SIMOOM: The Sky's Alight Trilogy - Book 3

By Tam Sturgeon

In 1955 we follow the life of a young woman who witnesses a horrific event that leaves her changed in ways she never thought possible. Avoiding both the staggering dead, and those that survived the terrible changes of the country after the Second World War, our young fighter is left with one option, stay away from the living.
One such group of survivors take to their subterranean home to make the best of a grisly situation. Led by the man that saved them, Pete, they work as a team to build a new life, hoping to find others along the way. Life is hard when there is danger at every turn, but try they must, if only for the sake of few children in their midst. Encounters with the outside world become a deadly task, especially when foraging for supplies, but when they meet an old man who is blind, Reg, they realise there is a way to succeed in their changing world.
Secrets are easy to keep when all seems lost. Encounters with mobile carcasses can cause all sorts of nightmares, but when two strangers meet they find they have more in common than they first realise. A helping hand can be the greatest of saviours in a world that doesn’t make sense anymore, and as time passes, Reg and the young girl form a bond that is far more important than giving up.
When one member of the underground band, Art, shows signs of having the sight, he suddenly becomes tormented by visions that tell the truth. Pete has something to hide, and when Art realises he is not who he seems, everything starts to make sense. Finally, taking them back to the small village they have been scouting for weeks, the end game results in another horrific event that solves the curse the country has been plagued by for so long.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tam Sturgeon
• Release date: Jul 29, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463470145

Tam Sturgeon

Writing History of Tam Sturgeon1970’sI find myself reciting poetry at middle school in Christmas Assemblies. Pam Ayres a particular favourite (and remembered to this day).1980’sI start writing poetry in Secondary School, after finding a poem in a Sunday Supplement. An emotionally charged home life gives me reason to lose myself when my mother is being all weird and shouty. Poetry takes me away from that. I find it comes easily and is prolific. I write various lyrics and silly ditties for birthdays and weddings.2003-2004I start my first novel, Champagne Hurricane, a rock and roll love story, whilst I’m having an emotional breakdown. The first in the line of my life changing events starts with my Father dying then my first husband leaving me, all within 18 months of each other. I’m awarded Runner-up in a Writer’s Forum Magazine Competition. I start Art College and use my poems as part of my finals. It earns me a Distinction. I find I have enough material to write my 1st and 2nd book of poetry.2004-2009The next three books of poetry are written, one after the other in quick concession. I then relocate to Somerset. The novel is put on the backburner, due to a demanding second husband which ends very badly for me.2010I relocate back to Bucks, finding myself with little to show for my time away. I return to my writing and the first novel, which is finished before the New Year.2011A massive near fatal heart attack in the March leaves me on the verge of another emotional breakdown. I start to write my second novel and take a very level headed look at my life. Being housebound pushes me back into writing once more, and two more volumes of poetry are poured out before the end of the year. A new novel is also started, a Werewolf and Vampire love story, which runs parallel with the second. Six others novels are also dabbled with, but soon fall by the wayside.2012I finish the second, and two more books of poetry are completed. A 10th volume of A-Z Pocket Poetry is then completed. The third novel, still in its infancy, is set aside as the rhythm of the ode becomes my favourite once more. I tell myself the poetry collection will end at volume thirteen.2013With the New Year comes more poetry, the 11th book, 12th, and 13th. Later that year my first novel is ePublished to Smashwords.com and is welcomed with open arms by the readers, gaining 10, 5 star reviews, at this time I also ePublish three volumes of poetry. There is also a 14th book of poetry written. Sadly, it was partly lost due to my hard drive burning out. Some is salvaged, but it remains nameless and unpublished, to this day.2014‘Champagne Hurricane’ continues to gather followers as the poetry collection grows. I spend time in Canada and write the 15th volume, which is then made ready for ePublishing. The 16th book of poetry is started and finished shortly after. Come the Christmas of 2014 I have started yet another novel. Champagne Hurricane is suddenly rendered a trilogy.2015As the storyboard for Book 2, Different Directions, slowly comes alive, more poetry is produced. Lyrics are dabbled with, yet again, and along the way several other projects are started, most of which are all put on the backburner as the novel becomes a constant time-filler. By the end of 2015 Book 2 is a finished novel, plus I have rewritten and renamed Book 1, now known as Never Forever, under The Champagne Hurricane Trilogy title.2016At the turn of the year the 17th volume is started and then finished come the end of spring. A break is taken to travel. Upon my return, things pick up where they left off. The 18th is started, along with the Book 3 in the trilogy, Between Favours. These run side by side and see me through another summer, both finished about the same time. I also start writing a fantasy novel relating to the myth of unicorns and why broomsticks can fly. I get half way and am distracted by the thought I am wasting my precious time with needless thing, i.e. all the stuff I’m cramming into my laptop on a daily basis. I stop writing for the rest of the year, frustrated with not knowing what to do with any of it.2017So, anyway, early in the year I unpublished one novel, due to its lack of interest. I delete it from my back-catalogue, permanently. The 18th volume is then completed before the summer and the 19th is started. With The Champagne Hurricane Trilogy complete, what to do next? I write my first Action Thriller, a Novella, and finish it in a little over six weeks. As the close of the year faces me, I am ousted from my job of three years for highlighting a Toxic Manager case. I am rendered jobless in the New Year, with huge debts and nowhere to turn.2018The first two months of the year are taken up with ill health and what is to become another trilogy. Rewritten for the Young Adult and Teen market, the now gruesome trio, are all based around the same random grisly event but set in different eras, trips from my fingers. This is shortly followed by another short story, which almost touches on Sci-Fi, and is also initially aimed at the Y/A &Teen market, though it could also be enjoyed by anyone into the genre. It is at this point I also finish the 19th Volume of poetry and start the 20th. I diversify yet again, writing my own lyrics to classical and mainstream music. Drawing from my own personal experiences, I compose forty plus alternative ways of wording them. Alongside this, I turn myself into a product and decide I have enough material to approach the Agents and Producers in both the literary and music business.Find me on:TwitterInstagramFacebookThank you

Book preview

SIMOOM

Book 3 of The Sky’s Alight Trilogy

Published by Tam Sturgeon at Smashwords

Copyright Tam Sturgeon 2018

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed within it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or deceased, or any events

mentioned is entirely coincidental.

Tam Sturgeon asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work.

Cover imagery courtesy of the author.

Cover design by Tam Sturgeon.

Copyright Tam Sturgeon 2018

~

Simoom

Part 1

Yellow Ribbons

Summer: 1955: The south coast: England.

The cold depths dragged and pushed, the current a strong pulse, swaying from side to side, but its arms weren’t prepared to let go just yet. Sunlight flitted and rolled across the surface, its beams breaking through enough to stretch wavering lines down to the body below. They laid a pattern over the face and torso, as it floated, silently, with staring eyes and open mouth.

It was a person once, that floater, a real person, with a life, friends and family. They had been a nice one, hardworking, respectful, understanding and caring. A life worth living, one that hadn’t really gotten underway, but it was a life nonetheless. There was fun and laughter, daytrips to the coast, shopping trips at Christmas, and all the other events that happen throughout a young lifetime. A boyfriend was had once, but it didn’t last, he cheated, so she dumped his worthless backside.

The shallows were not so deep. Gently rocking and rolling, they swilled it out, a stillborn on the beach, miles from home. The eyes saw nothing, the ears heard nothing. Once they had, not so long ago. Then they didn’t, peppered with sand, the wet hair stuck to face and neck, and those grey eyes lost to the blue above.

Another day sees another death. Was that how life was and what it had become? There was no escaping it. With the second full moon appearing everything had changed. The tides went insane, so the land became sea, fires took the cities and towns back to rubble, and half the country’s population vanished, or morphed into another version of whom they used to be. After that, well, there was no going back, the new world had a rite of passage, and if you lived through it, maybe you weren’t so lucky.

Seaweed, sand, and surf slushed its way around her, only to ripple back home again. Lifting strands of her hair, it danced with them and then let them rest. It was quiet, no one to walk a dog, no one to swim or play, the early morning lazy in its warmth. The houses were silent empty boxes sat along the promenade, the shops ransacked, some of them gutted and blackened to their bones. No tourists to admire the view, no ramblers, no locals, all vanished away, leaving the body on the beach, alone.

Gulls swam above, looking down at her, their calls heard on the salty breeze. With the sun on their backs they dropped a little, just near enough to cure their curiosity. Whatever it was, it wasn’t food. So they moved away, heading back out to sea.

Brown liquid oozed from a hole in her chest, the one the size of a bullet. There seemed a bigger mess at the back, a jagged exit wound, and it exposed those parts not normally seen. Grey eyes watched that endless swathe of sky dotted with departing gulls. Her silence was a common thing, but usually the bullet was to the head, not the body.

You’re not dead yet...

Lids fluttered over grey orbs. She rolled over, coughing salt water from her lungs. Her first dragged in breath was sweet and heady, the oxygen almost making her high. Looking down, a finger pushed into the hole through her clothes, as she checked herself for further damage. The ache to her back suggested she might have a small problem there.

‘... Well, blooming typical ... I’ve only had this top three days ...’

Getting her energy level back up would require feeding. Her dented side told her to head for people but she couldn’t. She had a hole through her, causing massive damage, and that would be a bit of a giveaway. Walking into a compound would be a very bad idea, and one that would, without a doubt, end with that shot to the head. So, she sat with her hole, to look out to sea, her eyes on the horizon, and her face to the sun.

Yesterday she was okay, yesterday it had been fine and life ticked alone. How had she gotten there and in that state? It had been quiet, as usual, so she had breakfast on the patio, looking over the pretty garden. Thinking her yesterday through, the memory seemed to be tainted somehow, to then end as she was walking along her quiet cliff.

Finally standing to look around her, dripping wet and looking gauntly grey, she knew where she was, she recognised the beach. Judging by how far she had drifted at sea, only the tide would know how she got there. With cold water up to her ankles, her eyes watched the roll of waves. That way was home, so that was the direction she walked.

Making her way off the stones, she had to plug the hole, cover her back and eat something. Where would she find what she needed? No droners about, just her, as she walked towards the few shops that were less damaged by fire. Squeezing through the broken door, she checked the building through using her secret sight before going any further. Happy with the emptiness, she moved forwards.

Standing before a shelf of souvenir tea towels, she grabbed several, dropping them into the bag she had looted along the way. One was taken from the bottom of the pile and rammed into the raw opening. Wincing from the sharp flare-up under her skin, she knew it had to be cleaned, because the last thing she needed was an ugly skin problem.

Her back, she could do nothing about that until she reached home. Behind the counter she noticed some pharmaceutical items, creams, lotions, and a selection of mild painkillers. Squeezing the antiseptic cream into the thumb wide breach in her body, she bagged the rest to take with her.

Heading for the dusty novelty jackets, hung near the back, she pulled a medium from the rail and flicked it free of its powdery layer. Seeing the women’s tops to one side, she quickly striped and replaced what was trashed. Removing her long sleeve top and vest was the hardest part, the lifting of arms very uncomfortable due to her injury. Looking to her left, she saw just what she needed. Lifting her faded beach bag, she loaded it up for what came next.

It would heal, the wound, eventually, but only if food was found soon. In her new outfit, and with her aching exit hole, she threaded her way back into the light, her bag of goodies hanging from her hand.

Turn that way and head for the cliffs. There was a coastal path she could take, that would keep her in line with her place. It sat not far from the headland, the area very pretty and almost forgotten. Walking away, she ambled along the empty road, her grey eyes still checking, her ears still listening.

With what energy remained, the young woman climbed the path, the steep incline enough to make her stop several times. Taking the bench with the view, a big breath was released, her sigh a sign she was getting tired already. Only a little further, push and go, make the top, and then all would be well. Breakfast time nearly, looking at the low sun in the east. It was a burning hunger, fizzing away in the pit of her stomach, hollow and hot.

Moving to a patch where white and grey birds circled above, she emptied the bag onto the ground around her, then knelt to rip open the treats covered in chocolate. One was crammed into her mouth, just to savour the experience, whilst the others were squished together to make two large blocks. Pushing her rubbish into her jacket pockets, she lifted from her spot to put her plan into action.

Gulls are a funny breed. They are scavengers by heart, and will eat anything that is held in a human’s hand. They are also known for swooping down and stealing from you, which she was counting on. That was why she had already given them the nickname thieving sky sacks.

‘... Okay ... Chooky, chooky, chooky ... Come and get it ...’

Standing with her arms stretched out to the side, as if a tree, she called her words into the wind, her hands holding the chunks of bait aloft for them all to see. As the aroma lifted, their cries became louder, their forms becoming larger the nearer they dared to sail.

A speckled grey youngster, not aware of what was afoot, swung down on her left. It hung there on the slip-stream from the cliff’s face, a draught enough to carry his weight. Another then appeared, slightly older, doing the same on her right. Their eyes never left that which they wanted, but having the nerve to take, that was something else.

Her aim was true, quick as a whip. As they coasted forwards, her hands rendered the food suspended there, leaving her fingers free to snatch up and grab their dangling legs. With one flick they were out of the air, necks broken, and her teeth sunk into a breast. Feasting on the hot fluid, and taking in that which was so desperately needed, her hunger slowly died away with every amazing mouthful. If she was at home already, she would have taken a rabbit from the pen, but she wasn’t, so she had to make do with two plump birds instead.

‘Pete said there was nothing worth seeing that way, Art, but those places, down there, haven’t been picked through yet, there’s no ribbon on the gates ... You wanna try them first, before we go?’

Arthur was stood looking down the slope as Cally called to him from the junction. They were heading back to the compound, but something made her stop and turn.

‘I’m loaded up already, I can’t carry anymore, Cal ... Shall I go and get the beast then meet you back here? You can have a gander around then, see what else you find, if anything,’ he replied, shielding the sun from his eyes with his hand. ‘... And listen for moaners, because I won’t be there to cover your back, so just remember that ...’

The pair of them had cleared through about twenty houses on their trip that morning. Having piled various items in the back of the old army lorry, it was near full to capacity, but there was always room for more. In their subterranean compound they had most of everything. There wasn’t much they didn’t have, because they did runs on a regular basis. Okay, it wasn’t some fancy palace down there, but it was safe, below ground, and all that was required to survive the horrors above.

‘Yeah, I know ... I was out here for more years than I care to recall, all by myself, if you’d kindly remember that, so, please, give me a little credit, aye, I do know what we’re up against ... And I won’t forget, never fear, just make sure you don’t,’ was said as she ambled towards the dead-end lane that led further toward the cliffs.

As Cally started talking, Arthur headed for the rise, his heavy bags soon to be deployed in the truck parked on the hill. Once done, he manoeuvred it around and rolled down to sit in the middle of the road, reversed round, facing homewards. Climbing out, he locked it, and then followed Cally’s humming voice as she looked around, picking one to go for.

‘So, do ya fancy that one, there, then? Big garden, double garage ... Nice view ... I like it ...’

Cally smiled as she walked through and round to the rear to look out across the sea. From the other side of the hedge, a meadow stretched away, sloping to the coastal path. The cliffs sat quiet, the gulls cried as they climbed, and all was as it should be. She turned and looked at the man that had joined her, her face serious as usual.

‘So, off ya go, you’re up ... Is there anything we should know about ... Best be safe than sorry ...’

Arthur closed his eyes, his breathing slow and steady. Using his inner-sight, he checked through the property. It was empty, as with them all.

‘Nah, nothing in there to worry about ... A dead dog and cat, that’s it, so it’ll have its usual smell ... Did you bring a face-mask?’ he concluded, pulling his round to put in place.

‘Yes ... Always do ...’

It was dragged from a pocket and place over her nose and mouth, an act they had both become used to. Sometimes it was worse than pets, sometimes it was big and little people, and that was terrible too, but in many different ways, not just in smell.

They broke in through the back door and located the large kitchen. More bags were filled with tins and packets, along with any bottled alcohol. Medicine cabinets were rifled, anything for the first aid unit, bandages, tweezers, tablets and creams. Baby gear was lifted for Clare, sleep-suits, feeding equipment, nappies, and soft toys. Clothes were browsed through, but none tried for size, then, lastly, weapons of any shape or form, knives, swords, axes, anything sharp and everything pointy.

It was all loaded into a wheel barrow Arthur came across in the garage. Sweeping the gaff through one last time, just for good measure, they let themselves out and made their way back to the lorry. The ribbon was pinned in place on the gate, as usual, as they left.

After stashing that little lot away, they came across a find of a lifetime. Large boxes were found in a garage, and filled with the many grey, short legged, long eared, grass munching machines. The furry bundles where then placed in the lorry, ready for rehoming. When done, the house was also marked on the map, in ink, for future reference.

Nodding up the slope, Arthur indicated an opening between two fences, just opposite the house where they came across the dead pets, cats or dogs, they were unable to say.

‘There’s a shop down that alleyway ... I told Pete I’d grab him some smokes if I saw one ... You wanna wait here while I go take a look?’ Arthur asked, closing the back of the lorry and pushing the barrow to one side, out of the road.

‘House rule number one, stay together ... Remember? ... So I better come with, just in case ... I know we haven’t seen any for ages, but it’d be just our luck you’d walk into