Until the arrival.
When the ground starts to shake beneath their feet…
When the noises crash through the skies above their heads…
When the giant UFOs appear and send down their beams, their terrible beams…
Camberway is rocked to its very foundations, as a series of bizarre events changes all of their lives, forever.
What will become of Camberway, and the people who call it home?
Will anyone survive? Why are the giant UFOs here? what do they want?
ARRIVAL is the first part of the From The Sky trilogy. Part 2 – JOURNEY, and Part 3 – NEVADA, are scheduled for release late-2014, early-2015.
Targeted Age Group:: 18+
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I was inspired by an image of a group of characters wandering through a tall California pine forest, afraid that people they meet could be human or alien. I’ve always been a huge Spielberg fan and Stephen King fan, and From The Sky is a combination of how King crafts a community and places them in peril to see how they will react and how they will get out of said peril, and the huge suspense and drama that permeates Spielberg’s works (Taken, Falling Skies etc.).
How is writing SciFi different from other genres?
The science fiction writer’s imagination must always constantly grasp a little further, past the place where regular authors reach, to find something a little out of the ordinary and original. But all authors must keep their reader guessing, and writing science fiction opens up any possibility you can think of. It’s a fantastic genre with literally a universe of possibilities!
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
My characters lived inside my head for a number of years before finding their place in From The Sky. They traveled everywhere with me, gradually becoming more fully formed. I think memorable characters is one of the most crucial things to making a book a success. I want you to remember mine long after you’ve left their journey.
“Evanson, you’re full of shit.” Barrett Holroyd shot to his feet and loomed over the smaller man. His face was a storm; a growing tornado threatening to hit land inside Miller’s Diner. The red leather-topped counter stool threatened to tip over, before settling back onto all of its legs. Evanson probably only weighed one hundred twenty pounds soaking wet, and Barrett thought about taking him outside and giving him an ass whupping.
“Gee whiz, Barrett,” Tommy Evanson said, “can’t you have a simple discussion without getting bent out of shape?” He leaned back on his stool and held up his hands, cowed by the older man’s threat. “All I’m sayin’ is if Manning woulda caught that very first ball then things woulda been totally different, and the Broncos woulda won the Super Bowl.”
“That’s bullshit, and you know it, Tommy,” Barrett said, but already the storm was passing. He took a relieved breath, thankful that it hadn’t touched down inside Miller’s.
“Now now, you boys. This is a diner, not a Wild West saloon. I don’t want any trouble tonight, and I don’t want any cussin’ either.” It was the esteemed Emma Miller herself, all five-feet-two of her, leaning on the cold aluminum counter and calming the boys down by giving them an eyeful of her sweet California cleavage.
Freda Payne hushed on the old Rock-Ola 434, and Barrett crossed the black and white tiled floor, taking a couple of deep breaths as he went. He pushed in two buttons on the restored jukebox.
The robotic arm flipped a record and, seconds later, Johnny Bristol was talking about hanging in there, baby. That was just what Barrett did.
He opened his wallet and offered a dollar bill to Emma Miller. He held it just far enough away to make her reach, all the time staring at the heaving bosom inside her almost sheer white blouse. For a woman just the wrong side of forty, she had a damn fine figure. A fella could use a pillow like that to rest his weary head on.
The Evanson kid was a smartass, and every day it seemed to Barrett there were more and more of them in Camberway. Time was a kid like Evanson would give someone like himself – a man more than thirty years his senior – some respect. The kid was barely old enough to drive himself home, and what good would taking a swing at a kid do Barrett? He told himself that the best defense wasn’t always a good offense, and that thought brought him full circle, back to the damn Super Bowl that caused the ten-minute argument in the first place.
“Thank you, Barrett,” Emma Miller said. She batted her eyelashes and stuffed the dollar into the cuss jar that sat behind the counter. The jar was looking pretty full, and that was good news for the Rainbow Children’s Hospice over in Lawton, as Emma Miller donated every penny she earned from cussing customers to providing a better life, and death, for the children in their care.
“Now, if you boys can’t play nice, you can’t play at all.” She turned her blue eyes up to the large red clock that hung above the doorway. “And anyway, look at the time. It’s nine-thirty, and neither of you two are gonna be sittin’ on those stools at ten-oh-one.”
Barrett and Evanson were the only patrons left in the diner. The twenty-somethings had cleared out around eight, probably heading down to The Bawdy Bear to shoot some pool and drink some beer. Barrett wished he’d joined them; a beer might just take the edge off his temper.
“I’m gonna head out now,” Barrett said. “I want a smoke, and if I stay here, I’m apt to talk about football to this knucklehead some more. And if I do that, I’m probably gonna have to put more dollars in your jar than I make in a year.” He grabbed his sheepskin coat off the end of the counter and found his cigarettes in the pocket. He placed one behind his ear and wriggled into the worn garment. He kept his eyes fixed on Evanson the whole time, just in case the kid tried to catch him with a sucker punch.
Only one sucker here, he thought as he looked back at Emma. That was unless the proprietress herself was sucking, but he didn’t think so. She had stepped back from the counter, fixing the top button on her blouse, turning it from carefree to conservative. Perhaps she could see the anger behind his eyes. No matter, Barrett Holroyd had had enough of Miller’s Diner for one night.
The plan was to get an early night. Eight hours of shut-eye before he got back into the rat race.
“Say, Barrett,” Evanson said, “are you opening up your shop this week? Some of the guys have started calling me Rapunzel.” He grinned and flicked his long blonde locks back over his shoulder.
“Planning on tomorrow.” After eight weeks closed, Barrett was pretty sure there were more than a few Rapunzels in Camberway. That was good; he could do with the money, but damn, already two months since he’d put his wife in the ground, and her only fifty years old.
“Well, that’s great,” Evanson said, and stuck out a hand. “I sure didn’t mean to hurt your feelings just now.”
“Forget about it,” Barrett said, ignoring Tommy Evanson’s olive branch. After a few awkward seconds, the smaller man glanced at his hand and let it drop into his lap as Barrett turned to leave.
Emma Miller grinned and shook her head as she wiped down the countertop. “Right you are, Barrett. Tommy, you wanna think about drinking your Co-Cola and heading out too. I’m washing my hair tonight, and it’s cold out there. I don’t wanna total my car on a patch of black ice before I even get…”
She trailed off mid-sentence, as the ground rumbled beneath the diner, and shot out a hand to stop a ketchup bottle from crashing to the floor.
“What in hell was that?” Tommy cried, the cuss jar forgotten.
“Probably just a tremor, Tommy,” Emma Miller said, but Barrett thought her eyes were a little wider than they should be, and he watched the color drain from her pretty little face. “Didn’t you feel one this morning? Just about frightened me to death.” She gripped the ketchup bottle in both hands.
“This morning?” Barrett’s pulse quickened. He looked at the nervous face of Tommy Evanson as the ground swayed beneath their feet for a second time and the lights dimmed momentarily, shadows washing over the diner as the light fittings swayed from side to side. Evanson hung onto the counter, his knuckles white with the pressure of his fingers against the aluminum.
“I didn’t feel nuthin’ this morning,” he said, and reached for his half-empty glass of Coca-Cola with a shaky hand before draining it in one quick gulp.
Barrett nodded to Emma Miller. “I’m getting out of here. I gotta get home to Linda and the boy.”
Barrett saw his own fear reflected in her eyes.
And with good reason. The shaking hadn’t come from under their feet. It had come from above their heads.
About the Author:
David McGowan is 36 years old. He lives in Liverpool in the United Kingdom. He holds a degree in English language and literature from the University of Liverpool, and has read from the medieval to the futuristic. His favorite novel is Catch 22 by Joseph Heller, but his favorite author is Stephen King. His debut novel, The Hunter Inside, is a psychological suspense thriller with a supernatural twist which has given readers worldwide trouble sleeping and nightmares when they finally do.
David is a self-published author, creating his own book covers, trailers and handling all aspects of publishing and social media and marketing. He loves to connect with readers through his website, Twitter, Facebook and various other methods.
Links to Purchase eBooks
Link To Buy ARRIVAL – Part 1 of the From The Sky trilogy On Amazon