was standing in line at the library with a tall stack of books in my hand when I saw this eye catching blue colored book jacket with a sword on the cover prominently displayed on a rack near the checkout counter. I picked it up, read the blurb on the back, saw that the main character was an elf with the last name of Swift Dragon [okay, so I put up an image of Legolas], and I knew the book was for me and added it to my stack. I've never heard of the author before, but I didn't think anything of it, because there are a lot of authors out there to be discovered.

I usually hear about fantasy authors from a friend, family member, or the guys at the gaming stores, but I've never just "happened" upon them, so this was a momentous occasion. That wasn't the only thing that made it momentous. See, I didn't read too close when I grabbed the book. When I realized that it was about Iron Elves and they used muskets because he was a historian by day, albeit a truly clever idea, I didn't see it that way at the time and became rather leery about the book altogether.

I thought, what is this guy doing? Well, I wanted to know so bad that I kept reading and by the time Konowa Swift Dragon and his wild creature-pet Jir come on the scene, I was hooked! I was blown away by the detail and the world he created, so much so that I sought out his website and set off to learn more about him and this new trilogy that has captivated me.

Chris wrote what he knew and made it work. When we created Moonlight, Lace and Mayhem, I just knew that I was going to ask him to guest blog with us because I felt people should know about his books. While they are fantasy, there are also paranormal and romantic elements to this tale.

Yes, there is a romantic aspect that exists between Konowa (an utter outcast living in the wilds) and Visyna Tekoy, a highborn daughter of an elfkynan governor. There is definitely a connection brewing between them, but their familial stations keep them apart as well as some of the choices that Konowa makes along the way.

Yes, at the end of the novel the relationship seems in tatters, yet there is a ray of hope. This is a relationship that will span at least through two novels, possibly three.

So, if the relationship doesn't really happen, why would I consider it romantic? Because, all the while I'm reading the passages with these two surrounded by war and death, I kept wanting the relationship to bloom and waiting for it to actually happen is excruciating and against the traditional "romance novel" idea of a romance, but quite in tune with a fantasy genre idea of romance.

Think about it, it's like watching a TV series where you can feel that sexual tension and you keep thinking, "Damn it, would you two kiss already!" That's the relationship of Konowa and Visyna in a "nut shell".

Okay, I've rattled on enough, so let's bring on the guest of honor, Chris Evans! Oh, did I mention that he's not only an author, but an editor too? And, he's going to have some hints for us, so stay tuned!!

Okay *drum roll please* Here's Chris Evans!

My name is Chris, and I lead a double life. By day I’m the editor of history, military history, current affairs and conflicts books for Stackpole Books. Being an editor means existing in a demi-deity/demi-dementia state, acting as gate-keeper and choosing whom to welcome into the realm of published author. It might seem that editors dash the hopes of many an aspiring author, but the unfortunate reality is that most writers present themselves already pre-dashed. This, however, doesn’t have to be the case. Before I was published, I was every bit the babe-in-the-woods myself, knowing little about how publishing worked and even less about how to crack the code. That leads to my other existence, author of the Iron Elves series, an epic fantasy of elves, dwarves, magic and muskets. Carrie’s graciously invited me to talk a bit about my new book, The Light of Burning Shadows, and share a few insights from inside the world of publishing, and I appreciate the opportunity.

Whenever I talk about writing I invariably start by talking about reading. It is simply the best fuel out there. Whether you’re an aspiring author or an aspiring human being, reading is good for you. If you’re reading Carrie’s blog then you already know this. Reading lubricates the brain and keeps it running and wet (which is good for a brain). TV, on the other hand, usually acts as an anesthetic.

If you’re new to the world of the Iron Elves I suppose proper introductions are in order. The series launched last year with A Darkness Forged in Fire. The world is one where magic and muskets coexist, so a time period roughly similar to the late 1700s/early 1800s. It chronicles the adventures of the Iron Elves, a regiment of soldiers cursed with immortality as they seek to overthrow the elf witch, the Shadow Monarch, and preserve the empire they are bound to serve. It’s certainly in the vein of traditional fantasy – something I’m not at all ashamed to say – but there are a few twists. Much of my inspiration is derived from areas that aren’t mined all that often in fantasy, coming from the works of authors and historians like Rudyard Kipling, Bernard Cornwell, Richard Holmes, Len Deighton, Michael Shaara, George MacDonald Fraser, Terry Copp, Barbara Tuchman, and T.E. Lawrence among others.

The Light of Burning Shadows picks up with the Iron Elves regiment continuing their fight against the, ever bolder, incursions of the Shadow Monarch. The regiment’s task is complicated by the growing restlessness among the colonies and protectorates of the Calahrian Empire. The native peoples see the impending war and the return of stars thought to contain magical powers as a chance to be rid of the Empire once and for all. With all out war looming and rebellion imminent, the regiment stumbles upon an ancient power that may hold the key to freeing the Iron Elves from the blood oath that binds them in service to the Empire and the Shadow Monarch in life and even death. In addition to propelling the story along, The Light of Burning Shadows has given me a chance to explore more of the effects of battle on characters like Major Swift Dragon, Private Alwyn Renwar, Visyna Tekoy, Rallie Synjyn, and Sergeant Yimt Arkhorn, and we see some very different responses. This was important to me as I work with many veterans and hear firsthand what it’s like to be in battle, from World War II to Iraq and Afghanistan. The Iron Elves series is allowing me to explore some of this within a fantasy context, and it’s my hope that in addition to telling an entertaining story, The Light of Burning Shadows does justice to the plight of the regular soldier.

Excerpt to The Light of Burning Shadows
Learn more about Chris and the inspiration behind his books

So now that you know a little bit about the Iron Elves, you might be thinking “Hey, I’ve got a story myself that I’d like to get published. What do I do?” Hmm, almost sounds like the beginning of an infomercial, doesn’t it? The good news is there’s no need to send money, but you will have to spend a lot of time and energy. Oh, and did I mention reading? The mantra is simply “read, read, read”…then repeat. And read outside of your comfort zone from time to time. Think of it like trying a new food. You never know what you might discover, and like.

Fine, you already know all of that, but what you’re really after are some of the inside secrets. How do you get inside? The short answer is, and you know this too, there is no quick and easy plan…well, unless you land a crippled airplane on the Hudson River or start dating either Jon or Kate. For the rest of us, it’s a long, long road. I became an author by first becoming an editor nine years ago. I was offered the chance to work for Random House in New York editing military history and science fiction and jumped at the opportunity. It let me learn the business from the inside. Basically, I spent several years of apprenticeship as an editor while using my free time – when I could make some – to improve my skills as a writer. So when I say long road, I really mean it.

Ok, becoming an editor might not be for everyone, so what else? I mentioned reading, right? Well, don’t just read for enjoyment. Read like you’re back in school and study what you read as well. I’m not suggesting you suck the fun out of reading, but if you’re going to be a writer you need to understand the mechanics of what good authors do. How does Stephen King scare the beejeebers out of me every time I read one of his books? How does Terry Pratchett make me laugh so hard I pull muscles? Think of a book as an engine. Take it apart and see what makes it work, or doesn’t, as the case may be.

The really tough thing you have to do is to ask yourself what you want. Sounds simple, but it requires asking yourself tough questions. In my case, I know I want to be a successful writer, and so for me that means accepting the fact that I’m part of the entertainment industry. I freely admit that and am entirely okay with the concept that I write for my enjoyment, that of my fans, AND that I get paid to do it. It’s that last part that can get some people worked up. It leads to the false and rather pointless dichotomy of the “artist” versus the “hack”. The true auteur versus the commercial…hack. I saw the same bifurcation in academia, the scholar versus the “popular” historian, and it’s all a bit beside the point. I enjoy the high and the low, the humorous and the serious, the urbane and the broad equally, and for entirely different reasons. I don’t want to eat steak every day, or hamburger, nor do I just want to read only the most literate or only, the most bawdy. I like variety, and I suspect most readers are the same. I suppose all this boils down to one simple axiom - know yourself and what you want (and want to achieve,) and then be ok with it. When you can do that, you’ll be much happier, and closer to realizing your dream.

I know, I know, but what about the secrets? There has to be more than reading and writing, right? Ok, I’ll lift the curtain a bit and let you see inside. First, every agent and editor has a complete name. There is no one working in the publishing industry named Sir, Madam, To, Whom, It, May, or Concern. If you can’t find their name, you aren’t going to be taken seriously.

Finish what you start. No one is looking for a half-written manuscript. If you want to be treated as a professional then be one. Editors can spot authors who aren’t really ready from a mile away, and that’s a surefire way to get a rejection letter. The temptation to rush something out there is hard to resist, but you need to if you’re going to make the best first impression you can. There are so many great resources out there to help that there’s no reason you can’t be polished and prepared if you’re willing to make the effort. And when you do finish your manuscript, celebrate your accomplishment by starting a new novel. Oh, and don’t constantly revise and rewrite the same novel year after year. My first completed novel remains unpublished, but what I learned while writing it proved to be the stepping stone to the Iron Elves series which launched my career.

Don’t tell an editor or agent you’re better than King, Evanovich, Tolkien, or Brown. You may very well be, but let them discover that. Instead, tell them with specificity how an aspect of your writing is like one of these giants, and then tell them how it’s also different. You still get to name drop, but you don’t sound like you’re blowing your own horn, even though you are.

Know the difference between patience and patients, and then practice the former while doing your best not to become one of the latter…in an institution for aspiring writers who call, email, and write the editor or agent every day until the editor or agent finally rejects the manuscript just to gain some peace of mind. Publishing is slooooooooow. Glacial even, unless, as I mentioned before, you happen to land airplanes on water or date reality show stars.

Finally, enjoy what you do. Publishing is not easy (despite what the commercials for copy printers might suggest). If you love to write, need to write, and can’t imagine your life without writing, then you’ve already won.

Other Places to Find Chris:
His Website

His Blog [This may take some time to load. I noticed issues when trying to load it today, but they worked just fine yesterday, so please be patient and try again later if you wish to check out his blog - thanks!]