Fans of Young Adult Dystopian Fiction should check out Chris von Halle's new release,
The Fourth Generation. Welcome to the spotlight, Chris!
Back Cover Blurb:
In the future, no adults exist. Ever since the plague swept the
world 100 years ago, no one has lived past seventeen.
Sixteen-year-old Gorin, a collector of curious artifacts left over
from the pre-plague civilization, is on the verge of perishing from that deadly
epidemic. And his last wish is to find a way to visit the rulers’ reputedly
magnificent, off-limits mansion.
Up against the clock, he and his friend Stausha steal into the
mansion and discover a secret more horrifying than they ever could’ve
imagined—a secret that holds the key to the survival of the whole human race.
Excerpt:
I raced up
the stairwell pretty fast for someone in my awful condition. My empty backpack bounced
on my shoulders, my feet landing just in front of the steps’ worn, chipped
edges. Sunlight leaked through the dusty windows at the top of each landing,
enough to light my way to the decaying apartment building’s eighth floor.
The rest of the Valuable Objects better
still be there.
No way I
was losing the Tournament of Prestige this year, and the VOs could be worth
just enough prestige points to finally push my faction into the top spot. But
if someone else found them while I was gone…
At last I made
it to the eighth floor. My chest heaved as I sucked in breath, my burning legs
threatening to crumple.
You’ve gotta be kidding me.
The second
door on the right lay wide open. My heart banged against my ribs, making it
tough to breathe, as I crept to the door as quietly as only I could.
I peeked
inside the room. My gut clenched, even though I’d seen it coming.
A boy about
my size—taller than average with good-size muscles—stood in front of the old
wooden cabinets on the left side of the room. He had blotchy, dark gray skin,
so was about sixteen years old like me. His back looked a little crooked, like
his spine wasn’t quite aligned right. Mine was probably in similar shape.
Even from the doorway I could see through the cabinet
doors’ inlaid glass. Empty, except for one measly glass bottle. Sure
enough, the boy started to turn away from them. I jerked my head back into the
hallway, then peered back in. He made his way to the right side of the room.
No—not there.
He stopped
at the faded loveseat wedged against the wall. Patches of peeled leather formed
large, complicated shapes that looked like continents on a globe.
Get away from there.
Then again,
this room had been scoured countless times over the past fifty years by
generations of supply hunters like us, and none of them had found the short,
tiny closet behind the sofa. Chances were slim this kid would.
Please, Power, this is my last year, my last
chance. Please don’t let him find the VOs.
He walked
to the side of the loveseat and put his hands on it. He was about to push it!
I yanked my
flashlight out of my pocket, snapped open the battery compartment as quickly
and quietly as I could, and hurled a battery across the room. Wasn’t like I
needed it. Our faction got fresh batteries every week from the mansion, and
could probably get more if we asked.
The battery
smacked the back wall by the open window—I felt a light breeze, even from where
I stood by the door—and hit the floor with a thud. The boy stopped pushing the
sofa. Thankfully, he’d only moved it a couple inches. Not enough to reveal any
of the closet.
“What
the…?” He watched the battery roll across the wooden floor a bit and stay
still.
He walked
toward it.
Yes.
He picked
it up and headed toward the window, his back to me. Probably thought someone
had thrown the battery through it.
I crept
toward the sofa as quietly as I could, so there was no chance the kid could
hear me. Few people had feet as soundless as Gorin of Faction 235.
I navigated
around the squeaky floorboards. Good thing I’d memorized them during my first
two trips to this room, after I’d found the jackpot of a closet this morning.
Could never be too careful or prepared for a situation like this. Every VO
counted, especially ones worth as many prestige points as DVDs.
When I made
it to the loveseat, I shoved it aside as hard as I could and burst into the
closet.
“Hey!” the
boy cried as I lifted the lid of the plastic blue bin inside and started to
stuff the last of the whopping stash—a stack of plastic DVD cases coated in
thick dust—into my backpack. Not sure exactly what they were or what they did
in the Old World. Us supply hunters weren’t trained to know stuff like that,
annoyingly enough, though I’d give all my limbs to be given one hint.
Feet
shuffled toward me. “Get your filthy paws off those. They’re mine.”
I turned my
head toward the boy. He towered over me, at least by a foot. Thick, muscled
arms framed his sides. Okay, so I was wrong—he was bigger and stronger than me.
He dug his gaze into mine with pebbles for eyes on his overly broad forehead. A
large, beak-like nose jutted from his face.
“Sorry, you
know the rules,” I said. “I got to all of these before you, fair and square.”
Which meant I got to keep them. Actually, I’d gotten to them way before him, but I had no proof of
that, so no use mentioning it.
He folded
his meaty arms across his chest. “Sorry, punk, but I don’t play by the rules.”
Buy Links: smashwords Amazon Kobo
Author Bio:
Chris von Halle has had many different
lives in many different worlds—the near and distant future Earth, other
planets, and even other dimensions—and his books recreate his childhood
memories of such outlandish locations.
In this world and life, he lives in Ridgewood, New Jersey, and enjoys
such extraordinary activities as playing videogames, tennis, and basketball,
and writing the occasional comic strip.
Social Media Links:
Website: chrisvonhalle.com
Facebook: Facebook
Blog: Blog
Twitter:
@ChrisvonHalle
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