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Object Eve

by D. L. Charles

280 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #00-0166; ISBN 1-55212-501-7; US$25.50, C$29.50, EUR21.00, £15.00

An alien invades the hills of Arkansas. While government and law enforcement officials fight local prejudice and ignorance, their survival may depend on a brain damaged, mute child with a very special gift.

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about the book      about the author      sample excerpt      catalogue info

About the Book When the cosmos was first created, by whatever means or deity, the seeds of that creation were cast upon the vast interstellar vacuum. Some were seeds of growth, the growth of the suns, the planets - and the life upon those planets. Yet some of the seed were created to be a judge of the first. They would determine when the seed of growth became stagnant, parasitic, and in violation of its own reason to be. These were the seeds of destruction, created to annihilate - to eliminate with a single-minded purpose. Utilizing the power of the suns, these objects float through the universe seeking out those creations gone astray. One of these seekers is drawn to Earth by the psychic emanations of the developing humans. Once arrived upon this planet it serves judgement and begins to search out those humans. In an isolated, remote area of northeastern Arkansas three people attempt to join forces with the ancient spirit of this planet to battle the alien creation. Unless the three are able to combine their individual abilities within the essence of the spirit then the alien form will overwhelm them. Check out the authors website at: http://www.dlcharles.com

About the Author D. L. Charles, 56, and his wife, Linda, presently reside in the northcentral hills of Arkansas. A father of five and grandfather of 13, D. L. Charles has lived many of the things he writes about. Born in the border country along the Rio Grande of Laredo, Texas, Mr. Charles has led a varied life. He has been a hobo in his youth, a working cowboy, trained horses, been a line rider in Wyoming, was a Constable in the Arkansas hills of which he writes, worked the offshore oil rigs, been a truck driver. He is a recognized master craftsman with his leather working, a certified welder for over 35 years, does custom work in his weld/sculpture shop. Object Eve is his first self-publishing endeavor and he is readying the two sequels for publication also. Mr. Charles has only four life long passions - his love for his wife is first, his children, writing, and reading. Both Mr. Charles and his wife are avid about fishing, spending time either on Lake Norfork in Arkansas on their 28 foot pontoon boat, or in Grand Isle, Louisiana fishing the Gulf waters.

REVIEWS OF "OBJECT EVE"

This is fantastic; I feel as though I know each of the characters personally, and, although I am sickened by the gore, I cannot help but continue reading! I am drawn into it as though it were real. I am fascinated, your plot is very realistic, and yet, it gives nothing away - frustrating to me, because I always have the end figured out half-way into a book.... however, for that same reason, I read on!! The text flows so smoothly .... like opening up your mind and transferring an entire movie onto paper ... only so much more powerful!

Carol Garcia

Oh My GOD! That was terrific. Would have finished it last night, but had to work. Woke up at 5 AM and finished it. Excuse the pun, but I couldn't put it down. Read it from the time I opened the first page and never stopped until I had to go to work, then I was 10 minutes late.

Toni Bowers

Excerpt

CHAPTER 4

December gave way to January. The weather stayed unusually mild for this time of year, but the rains made everything sloppy. Traveling on the roads became a study in skill. Ed pulled more stuck vehicles out of the mud in these weeks then he thought even traveled out here. Tourists down for the mild winters, 'snow birds' the locals called them, would decide to go sightseeing, not realizing their small cars could not navigate the potholes, washouts, and generally muddy road conditions. You needed a pickup at the very least, but a four-wheel- drive vehicle was better. Ed would come across them time and time again. Invariably, he would pull them out of the mud, then have to follow them for miles before they reached the safety of a paved road, in case they again became stuck. It was all part of the job, but he grew irritated when he would have to pull the same vehicle out of the mud for the third or fourth time in as many days. You would think they would learn.

Edna Dunlap grunted with the effort of pulling her leg out of the muck in the goat pen. It had rained for over four days without stopping, a steady, slow drizzle saturating everything. Water ran everywhere, and everything was soaked. She and her husband, Frankie, were out here this early afternoon, which looked more like evening because of the rain-filled murkiness, because goats did not like water. Let a few drops fall and it did not matter where the goats were, they made a beeline for shelter. Somehow, one of the nannies had started giving birth out here in the pen, instead of inside the goat shed. It figured. She could see Frankie was toweling off the baby that had already birthed. He was holding it in his arms while he dried it off. Apparently it was healthy. Maybe they could get the fool goat into the shed before she delivered the second baby.

Edna felt her foot slide out of the rubber boot as she strained to free herself from the muck. Grasping a nearby fence post, she reached down, pulled the boot out of the mud, then slapped it against the post to knock off some of the gunk clinging to it. Carefully balancing herself, she pulled the boot back on and continued on over to her husband.

"Here, give it to me." She held out her arms to her husband who placed the bundle in them. "I'll take it to the shed; you bring Camille." She turned to begin the arduous task of slogging through the mud, carefully holding the baby goat close to her chest for warmth.

Frankie straddled the mother goat, grasping her head with one hand and her rear end with the other. He locked the upper parts of his legs just behind her head and began forcing her to move by taking short steps, leaving her no choice but to walk along with him.

Edna entered the shed and set the baby goat down on some dry hay, which had been previously arranged for just this purpose. She finished toweling the little goat kid, then rose to go help her husband. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed something dark, like a deeper shadow, move in the corner of the shed. Looking directly at the area, she saw something move into view and instantly wished it were only her imagination. It was darker than the surrounding shadows, and big - so very BIG! Edna felt a coldness emanating from whatever it was, a coldness reaching across the few feet between them and into her very bones. It was just floating there.

Edna was suddenly more afraid than she had ever been in her entire life. Her breath caught in her throat as she strained to call out for her husband. Again she strained. Finally, "Frankie! Frankie! Hurry!"

The object just floated there, but she felt it was observing her with its reddish eyes.

Frankie, hearing his wife call him, recognized the fear in her voice. He immediately thought she had fallen and hurt herself. Releasing the goat, he plodded through the mud and into the shed, expecting to find Edna sprawled on the shed floor. Instead, she was standing there staring at something in a corner of the shed. Seeing she wasn't hurt, Frankie turned his attention upon whatever she was staring at and felt his stomach turn over at the sight. It was tall, over six and a half feet, maybe seven. Edna was paralyzed with fright as it faced her. As Frankie watched, he saw something was growing out from the surface of the thing. It looked like they were tentacles of some kind, reaching for Edna. They were growing longer while he just stood here and watched in shock.

"Edna, get out of here! Get back! Get away from that thing." Frankie launched himself at the object threatening his wife. As he rushed past Edna he shoved her backward with his left hand, scooping up a metal bucket with his right. He did not know what that thing was, but he had to keep it away from his wife. "Go to the house. Git, woman! Call somebody! Git the guns." Frankie shouted instructions at her and was grateful to see her begin running for the house. He had his doubts that he could handle what ever this thing was, but at least Edna was safe for now. Frankie began to sidle around the object, looking for a better weapon.

"You better git, now. You hear me?" He spoke to the object in hopeful prayer that it would actually leave, but it just floated there. Frankie was vaguely aware of the goats going berserk. He could hear their dog, Commodore, racing for the shed. His barking and snarling was audible above the sounds of the goats. Spying a section of broken fence post, Frankie dropped the bucket. He lifted the four-foot section of post, holding it in front of him like a spear. His mind was shooting instructions at him. "Jab! Don't swing it like a club. Jab!"

Commodore, all eighty pounds of protective fury, burst into the shed. He immediately sprang at the thing threatening his beloved master and friend. His lips pulled back in a snarl, Commodore catapulted himself toward what should have been the throat of his enemy -- and exploded in a shower of bloody fur, tissue, and bones.

Frankie saw the dog leap at the object. He saw the shower of pieces, which had been his dog, as they hurtled through the air. He felt the chunks of flesh and fur striking him about his chest and face. A piece of leg struck Frankie's forehead, leaving a bloody trail on his face as it dripped down. He saw and he felt, but it did not register. He registered only the fact the object had hurt his dog and frightened his wife.

He jabbed forward with the broken end of the post, expecting to feel the wood ripping into whatever this thing was. As the jagged end made contact with the object, Frankie felt a tremendous surge of electrical power flow from the thing along the post and into his own body. The force of this flow was unbelievable. The post literally fragmented into splinters, spraying burning pieces of wood over the shed floor, igniting the hay wherever they landed. Frankie felt his insides ripped asunder by the power flowing into him. His splayed fingers groping for the thing, he felt them close on something slick. Closing both arms about it, Frankie attempted to squeeze it in a death grip. His terror-enhanced strength was useless against the object.

He felt his body lifted. He grunted with the impact of his head striking against the roof of the shed with tremendous force, bringing tears to his eyes. He blearily saw he was grasping one of the tentacles, its discs reaching hungrily for him. Another tentacle brushed against his face, followed immediately by spears of pain as the suckers pierced the exposed flesh. Fresh spasms of agonizing pain coursed through him as his screams rent the air.

He was aware of the reddish orbs swimming up to the surface of the object. Just above them a thread-like tendril began to form and thrust itself toward his eyes. Frankie strived to pull his head back, but to no avail. The tendril pierced his left eye, sinking deep into his brain. He was immediately engulfed in a numbing, all pervading coldness throughout his very being. Although Frankie would not have believed it, he was actually very fortunate. The anesthetic effects of the freezing coldness prevented him from experiencing the pain he would have felt otherwise, as his limbs were ripped from his torso. Each arm and each leg separated from the body in a rending spray of blood as arteries immediately began to spurt their life-saving fluid into the air.

As the tendril piercing his brain began to explore each cell and tissue, Frankie experienced a feedback from the object itself. He was aware of an alien intelligence that was old, so very old, older than imaginable. It was merciless in its indifference. There was nothing the human mind could ever hope to interact with. This was the coldness of aeons upon aeons of destruction. The tiny bit of brain tissue which was still Frankie Dunlap began to silently scream in hopeless terror as he saw flashes from the creature's own alien intelligence.

Billions upon billions of the round objects were floating through space. Some were like eggs; some were like the thing killing him now. Others were formed different. Some were like brilliant, silvery, reflective lights, and others were like misty fogs, but all were terrible in their determination to annihilate any life it crossed. Frankie somehow knew the only purpose of these beings was to destroy. Like cosmic garbage collectors, their sole purpose was to scavenge throughout the universe, destroying anything which was not beneficial to its purpose of creation. They were so very ancient and so powerful. The last atom of Frankie Dunlap's consciousness began to flow through the probing tendril in a silent wail of eternal hopelessness.

Edna raced to the house. Jerking the door open, she lurched through the opening. Grabbing the telephone, she dialed furiously, hearing the ringing on the other end.

Then the other phone was picked up.

"It's killing Frankie! In the shed! Hurry! Oh, my God, please hurry!" Edna screamed out the words in a steady torrent. "Please help Frankie, please. It's killing him. Some kind of thing. A monster. Please. Something. Oh, my God." Edna realized she should give her name. "This is Edna Dunlap. Hurry!" Dropping the telephone, she ran to the gun rack where she grabbed a .12-gauge pump shotgun. She knew it was fully loaded. They always kept their guns loaded. Slamming through the screen door, she raced for the shed. She could hear Commodore snarling in fury, then abruptly his snarls ceased. Frankie's terror-filled screams rose higher and higher, no longer sounding like anything human. Entering the shed, Edna saw Frankie held against the ceiling by some kind of light. As she watched, she saw his limbs ripped from his body with blood spurting everywhere.

Whipping the shotgun to her shoulder she began firing at the thing. The noise of her shots rebounded from the shed walls in a steady roar as Edna fired again and again until the shotgun clicked repeatedly on empty. The shotgun pellets passed completely through the object, tearing into Frankie's torso. Gouges of flesh were torn from his body, but there was no damage to the object. Its surface was totally unaffected.

Edna's mind registered the tendril as it pierced Frankie's eye. She continued to work the action of the empty shotgun and pulling the trigger. A bluish/white light spread outward from the object, enveloping Frankie along with his separated limbs. He vanished.

Edna slowly moved backward until she felt herself bump against the shed wall. A whimper escaped her as the object began to float toward her, its reddish orbs flowing around to face her. As the object neared her she reversed her grip on the shotgun and raised it above her head like a club. The bluish/white light beamed toward her.

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