.
In a world gone wrong, can one man actually make a
difference, or will he die trying?
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by Clive Fleury
Genre: Dystopian Science Fiction
WHEN THE OCEANS RISE…THE TRUTH DROWNS
It’s the year 2031. Our future. Their present. A world decimated by climate
catastrophe, where the sun’s heat is deadly and the ocean rises higher every
day. A world ruled by the rich, powerful, and corrupt. A world where a good man
can’t survive for long.
Hogan Duran was a good man once. He was a cop, forced to
resign in disgrace when he couldn’t save his partner from a bullet. Now Hogan
lives on the fraying edges of society, serving cruel masters and scavenging
trash dumps just to survive.
But after four years of living in poverty, Hogan finally
gets a chance to get back on his feet. He’s invited to join the National
Security Council, the powerful paramilitary organization responsible for
protecting the rich and powerful from the more unsavory elements of society.
All he needs to do is pass their deadly entrance exam, and he’ll be rewarded
with wealth and opportunity beyond his wildest dreams.
But this ex-cop’s path to redemption won’t be easy. The NSC
are hiding something, and as Hogan descends deeper and deeper into their world,
he starts to uncover the terrible truth of how the powerful in this new world
maintain their power…and just how far they will go to protect their secrets.
In a world gone wrong, can one man actually make a
difference, or will he die trying?
Kill Code is the first novel in an exciting new
dystopian science fiction series from the mind of award-winning author,
screenwriter, and director Clive Fleury. Fans of The Hunger Games by
Suzanne Collins, The 5th Wave by Rick Yancey, and Divergent by
Veronica Roth will be captivated by Kill Code. You’ll also love
this book if you enjoy:
* Dystopian novels and stories
* Stories about futuristic
societies
* Stories about disgraced cops
* Stories about unlikely heroes
* Stories about conspiracies
* Stories about injustice
.
hope in their hearts, ready to embark on the journey of a lifetime. For others,
it was the only place they had left to go. They had reached rock bottom. Day or
night, the scene was always the same: Transporters arrived and departed
constantly, full of people desperate to get away from here, from there, from
everywhere. Others wandered around the Station aimlessly. These were the
homeless, the addicts, the criminals, the thieves and deadbeats. They spent
their time begging or looking for something to steal.
as these tired and hungry people reached their wits’ ends and lashed out at the
world.
fifty-nine minutes too long but neither of us minded. I kept reaching into my
pocket to pull out the letter and stare at it.
out a tenth time. “Just accept it. Next stop: Easy Street.”
accepted. That was the good news. The bad news was I knew that this letter only
confirmed that I had been chosen for NSC training. It was incredibly difficult
to get this far, but even so, only a very few would make it to through to the
next stage—to become officers. Frankly, I had grave doubts I could make it that
far.
in to Dock 10. It had the word Seattle printed above its windshield. It was
Max’s ride. “Okay, Hogan, looks like it’s my time to go.”
towards the vehicle. It was, like all public transporters nowadays, driverless.
So since there was no one to help, it was up to me to put Max’s ticket into the
scanner and to lower him into in his allotted seat. After that, I folded his
wheelchair and carried the chair to the luggage rack at the front.
mid-thirties walk up to Max. I watched as she checked the seat number on her
ticket. “That is twenty-two N isn’t it?” I heard the woman say to Max as she
pointed to the vacant seat next to him.
Creeling.” He held out his hand. “Great to meet you.”
at the other end.”
hand and I shook it.
forget when you get to Seattle to keep out of trouble.”
I had stepped down from the vehicle, the door slid shut, the last passenger
just managing to squeeze on. As the transporter drove off, Max peered out of
the window and winked at me before turning to speak animatedly with Lisa. It
looked like he had struck it lucky.
20 sign, scanning the crowd for those who were waiting for the NSC Transit
transporter like me.
blocking my way. I glanced across at him. I knew the type. Dangerous and
arrogant but the sort of asshole that women love. In fact, two young beautiful
girls were with him: long legs, flowing blonde hair, angelic faces. They were
obviously twins.
through the crowd, a rusty shotgun in hand. “Hey, you!” he screamed at the guy
with the girls. “Those are my daughters, you son of a bitch.”
units.”
they were fifteen.” He grabbed one of the teenagers and starting to kiss her
passionately.
handsome man pushed away the girl he was kissing, spun around, and yanked the
weapon from the father’s hands in one motion. In an instant, the father was
looking down the barrel of his own gun.
piece of shit might blow up in my face.” The younger man cracked the gun open
and dumped the shells onto the floor. Then he pulled a gleaming handgun from
his trousers and leveled it directly at the father’s head. “This, on the other
hand, is in perfect working order. Care to test it?”
enough.”
back into his pants. “You should thank him too, Dad,” he said to the girls’
father, “you could have got yourself hurt.” He turned away to look at the
girls. “Ladies—it’s been a pleasure. I’m sure you won’t forget your time with
Jake Teerman.”
at Dock 20.
hair, piercing blue eyes, and a button nose. She was dressed in form-fitting
jeans and a blue blouse that hugged her shapely body. She carried an antique
leather holdall.
NSC Transporter. “You getting on board?”
stairs.
***
their late teens and early twenties, mainly young men but with a sprinkling of
women. I knew I was an old man by their standards. It was a pretty big
handicap, and since Max’s shooting, my confidence had never really returned.
Was I up to this? The transporter had been pretty quiet from the start, with
only a few talking to one another. That was the sensible thing to do. We didn’t
know exactly what our training would involve, and to give too much away about
yourself at this stage was not a smart strategy.
She’d told me that she was a waitress who had just been fired from her job. The
news of NSC acceptance had been the lifeline she’d needed. To keep the
conversation going but avoiding any more personal talk, I pointed at the
transporter driver. “Haven’t seen one of those for years.”
driverless. When they were first introduced, people had willingly given up
their vehicles and relied on driverless taxis to get around. Before long, all
trucks had been made driverless, too, and as demand for ‘driven’ cars fell, the
industry collapsed: factories closed and workers were made redundant, joining
the thousands of professional drivers in the ranks of the unemployed.
the security of driverless vehicles. Onboard computers could be hacked, they
reasoned. It was difficult to accomplish, of course, but it was a risk the
organization wasn’t prepared to take.
had traveled all over the city. In the four years since resigning from the
force, the landscape had changed dramatically. I could see the wealthy zones
with their well-lit stores, malls, and schools. These were surrounded by rows
of affluent suburban homes, some of which had glistening swimming pools in
their back yards. Cars shunted along the wide, clean boulevards, and children
played happily in the lush green parks. The zones were protected by high
steel-mesh fences hung with huge searchlights. Gun-toting guards, walking with
vicious-looking dogs on leashes, manned checkpoints along the border.
There were no green spaces: the schools were huge, gray, factory-like
buildings; the few stores were tiny, temporary structures; and hardly any cars
traveled the crumbling roads that often looked impassable anyway. Homes were,
for the most part, a mixture of temporary-looking Nissan huts or constructions
built out of old wood and corrugated metal sheets.
dereliction increased. Tents replaced houses and roads became fewer and fewer.
When the vehicle finally left what remained of the town and descended from the
freeway down onto the open road, the lights inside were dimmed. People slumped
back in their chairs, trying to get as comfortable as possible to sleep.
***
really was getting old.
Soon it would be high in the sky, streaming through the transporter’s tinted
windows. If I was to die and somehow found myself in purgatory, it would
probably look like this: dirty brown wasteland stretching out as far as the eye
could see. On the horizon was a mountain range. But these boasted no romantic,
snow-covered summits glistening in the sun: just steep, hostile, rocky
escarpments layered with brown dust.
driver’s head. I reached into my pocket for my old flip phone, and then
remembered we’d had to leave all electronic gear with the driver. The NSC
expressly forbade anyone to carry anything that could be used to reveal where
we were going. I doubted if the clock really showed the correct time. It would
be too easy to work out where you were from the time traveled.
gaze. In the distance, a band of bikers were riding through the wasteland,
heading towards the transporter. I recognized them. “Krails,” I said. “I’ve
never seen them up close.”
the gang approached. As they came closer, I could make out the lined, tough
faces of the riders. Although all were dressed in the same tight black
leathers, some wore black bandanas or had long scarves covering their necks and
faces. Many had grown their hair out, letting it fall down to their waist,
while others had it shaved off completely. It was hard to tell the women from
the men. All looked equally tough, with lined faces browned in the sun.
each machine had been meticulously cleaned so their chrome and steel handle
bars shone. Some riders had bows slung over their shoulders, quivers of arrows
hanging from their belts. Others carried long hunting knives stuck into ornate
belts, and handguns stuffed into leather holsters. The man on the lead bike
looked huge and terrifying. He was bald, and his face was crisscrossed with
long scars.
away.
indicate the rocky outcrops on the horizon. Pulling his bike around, he started
to ride in the direction he’d indicated. The others followed in V-formation.
Clive Fleury is an award-winning writer of books and
screenplays and has worked all over the world as a Film/TV director, writer and
producer. He has written six books, most recently ‘All Or None’, the second
novel in the Detective Ryan Murder Mystery series.
‘All Or None’ sees Detective Ryan back in the thick of
things. His latest investigation into a mysterious death couldn’t come at a
worse time. He discovers his mother is hiding a troubling secret and is further
sidetracked by a new romance. Fans of who dunnit’s, crime thrillers, and cop
and detective stories will love this novel.
Clive’s other books include ‘Off Season’ – book one in the
Detective Ryan Murder Mystery series; ‘Kill Code’ – a dystopian science fiction
novel set in a world facing climate change;
‘Scary Lizzy’ – a novel about an
eight year old girl, who befriends an African child ghost – and the teen action adventure book; ‘The Boy
Next Door ‘ – a story of what happens
when a teenage girl has a crush on her next door neighbor, who isn’t all he
seems. He also co-wrote ‘Art Pengriffin
and The Curse of The Four’ – a young adult fantasy adventure about a teenage
boy who discovers his father was Merlin the Magician.
Website * Facebook * X * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads
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