Black Harvest (Deathlands, Book 69) by James Axler

By James Axler

GRIM AWAKENING

Shockwaves of atomic destruction became 22nd-century the United States right into a hellzone, yet within the ruins the human spirit continues to be unconquerable. day-by-day survival is determined by uncooked braveness and a dangerous goal, and together with his warrior band Ryan Cawdor roams the forbidding new frontier often called Deathlands, decided to release its secrets....

RELENTLESS GRIP

Emerging from a gateway within the midwest, Ryan senses hassle in the well-fortified ville of an area baron, whose knowing of pre-Dark medication should be their one likelihood to avoid wasting a wounded Jak. yet whereas his whitecoats could make the medicine that heal, the baron understands the true energy and cash is within the hardcore Deathlands jolt. And the place medications and riches move, loss of life shadows each step, irrespective of which aspect of a firefight you stand on.... within the Deathlands, the next day to come isn't simply one other day.

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Extra info for Black Harvest (Deathlands, Book 69)

Sample text

I certainly couldn’t see the row of body parts. Standish finished packing the sat comms into its case and wedged it between the front seats, then stood up on the flatbed behind us, one hand gripping a section of frame, the other his AK. He was clearly going for the Lawrence of Arabia look. We reached the lower ground, about a K from the target, when a light-coloured vehicle detached itself from the buildings. Its dust trail flew high into the air as it headed out to give us the once-over. I checked that the rear leaf sight was on its battle setting of 300 metres and glanced across to see what the other GPMG was up to.

I thought Sam must be taking the piss, but then I saw the expression on his face. It was like Standish would have looked if you’d told him Beef Wellington wasn’t on the menu tonight. He lifted his arse, fished in his back pocket and handed me a battered leatherbound book. ‘Go on,’ he said. ’ I flicked open the cover. ‘It’s the New fucking Testament. ’ I suddenly felt like I’d been locked in the same cell as a double-glazing salesman.  . His eyes flashed. ‘You’re not really getting the message, are you, son?

The next thing I heard was Frankenstein getting bollocked by the general as they came out into the courtyard together. The Zaïrean’s sweat-soaked face glinted in the moonlight. Frankenstein took the phone from me and shoved a finger into his spare ear. ‘It’s Gary. ’ He listened for several seconds, his jaw clenched with frustration, then piled on the sarcasm. ‘Yes, he may be, in your fucking head. But out here I do front-of-house and he polishes things up in the kitchen. ’ He listened some more, then finally cut away, almost throwing the handset back at me.

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