Neighborhood Watch

By Russ Crossley

A fleet of alien vessels hovers in Earth orbit. Thirty days ago the aliens, calling themselves the Hsu-Zat, used aa EMP pulse to knock out all electrical power across the planet. Chaos soon erupted as civilization collapsed. 

One pocket of of survivors form a neighborhood watch hoping to work together to survive.Today the aliens wish to meet and Liz Chamber is elected to meet with the alien's leader.

What does this mean? Will the human race survive?

• Language: English
• Publisher: 53rd Street Publishing
• Release date: Jun 22, 2015
• ISBN: 9781507015261

Russ Crossley

International selling author, Russ Crossley writes science fiction and fantasy, and mystery/suspense under the name R.G. Crossley. His latest science fiction satire set in the far future, Revenge of the Lushites, is a sequel to Attack of the Lushites released in 2011. The latest title in the series was released in the fall of 2013. Both titles are available in e-book and trade paperback. He has sold several short stories that have appeared in anthologies from various publishers including; WMG Publishing, Pocket Books, and St. Martins Press. He is a member of SF Canada and is past president of the Greater Vancouver Chapter of Romance Writers of America. He is also an alumni of the Oregon Coast Professional Fiction Writers Master Class taught by award winning author/editors, Kristine Katherine Rusch and Dean Wesley Smith. Feel free to contact him on Facebook, Twitter, or his website http:www.russcrossley.com.  He loves to hear from readers  

Book preview

Neighborhood Watch

Russ Crossley

Published by 53rd Street Publishing

Copyright 2015 Russ Crossley

All rights reserved

Cover art © Philcold | Dreamstime.com

Cover designed by R. Edgewood

Cover design and layout copyright 2015 by 53rd Street Publishing

53rd Street Publishing

Head office: Gibsons B.C. Canada

www.53rdstreetpublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

Neighborhood Watch

THE FLICKERING FLAME from the oil lamp cast twisted, writhing shadows over the walls of Pete Simpson’s recreation room in the basement of his split-level, four-bedroom house. The large room was a real man cave. Even after all this time, the room still smelled of cigar smoke and beer, though we hadn’t had either of those luxuries since this all began six weeks ago. We four neighborhood watch members were seated around a seven-player mahogany poker table. The playing surface was covered in a tobacco-colored leather, with integrated chip wells and cup holders. We were waiting for the arrival of the fifth member of our group. Seven armless, matching leather chairs surrounded the table.

Only we weren’t here to play poker.

Along the walls of the oblong-shaped room were burnished steel shelves containing trophies and plaques from Pete’s days as a high school and state collegiate athlete. Amongst these personal treasures were his sports collectibles signed baseballs, basketballs, and footballs representing every pro team in the state of Washington and in Portland, Oregon, just across the Columbia River.

In a wide gap in the bookshelves was a