The Earth Dwellers (47 page)

More names, more exclamations of excitement, more blank names on white pieces of paper. Although I’ve tried to keep track, I’ve lost count of how many names have been called. One of my neighbors gets picked, a guy who’s always been nice to me, bought Girl Scout Cookies from me and said hello when I walked by, but I realize I’m not happy for him…because he’s not my family. Like the rest of the people around me, he’s the competition.

Three, four, five, six names: not us. Enemies.

There’s a pause and my breath catches in my throat. Is that it? Has The Lottery ended so quickly without warning? Will my family go home without a ticket, left to face the meteor with the rest of those not chosen?

“Ten spots left,” the man says, and I let out my breath. A warning. A bone. A shred of hope. Almost like a redo, like in my game when I pick out a blank paper, I can just put it back and try again. Ten more tries.

“Morgan Rivers.” A stranger in the front row.

“Willow Meadows.” Sounds like a made up name.

“Robert Dorsett.” Who?

Seven left.

Three no-names and then a man my father works with. Three left.

“Meghan Taurasi.” Never heard of her.

“Brian Henderson.” An older man two rows in front of us tips his brown bowler hat at the stage.

One left. He pauses, scans the audience, as if he’s taking in each of the faces, knowing full well he has bad news for most of us. Ten seconds go by and I wonder if I miscounted, if Mr. Henderson was the last name the computer has for us.

But then he clears his throat and speaks: “Anna L. Smith.”

~THE END~

2) An Interview with Perry the Prickler

Originally posted on
Lola’s Reviews
. Awesome questions by Lolita Verroen, who conducted the strangest interview of her life.

Lolita: Hi Perry! I am so excited to have the chance to interview you today! You are definitely one of my favorite side-characters of Fire Country!

Perry: Well, thank you for that. I wish you’d tell the natives, they can be extremely sour and unpleasant sometimes, bitching and moaning about their little “problems.” Meanwhile, they’re the ones trying to chop me and my brothers up to make salad or stew or some other such local dish.

Lolita: So Perry can you tell us a little something about yourself (like who and what you are)?

Perry: Well, as you mentioned, my name’s Perry. Well, it’s not really. I never really had a name, until this strange black-haired girl came along and starting talking to me, which nobody had ever done to me before, and well, she called me Perry and it kinda stuck.

What am I? Hmmm, I understand that most of your readers are from the 21
^st
century, so they’d probably understand the term “cactus” although the people of fire country refer to me as a “prickler.” Basically, I’m a thick-skinned plant that grows even under the harshest conditions, like in fire country, where’s there’s not enough burnin’ water to barely quench my thirst. I’ve got spiky little buggers all over me, so watch out if you get too close—Siena learned that the hard way when she ran smack into me. I’m able to store loads of water in me, so the natives like to use me for a quick drink and something to munch on, if they can get past my pricklers that is! Sometimes I bear beautiful flowers, but only if we get enough rain, which is rare, so usually I’m just plain old gray-green Perry the Prickler.

Lolita: How old are you?

Perry: If treated well, I’m immortal, able to last for centuries even out in the desert, but because of the Meteor god, who became angry with the humans, all desert plant life was pretty much wiped out. Somehow, somewhere, some prickler buds survived though, and sure enough, I started growing once the great dust clouds rose and disappeared, and the searin’ humans started crawling from their hiding places. Long story for a short answer, I know. I’m approximately exactly Four hundred and eighty nine years old, by the humans’ reckoning. In prickler years that makes me twenty one, so I’d like to say hi to all the ladies out there looking for an extremely eligible bachelor. Hiiiii!

Lolita: What is your favorite color?

I love a deep magenta with a yellow border. I sprouted these flowers once that were exactly like that. Absolutely breathtaking. A nasty baggard by the name of Keep picked them clean offa me and gave them to a female inmate up here in Confinement, trying to win her affections and such. Well, she spat in his face. But then she wore my flowers behind her ears until they withered away to nothing but brown mush.

Lolita: What is your favorite time of the day?

Perry: Nighttime, when the searin’ humans are sleeping. Not that a little darkness ever stopped Siena. In fact, she seemed to talk to me more at night than any other time, always going on and on about conspiracies and her father and blah, blah, blah. I was like, hey girlfriend, can a guy get a little shut eye? Not that I have any eyes, but I still need my beauty sleep.

Lolita: How is it like to be bound to one place?

Perry: Bound? Oh, I wouldn’t call it bound. I mean, I ain’t got any feet, but that don’t stop me from walking far and wide. Maybe not in person, but through the eyes of other pricklers. You see, all pricklers are connected. We see what each other see, we hear what each other hear, we know what each other know, you get me?

Ha! I could see it in your eyes that you bought that whole load of tugblaze! I was just screwin’ you around a little, all in good fun of course. Honestly, it really sucks sometimes, not being able to move from one place. I’ve got to rely on all the action coming to me up in Confinement, but I still feel like I miss so much of the goings on in fire country. But I guess it could be worse. I could be one of those pricklers stuck in the middle of the desert with only ’zards, Cotees, and vultures to keep them company. Or worse yet, one of those pricklers that end up in someone’s prickler salad, all cut up into little chunks.

Lolita: How does your normal day look like?

Perry: Well, when the sun comes up and turns the sky all red and the clouds all yellow, I usually start with some stretching, reaching for the sky, working the kinks out. Then I do mental jumping jacks, just pretending, trying to get some exercise. It’s almost the same thing as actually doing them, and I swear I would do them if I had legs and well, arms.

What next? Ahh, yes, I drink a smidgen of the water I’ve got stored inside me, just enough to quench my thirst and keep me from drying out and getting too brittle. Nobody likes a brittle prickler! Then, if there are any brambleweeds being blown past by the wind I do my best to catch them on my spikes. You know, like sort of a game. It’s fun. I mean, I can only lean a centimeter or two to either side, but sometimes that makes all the difference.

When I get bored in the afternoon, I usually take to taunting anyone who’s nearby. I’m an avid taunter, did you know that? Of course, I’m sure you do. I pretty much taunted Siena every second of every day she was stuck in that cage of hers, and even when she wasn’t. I tend to taunt those I like the most, so she got a very healthy dose.

As night falls I always watch the sunset, because hey, I got the best seat in the house and who doesn’t like a good sunset?

Nighttime is for listening, and although I’ve got a big mouth, I can listen pretty searin’ good if I put my mind to it. The desert has so much to say at night with creepy-crawly things, well, creeping and crawling and slithering and scurrying. And Cotees howling too, a mournful, eerie sound that makes you shiver in the best way possible.

Lolita: What do you like doing in your free time?

Just having fun mostly. I mean, what else is life about but having fun. So I usually try to keep things exciting by making up new taunts I can use on any passing humans. Or I might scare a passing ’zard with a loud “Argh!” in their face. That always gets me laughing. But really, I don’t have too much free time, what with all the humans passing through to observe. Then it’s my solemn duty to pass any information I get through the mental telepathies of all the other pricklers….Ha! Got you again! I wouldn’t know a prickler on the other side of fire country from a prickler sitting right next to me.

Lolita: Can you tell us something about your first meeting with Siena?

Perry: Well, first of all, you should read her book, Fire Country, because it’ll tell you everything that happened. But if you want to know one thing, it’s that I didn’t mean to prick her with my spikes. I tried to move, I swear it, but my two-centimeter lean wasn’t nearly enough to get out of her way. And when she crashed into me and my spikes got her, I felt awful, terrible really, for maybe five, ten seconds. And then I just thought it was really funny and I couldn’t stop laughing, because who runs into a prickler!

Lolita: Can you tell us something interesting you have seen happen in the confinement of Fire Country?

Nothing really. These humans are so wooloo, I never know what they’re thinking. They shove people in these cages, which is pure foolishness, because what a waste it is to have perfectly good arms and legs and not be able to use them. That’s why I was really happy for Siena when she used her perfectly good arms and legs to bust out of Confinement, not once, but twice! Impressive, really, although I couldn’t help giving her a hard time about it. A human’s gotta be free and a prickler’s gotta laugh, right?

Lolita: Thanks so much Perry for letting me interview you! I think it was one of the most fun interviews I have ever done
!

Perry: Wow, is that it? Is that my fifteen minutes of fame? But I’m not done yet, I have so much more to tell, I just want to say—

***It was at this point that a tugskin was thrown over Perry’s spiky head to convince him it was nighttime and that he should be sleeping. Thankfully, he fell for it and shut the scorch up***

3) A Sneak Peek

BREW

BOOK 1 OF THE WITCHING HOUR

Available anywhere e-books are sold January 16, 2014!

In the black of night,

’Midst shattered dreams,

Come darkest terrors, once unseen.

Hidden amongst us,

Conjuring invisible power,

’Til the wraiths step forward, for the witching hour.

The Witching Hour
, Rhett Carter

Chapter One

April 13
^th
, 2031

Midnight

S
hrieks and screams tear me from an already forgotten dream. They’re not human—the howls. Well, maybe some are, but certainly not all; and not those which are the closest.

As I sit up sharply, heart leaping forward to sprinting speed, another ear-rending

screeeeeeech!

shatters the night. Metallic. That’s the only way to describe the sound. Like we’re in Oz and the tin man is being ripped in half by impossibly strong hands, reduced to shredded hunks of scrap metal.

Screeeeeeech!

I flinch away from the window, as if it might burst inwards, but no…whatever’s tearing through the metal is outside. At least for now.

Voices from the other room, muffled at first, and then raised, shouted. “Laney! Stay in your room!”

“What’s happening?” my sister cries through her door.

“Just stay inside!” Dad’s booming voice thunders through wood and plasterboard. “Rhett! You too! My gun, Marla!” My adopted father’s told me few stories of the time he spent in military service, but suddenly it’s not difficult to imagine him barking out orders and snapping salutes off like gunshots.

“Take it,” my mother says. There’s a double click—
chook-chook!
—and my father’s heavy footsteps pound past my room and rumble down the staircase.

Kicking my legs over the side of the bed, I almost trip on the sheets, which are tangled around my ankles like vines. I high step, not unlike running through the tire course at football camp, and manage to slip free. Two long strides—I’m only fifteen but taller than most of the kids at school—and I’m at the window, peering into the unlit yard, searching for the source of the cacophony.