This summer will bring the launch of a new young adult post-apocalyptic series, beginning with
This is the story of Lin Kwan, a young Chinese girl who finds herself caught in the middle of world-changing events after a terrorist attack wipes out much of the Caucasian population of the world.
But more than this, it’s a story of survival. Kwan’s voyage to a decimated America, accompanied by her sensei Li Zhong, is traumatic, and surely would tear the heart from a lesser soul. The world she finds in San Francisco isn’t any better, but she’s determined to complete the task her father has set for her.
In San Francisco, she finds nurse’s aide Valery Paz, a Latina teen who’s survived the virus that killed her whole family, and who now works on the black market caring for patients who can’t come to the hospitals.
She also meets Xi San, a young Chinese man who’s taken on the task of guarding the Pacific Heights neighborhood in which Kwan comes to live. The streets are lawless, patrolled by roving gangs, and San, believing he has nothing else to live for, puts his life on the line every night keeping safe those who struggle to remain alive.
But the gangs aren’t the only menace to peace and peace of mind, as San discovers. A man known only as Gabriel preaches his message of hate and white supremacy, backed up by the evidence of the terror attack.
Kwan has her own problems, as a Chinese spy tracks her to the United States, determined to stop her from giving her father the medicines she’s brought all the way from China–even if it means killing them both.
WINDMILLS is the first of a trilogy from Zumaya Publications, and will be released in June.
Excerpt: Xi San patrolled Laguna Street, body tense, as always anticipating trouble, scanning the shadows with nervous energy for…shadows?
Another long night for a self-appointed keeper of the peace.
He studied the Bay from his favorite spot on Telegraph Hill. He’d admired San Francisco since the moment he and his parents had arrived from China five years before the Second Holocaust.The fog rolling in at night under the Golden Gate Bridge always made him catch his breath.
This was also where his father had shared the news of Qian’s suicide. He’d never forget the brilliant glow as the setting sun turned the tall bridge a fierce red-orange. In traditional Chinese lore, red was the color of happiness and good fortune; for him, Fate had decreed it the color of fear, guilt and lost love.
A cry of pain, followed by sounds of a scuffle, drew him abruptly back to the present. He set off at a run, rounding a corner to find a dozen Seajays circling in on someone small but stocky and armed with a knife.
Several of the attackers turned to confront the intruder who dared interfere with gang business. Sudden movement inside the circle left two others on the ground clutching their groins. The cornered boy shoved through the new-made gap in the circle and plunged toward San.
He stuck out an arm to catch the boy and was rewarded with a frontal kick to the chest. Reflex made him his assailant and slam him against the brick wall beside him, pinning him with his own body. He then realized two things—first, the body he held was much smaller than it looked, and second, that “he” was female.
“That’s our kill, man.”
Movement in the corner of his eye reminded him the gang awaited him. They were not pleased he’d stolen their prey.
Holding the girl in place, he leaned into the glow from the streetlight, revealing his face.
That stopped them.
“The Enforcer!” one of them yelled. Angry murmurs continued, but the Seajays remained frozen, none daring to come closer.
San didn’t move, keeping his face impassive. He’d never taken on this many Seajays at once. He didn’t want to try it now. Especially with a girl to protect.
“Move on,” he said. “It’s after curfew, and you know it.”
“Fuck you, man,” one bold boy shouted, but under San’s cold stare, the gang members reluctantly took up their injured comrades and stole away, tossing obscenities over their shoulders like grenades.
His attention focused on the gang, he nearly lost his hold on the girl when she twisted.
“Let me go!”
“Can’t do that. Not while the bangers are on the street.” He adjusted his grip, holding on to her wrist instead of the bulky coat. “Come on.”
She kicked at him. “I’ll cut your throat before you get anything from me.” Her soft voice had a jaded edge, her English accented. Not long off the boat, then.
“Can’t you see I’m trying to help? Look, my apartment’s a couple blocks away. You’ll be safe there till the Seajays move on.”
She continued frustrated protests, but he ignored her. Keeping a firm grip on her, he half-dragged her around the corner and down the block.
When they arrived, San checked the crates he’d piled across the entrance steps; no one had moved them. He pulled her up the stairs, studying the baby powder he’d sprinkled as he left, seeing nothing but a cat’s prints. He opened the unnumbered door and tossed her inside, just avoiding another of her kicks.
“You’re welcome,” he snapped, locking the door behind them.
Bio: Lyndi Alexander dreamed for many years of being a spaceship captain, but settled instead for inspired excursions into fictional places with fascinating companions from her imagination that she likes to share with others. She has been a published writer for over thirty years, including seven years as a reporter and editor at a newspaper in Homestead, Florida. Her list of publications is eclectic, from science fiction to romance to horror, from tech reporting to television reviews. Lyndi is married to an absent-minded computer geek. Together, they have a dozen computers, seven children and a full house in northwestern Pennsylvania.
Links–http://lyndialexander.wordpress.com for now.I’ll post actual linkies when it’s released.
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