Beyond the Black

By kd Alexander

A CITY LOST TO TIME.
AN UNWILLING PAWN IN AN ANCIENT GAME.

It’s been 150 years since the Cold War went hot and the nuclear fallout gave rise to the super mutants known as the Selechai, a race of bloodthirsty creatures imbued with ancient Elven magic.

They are a hive mind. They are one and all.

And they’re hungry.

Bastion is one of the few good places left. A walled city where people could still be people. It’s a place where walking late at night didn’t automatically make you dinner for things that go bump in the night.

When a platoon of super mutants breach the outer perimeter, Sergeant Chase Montgomery leads his skirmish squad into the skies outside of Bastion.

If they can’t push back the horde, their city is doomed and his family with it. It should have been an easy enough mission, routine even.

But one lucky shot can change everything.

Shot down, his plane crashes into the ocean and he awakens in a world lost to time.

There he finds himself the unwilling pawn in a civil war, and the last hope for an entire nation’s survival. Whether he likes it or not, it’s time to pick a side.

Time’s running out.

If he can’t stop the impending war and make it back home to his family, then he may as well have died in the crash.

• Language: English
• Publisher: kd Alexander
• Release date: Aug 13, 2012
• ISBN: 9798215286715

kd Alexander

I write like Michael Bay directs.Put simply, I grew up in a strange time, where parachute pants were cool, and hyper-flourescent colors were all the rage. Cheesy action shows and even cheesier sitcoms fed my television addiction. Comic Books opened my eyes to all sorts of things that my parents would not approve of.Gold Eagle was publishing dirty books that I was never allowed to read. They were full of exotic locations and high stakes adventures. But, the cover art alone convinced my mom that they needed to be passed by. So, instead, she let me read Dragon Lance, Shadowrun, Dark Sun, and Redwall. No really. I was surprised too!When I became a real boy, I made a point to read all the pulpy good stuff I was never allowed to read as a kid. Characters like Conan the Barbarian, Doc Savage, the Shadow, Mack Bolan, and even a little unicorn named Ariel became some of my new heroes.And as a writer, I try to go back to that sense of wonder and adventure that I loved reading about when I was a kid. There’s nothing like the high you get when a book sucks you in. And as you come back to reality, letting the world slowly come back into focus, I hope that you were entertained.

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REAM

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Like maybe even the sequel to this book you have in your hands right now.

It’s like buying me a cup of coffee once a month.

Authors are nothing, if not over caffeinated were-bears.

Me? I’m a cheap date.

If you join me on Ream, you’ll be able to get electronic editions of all your favorite stories hot off the presses.

Ever wonder what my stories look like before I polish up these turds and ship them off? Ream.

Ever wonder what my stories look like AFTER I polish them up? Ream.

Ever wonder what else I’ve got hiding or up my sleeve? Ream.

Seriously. There’s stuff there that might not make it to Amazon for like another year. You know you want to be the coolest kid on your block telling all your friends about kd Alexander’s unpublished works - just think!

Maybe when I’m old and gray you’ll still have your Ream treasure trove and can sell it at Sotheby’s for a small fortune. Who else has access to the complete unpublished works of their favorite author?

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A CITY LOST TO TIME.

AN UNWILLING PAWN IN AN ANCIENT GAME.

It’s been 150 years since the Cold War went hot and the nuclear fallout gave rise to the super mutants known as the Selechai, a race of bloodthirsty creatures imbued with ancient Elven magic.

They are a hive mind. They are one and all.

And they’re hungry.

Bastion is one of the few good places left. A walled city where people could still be people. It’s a place where walking late at night didn’t automatically make you dinner for things that go bump in the night.

When a platoon of super mutants breach the outer perimeter, Sergeant Chase Montgomery leads his skirmish squad into the skies outside of Bastion.

If they can’t push back the horde, their city is doomed and his family with it. It should have been an easy enough mission, routine even.

But one lucky shot can change everything.

Shot down, his plane crashes into the ocean and he awakens in a world lost to time.

There he finds himself the unwilling pawn in a civil war, and the last hope for an entire nation’s survival. Whether he likes it or not, it’s time to pick a side.

Time’s running out.

If he can’t stop the impending war and make it back home to his family, then he may as well have died in the crash.

BEYOND THE BLACK

KD ALEXANDER

inKsplashD inKsplashD

BEYOND THE BLACK is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2019 by kd Alexander

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Published in the United States by inKsplashD

Printed in the United States

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FIRST PRINT EDITION

AUGUST 2023

REAM

Hey, y’all: Did you know there’s another way to support your favorite authors? I’m on this thing called Ream. It’s a serialization platform that works like Patreon. And if you subscribe, you get first access to the raw manuscripts of everything I’m currently working on. There’s a bunch of cool shit there right now, including the original drafts and cool things I’m currently working on.

Maybe even the sequel to this book you have in your hands right now.

It’s like buying me a cup of coffee once a month.

Authors are nothing, if not over caffeinated were-bears.

Me? I’m a cheap date.

If you join me on Ream, you’ll be able to get electronic editions of all your favorite stories hot off the presses.

Ever wonder what my stories look like before I polish up these turds and ship them off? Ream.

Ever wonder what my stories look like AFTER I polish them up? Ream.

Ever wonder what else I’ve got hiding or up my sleeve? Ream.

Seriously. There’s stuff there that might not make it to Amazon for like another year. You know you want to be the coolest kid on your block telling all your friends about kd Alexander’s unpublished works - just think! Maybe when I’m old and gray you’ll still have your Ream treasure trove and can sell it at Sotheby’s for a small fortune. Who else has access to the complete unpublished works of their favorite author?

Ream supporters. That’s who.

Clicky linky.

https://www.reamstories.com/inksplashd

ALSO BY K.D. ALEXANDER

Dead Man’s Debt: A Weird West Tale

Hawk’s Trail

Hunter’s Moon

City of Shadows: The Umbra Venatori

Coming Soon…ish.

Signal Loss

Slaver’s Bay: A Weird Western Tale

Bad Company: The Forgotten Lands - Book 2

Infernal Highway: The Umbra Venatori - Book 2

Your voice is the best way to support the independent author community. If you hated the book, tell a friend. If you loved the book, tell three.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Author’s Note

Excerpt: Hunter’s Moon

Excerpt: City of Shadows

Excerpt: Dead Man’s Debt

1

So much for routine patrol. Sergeant Chase Montgomery sighed, readjusting his visor. The damn thing had a bad habit of blinking out at the most inopportune times. This was one.

Acceleration in high G sucks, but it’s better than being dead. They were hauling through a canyon of steel and concrete, the remnants of South City. Concrete flew from the canyon wall where the railgun’s bullets impacted as shapes passed by in a blur. The staccato bursts of gunfire ahead twinkled like fireflies at sundown.

Bravo One? One of the young guns clicked onto the comlink.

He grunted an acknowledgement. Bravo Three?

Sarge, you’re haulin’ ass out there. Everything ok? I can’t catch a read off your vitals.

Everything’s fucking perfect, corporal. I’m flyin’ blind out here. Check altitude and cover right wing. He pulled up on the center stick and the plane climbed higher into the air.

Roger, Bravo One. The comlink clicked off and the faintest rattle told him cover was there. The kid was fresh, with a squared jaw and the slightest glimmer of mischief in his dimpled face.

He liked the boy well enough, but that poor boy was green as could be. He had to watch him closely; Sarge chuckled, the kid reminded him a bit of his own kid out there in Bastion.

Seeing the world through the tint of a broken visor really puts a damper on your day. Gray-brown buildings rose in the distance, smoke curled out of the ruins of a tower off to his left. He caught the faintest outline of three super soldiers holding out in the ruins of an old skyscraper.

They were big as a house and aiming massive guns his way.

With a quick flick of his wrist, he adjusted the ailerons and went into the gentlest of rolls as he banked to the left, nearly missing a secondary volley from the railguns. Maybe he was imagining it, but he could have sworn he saw the bastard flip him the bird.

Think he would have had the decency to give you a reach-around first. Hawk Eye’s voice was static on the other end of the comlink. Want I should teach him some manners, Sarge?

Bravo Three - Hawk Eye’s got the tail. Peel off. Bank left and let Hawk Eye unleash hellfire.

It took three years for them to get this far, and he’d be damned if he let those freaks take the city. There were parts of it that still seemed like home, tiny little idyllic streets with trees and sidewalks and curbs. And then there were parts like this.

Vacant and empty, they were hollowed out corpses of skyscrapers and office buildings. Somewhere down there he imagined there used to be condos where the lifestyles of the rich and famous played out their private existence, preening themselves out on chaise lounges overlooking glistening ocean vistas without a care for the rest of society.

It was a place where wealth and privilege fueled a guaranteed survival from the virus.

Until one day the virus came knocking at their doors.

And then they cared about the rest of the world. But, when the police couldn’t stand a chance against rampaging beasts two stories tall, they sent in the military.

It was too late.

They were always too late.

Now the oceanfront property had new tenants. They were genetically enhanced weapons of mass destruction, things that ate planes like his for dinner. One caught the ploy, turning around just in time to see Sarge hurtling toward him.

Sarge yanked the lever westward, the plane twisted violently enough to make him glad chow wasn’t for another hour. A sharp buzz sounded in his ear as the world came to life. He closed his eyes against the blinding light as his systems came back online. The glass of the windshield turned sunward, he caught the subtle shifts of purple and black as the sun set across the gulf.

And then the blinding light of sunset smacked him hard in the face. Despite the glare, in the haze of drifting ash it was still beautiful.

Sarge reached into his flight suit and pulled the wooden rosary out of hiding. If they were supposed to save the world, then they needed all the help they could get. He whispered a prayer to whoever was listening and flew past the skyscraper, miles passed in minutes and he twisted the fighter jet back to come around from the rear.

Hawk Eye’s cannon unloaded and the plane climbed high, banking eastward as the mutants returned the volley.

Wahoo! Back online! Sarge grinned, spinning the plane into a barrel roll as he circled back east into the canyon.

Welcome back, Sarge. Hawk Eye unleashed a volley and came up on his right flank as Bravo Three brought up left guard. Think it’s just about time we call it a day.

Roger, Hawk Eye. Looks like we got one. The other two bailed out the building. FLIR’s got ‘em heading southbound from their twenty. Oh, shit. You see this?

Looks like they got some friends.

C-Com you seeing this? Sarge asked through his comlink.

I see it, Bravo One. Looks like they’re heading for Bastion. Standby while I get ground support up and running. By my count, we’ve got at least two hundred mutants pounding ground. Drones showing light artillery mostly, but they’ve got two of the SS with em. Jesus, they’re big as a house.

The camera flew by in a slow pan, revealing the ugly mottled gray of scar-streaked skin. Two giants led the pack of mutants, flanking the smaller creatures into a line three bodies wide.

The taller of the two stared straight ahead with one purple eye. Fangs dripped saliva that bubbled the asphalt. A drop caught one of the mutants and its flesh sizzled, turning to a charred black husk that marched dumbly on.

God, I hope the FOB can hold ’em. Bravo Three’s voice was tinged with fear.

My family’s set up in Baston. Sarge grunted. The heads up display blinked and refreshed, ground support was ten minutes out. Christ, you see that? A secondary screen popped up. Satellites were picking up activity to the south. They were flanking the base. Fuck these guys. We’re going in. C-Com, redirect ground support to the south flank. We’ve got this.

Roger, Bravo One. Good luck.

Bravo Three, unleash hellfire on your position. Hawk Eye, roll here. Take center strike. Drop payload at two clicks. I got left flank.

They went in hot.

Sun set off the western shore, sonic booms resonated like hollow gunshots across an equally hollow landscape. Yellow and green shapes flittered across the length of his vision, dancing numbers and twisting lines stretching from green to red as the targeting algorithms worked their magic.

Front and center was an almost orange reticule showing like a Maltese Cross pointing the way back home. Underneath the sleek body of the B-151 was a twisting mass of death.

Scores of mutants marched in a double helix that stretched across the middle of his field of view. Drone cameras beamed the images of their prey across the bottom line of his head’s up display.

The creatures had staked out a wide swath of land measuring at least a half mile wide. Thousands milled beneath the jet, blockading the narrow interstate that spread across the plains like a gray artery.

The camera passed across the slaughtered carcasses of cattle as the half dog things chomped away on the bleached bones. One stood up on its haunches and sniffed the air as the drone passed by in a slow crawl.

As if by instinct, the thing reared and drew, static replaced the display and the soft firecracker pop-flare of the machine dying barely registered from his height. Sarge shrugged and hit a button. Adios, mother-fucker.

What happened to I got first crack? Hawk Eye’s voice crackled through the comlink.

Bravo Three? You up and ready? Sarge ignored his wingman’s grumblings.

Roger sir. Locked and loaded.

C-Com - Delta Five is down. We’re engaging.

Careful, Bravo One. That was the last drone we had ’til Command re-ups us next month.

We’ll be careful. Sarge and C-Com had gone back a way. Three tours across the WDC Campaign, two in Great West, and now this hell hole that used to be South Theater. The man had never steered him wrong. Truthfully, C-Com was the closest thing to a best friend he ever had. And to think, Sarge never once met the man.

And if not? What do you want me to tell your family?

Tell them I’ll be home for supper. It was a thought he didn’t want to acknowledge. Sure, he lived his life in the shit. And every day was just as dangerous as the last, but to think there was even a possibility that he wouldn’t be going home was one of the few superstitions he allowed himself. The other was sitting around his neck in the form of his mother’s old rosary. He pulled a picture out of his flight suit and fitted it across the panel gap between instruments. His wife, Kiara’s smiling face lit the cockpit in a warm glow.

The distraction nearly cost him his life. He reversed thrust and slowed his speed, coming up on a near fatal shot that punched through the nose of his plane. Six more caught the fuselage on his starboard side.

Request permission to engage. Lost in his own thoughts, Sarge almost didn’t catch the request. The chirp of static on the comlink hid the tenor of Hawk Eye’s voice. Shit.

Hawk Eye’s hit. The young gun’s inexperience squeaked his voice. Bravo Three to Command, Hawk Eye’s down. Mayday. Mayday. Mayday.

Sarge caught the tail end of the plane spiraling down as the engines gave out, three shots punctured the cabin before the hatch blew off. He caught the vaguely distant shape of an ejection seat as Hawk Eye went down. Flames blossomed across the aft engine, swallowing the plane whole.

Hawk Eye’s down! I’m going in after him.

Negative, Bravo One. We show you at Drop Point Zero. Adjusting heading south by southwest. We have ground support waiting.

Shit! Sarge. I need to pull- A static squelch silenced the voice of Bravo Three. The plane twisted nose over tail and careened into a tall building, its fuselage splintering into pieces as the boy died.

In ten years as a squad leader he never lost a man. Pilots came and went, but Hawk Eye was always there. And the new kid, the poor young hopeful kid. Their blood was on his hands. Why did he have to be so foolhardy? Three fighters couldn’t destroy an entire platoon.

If anything it was a suicide bandaid. But when he saw the flank closing in on the last forward operating base of the South Theater, he had to do something. Fools might rush in, but there was always one last stupid chance that it just might work. Deep in the bottom of his heart he knew it the moment he tasted his failure. But he tried. For Charlie and Kiara’s sake.

Damn it he tried. If they said one thing about Sergeant Chase Montgomery, it was that he died fighting and gave it the best damn shot he had.

Two shots gummed the glass on the cockpit. A fifty cal cut through a piece of his tail. And in the whistle of the airlock seal breaking, a cry went up. A lone, mournful howl of a midnight freight train pushing for home. Sarge bit his lip and spun the plane home. He fought down the urge of stupidity and martyrdom.

He wasn’t a kamikaze pilot. And as much satisfaction as he’d get out of taking out as many of the bastards that he could, he couldn’t do it.

The thought of a closed casket funeral broke his heart into millions of pieces. Damn it; if he was going to die, he wasn’t going to deny his wife and son the last chance to look at their hero.

He pushed the joystick forward and kicked his old steel horse into full throttle. The engine roared as he pulled up and set heading for the ocean. He dropped his payload and caught sight of the tiny explosions from his rear display.

That gave him some satisfaction.

It was one last hurrah before the plane banked low, hurtling toward the purple bruise of the oceans beneath him. As the slideshow of his mind played out, he couldn’t help but smile. One image superimposed itself above all others. A baseball hurtling toward the ashen skies. His son, Charlie, smiling as he hit his first home run.

The plane spun forward, increasing speed as it dropped altitude. If you’re going to crash, they say the best chances of survival are on land. But he was a dead man, and he knew it. So, it was a chance to pick his poison. Land meant explosion. Explosions meant big boom full of blood and guts. It wasn’t how he wanted to go out.

The home run flew out of the park, hurtling into a nearby skyscraper. A window shattered and glass twinkled down like thousands of tiny stars.

Yaw pulled him hard. Dropping that much altitude in such a short amount of time would make the most seasoned pilot sick. Sarge pulled the air mask from his mouth and hurled up every last bit of food he ever ate. Tears streamed down his face in salty rivers.

It wasn’t the motion sickness or the sharp pressure compressing his lungs into the tiniest bits of meat. It wasn’t the pain of taking his last breath that seeped through his body and deep into his wounds.

It was the pain of leaving. Of never being able to say goodbye. He hoped C-Com didn’t deliver his message. He prayed for salvation as he pulled the picture from the gauges. His mind fixated on the smiling faces.

Time slowed to an infinite crawl as the world dimmed with the fading sun. He twisted the joystick hopelessly as it spun on and on against its center axis. The plane refused to obey. He kicked at the instruments. Aluminum dislodged with a groan. Glass shattered. But still, the plane would not obey.

Fucking pull up! Goddamnpieceofshit… He smacked the glass. As the plane arced lower and lower, pushing closer to the black of the sea he pulled desperately at the latch and hit the ejection button. It was a last ditch reflex, more hope than circumstance. The seat wouldn’t budge. He refused to give up, pushing harder and harder as the weight of the world crashed down around him. The sky kissed the ground and everything went black as the ocean rushed to meet him.

He wished he was in the Pacific Theater. At least there was a real ocean there. Real salt water from one of the three still