Dying of thirst is the new
reality.
Five years after the last drop of clean water
disappeared, global societies collapsed and nuclear war shattered all hope of
recovery. In a place now only a skeleton of its former self, survivors fight to
avoid capture by the government. Forced to work in factories that produce the
only drinking water available, those who go in, never come out.
Zach and Vivienne have lived as deserters since
they were teenagers. Fighting amongst their own and scrounging for the
necessities of life, they’ve learned to rely on each other in every way. Yet
when tragedy strikes and the true objectives of the government facility are
revealed, their world is ripped apart.
A fate once thought to hold their demise may be the
sole answer to their survival. Who can they trust? Who can they believe?
In this life, it pays to be
waterproof.
Link to Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPyeJa4PWZ8
Series Website: www.thewatercrisischronicles.com
Excerpt 1
Ten more steps.
My legs ached with every
jarring move, growing heavier the closer I got to my destination. The weight of
my bounty pulled against me like a prisoner’s chain. If I dropped it, I would
be safe. The idea taunted me as I ran through the abandoned junk yard, dodging
large pieces of scrap metal and sliding over the rusty hoods of skeletal cars.
“Drop them or I’ll shoot you
dead,” a gruff voice yelled behind me.
I didn’t dare turn back.
Something whizzed past my ear and slammed into the side of an old van blocking
the path in front of me. A reddish dust full of steel splinters exploded in my
face as the unmistakable sound of tearing metal pierced the dusk air. I’d
gravely misjudged this group of deserters.
Heart hammering in my chest, I
slid to a stop before crashing into the bullet hole meant for my head. Two
bottles slipped from my arms and rolled underneath the van before I could stop
them. Shit. There wasn’t enough time
but I couldn’t go back with only those left in my hands.
I braved a look behind at my pursuers. The
three men tearing after me had nothing but revenge in their eyes. If the two
sawed-off shotguns didn’t represent their intentions, then the man firing the
military rifle at my head made it very clear.
Another bullet slammed into the
van just as I ducked down to retrieve the bottles. Footsteps pounded against
the broken pavement and dead leaves, sounding more like an army than a handful
of survivors like me. I reached as far as my shoulder would allow, ignoring the
pain searing through my tired muscles. My fingertips brushed the plastic
container just before it rolled further under the van.
“Where’d he go?” one of the men
called out. He sounded close.
Dropping to my stomach, I
nestled the remaining bottles under my left arm, while trying to retrieve the
others with my right. After squeezing half my body underneath the van, I
finally grabbed the first, then the second. Another shot ricocheted off the
ground in front of me. They were trying to flush out my position and if they
found me now, I was dead.
Scooping up the prized
possessions I’d risked my life for, I prepared to run. Trapped between two
vehicles, only one option presented itself - I’d have to get to the old cargo
containers. This particular group of deserters set up their camp inside a metal
scrap yard. Smart and resourceful. The dilapidated containers had been pushed
to the sides, creating a barrier and providing some semblance of safety.
Although I’d slipped through them easily on my way in, my arms were now full of
water bottles that slowed me down.
Water. Wars were fought and
lost over it. People died. Billions of humans perished in the days leading up
to the end. And now I risked my life for a mere eight liters because we’d used
the last natural drop of clean water on the planet five years ago.
Metal cracked above my head.
Dust fell into my eyes and tiny pellets showered over my back like a swarm of
bees.
“I’ve got him!”
I looked up in fear, only to
see that I still had a clear path to my escape. Shotgun man had his sights
somewhere else. Now was my chance.
Sucking in a deep breath, I
scrambled to my feet and ran as hard as I could toward the narrow crevice
between the containers. Forcing myself not to turn and look where they were, I
ignored the shouting and distinct sound of shells hitting the ground.
Five more steps.
Excerpt 2
Vivienne
yelled out and I whipped my head around to see what happened. The last man
standing held an impressive hunting knife in his hand, while Vivienne had a
fresh cut on her arm. Still, she held steady, sword gripped tightly in front of
her, legs in a fighting stance.
Something
stirred inside of me at the sight. Time slowed when I watched her wield the
sword like an ancient warrior. It was hard to imagine that just a few years ago
we were in high school worrying about football games and which party to go to
on the weekend. Now we stayed in abandoned houses, scrounged for water, and
spent most of our lives running. If things had been different, Vivienne and I
would be graduating college this year. I had plans to go into medicine, and she
wanted to be a vet. Funny how those dreams seemed so far away now.
A loud thump
echoed through the now darkened night. She almost fell to the ground with the
amount of momentum needed to decapitate the man. He dropped to his knees like a
sinner begging for mercy, head rolling further down the hill. My stomach
fluttered with admiration and annoyance.
“I didn’t
need your help,” I said to her, getting up on my feet and trying not to wince
at my injuries.
“Sure,” she
huffed. Ripping her bandana off her face she tore it in two. “Here, wrap that
up.” She nodded toward the tear in my sleeve and I stubbornly yanked the cloth
out of her hand.
“I had
everything under control,” I said between clenched teeth. It was the only way
to mask the pain. “How did you know where to find me?”
“I followed
the girly shrieks,” she said without missing a beat. I looked down at her in
time to see a smirk pull at the corner of her mouth. “Let me do it.”
Once again,
I allowed Vivienne to rescue me. It killed every part of that male ego inside,
but I knew she’d let me do the same for her. In fact, I had. We always saved
each other.
“Ow,” I said
when she tightened the bandana a little too rough around my arm.
“Stop being
a baby.”
“Stop
showing off your man strength.”
She pulled
even tighter but let a small laugh escape. I sucked in a breath at that sound,
realizing how close I’d come to never hearing it again.
“Are you
hurt anywhere else?” she asked, turning me around and patting her hands along
my body. I froze, trying to ignore how comforting her touch felt. We’d been
friends for years, and she was the only person in this world I trusted. Why had
I risked so much for this run?
I stepped
away from her, not liking where my thoughts were headed. “I’m fine,” I mumbled.
“Stop mothering me.”
“I wouldn’t
have to if you’d listen to me.” She stopped in front of my face and stared me
down. I stood a little over six feet tall and she was just a few inches
shorter. Together with that glare, almost any man would cower under her. “Was
it worth it?”
“Huh?”
“The water.
How much did you get?”
I hung my
head in embarrassment. “I had eight, but they shot through one. So six, I
guess.”
“Six
bottles?” She looked impressed.
“No, six
liters.” Silence.
“You just
made me kill three men for six liters of water?”
I shuffled
my feet. “You only killed two.”
She reached
out so quickly, I couldn’t defend myself. Both hands pushed against my chest
and I stumbled back, falling to the ground.
“I could
make it three,” she hissed. “I should kill you for your stupidity alone.”
Buy Links
Smashwords - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/357057
Barnes and Noble
- http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/waterproof-amber-garr/1116958419?ean=2940045278089
About the Author
Amber Garr spends her
days as a scientist and nights writing about other worlds. Born in
Pennsylvania, she lives in Maryland with her husband and their furry
kids. Her childhood imaginary friend was a witch, Halloween is sacred, and
she is certain she has a supernatural sense of smell. Amber is a multiple
Royal Palm Literary Award winner, author of The Syrenka Series, The Leila
Marx Novels, The Water Crisis
Chronicles, and the upcoming Death Warden Series. When not obsessing
over the unknown, she can be found dancing, reading, or enjoying a good movie.
Social Contact
Website: http://www.ambergarr.com
Email: amber@ambergarr.com
Twitter: @AmberGarr1
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