John Cold and the Weather Machine: John Cold, #1

By Ernest Lewicki

"Earth in the year 3020 is a hellish hothouse.  It is also the world John Cold has to live in.

 Imagine being born and raised in a postapocalyptic, boiling world. Living anywhere south of Alaska is near impossible. All your life, you're fighting your way through it. Angry Mother Nature. Scheming mortals. One day you see a chance to lay your hands on the one machine that can reverse the catastrophic climate change. What would you do?

 Set deep in the jungles of former Russia, this is a story about facing danger. The main character is always fighting for survival. The corrupt military wants to use him. Flying Yaik Tiger guerrillas want to kill him. A beautiful woman with a cruel sister trusts him with her fate. Technological monsters beyond his understanding threaten his humanity. What happens when a determined man has to deal with almost insurmountable odds? 

 Find out how in a world filled with cruelty and danger, John Cold evades the traps of power... and of love.

 A story where adventure meets apocalypse... An action-packed story about a dangerous man... A story about doing what's right… reminiscent of Conan and the best traditions of pulp. An overall thrilling short read."

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Green Earth Books
• Release date: Mar 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393567059

Book preview

John Cold and the Weather Machine

At the eve of the fourth millenium there once was a border town called Kirshevo. It stood in the southeastern corner of the Neon Tsars’ domains. Just north of it, the Ural Mountains sank into the green jungle, never to reappear.

Coming to it by the main road from the west, one first had to cross the banana and coconut plantations. Then, an extended perimeter of watchtowers appeared. Some distance behind them was a ring of dilapidated wooden and tin buildings squatting against the concrete walls of a fort. This was Kirshevo, and no matter how many anti-aircraft guns were on the walls of its stronghold, it was still a shithole.

The day before the start of our story the gunslinger going by the name of John Cold came here from the wild mountains up north, driven by his insatiable wanderlust.

By the time we commence our yarn he had come to regret it somewhat, for a commotion interrupted his stay at one of the local establishments.

JOHN COLD STOOD IN the corner of the room he had rented, watching for any sign of movement. The sounds of smashing, shrieks, and cries from the lower floor of the bordello had ceased. Something was moving up the stairs, something very large. A hissing sound came from beyond the southern door. Would the unknown beast attack now?

Bang! The door burst, spitting debris everywhere. The gigantic head of abulldoze-python appeared. Like a spearhead of the monstrous body, it immediately pointed towards the man—and the panicked girl crouching behind him.

More bangs. That was John shooting. One round after another, without any thought, just instinct. The bullets hit the vulnerable tissue of the snake’s opening mouth. For a split moment, it appeared the animal would recoil.

No such luck. The Chernomorian beast had not encountered any resistance so far, why would a few stings make a difference to it? It closed its mouth and struck with the sledgehammer-like nose.

What the creature did not know was that there existed in this new age a breed of men colder than the python, faster than it, too. And John was its scion.

He pushed himself off to the left, with no thought for the girl hiding behind him. The wall shook, splattered with her blood and guts. John, his hand steady, put the gun at the precise point only an experienced hunter like himself would know. The point where the snake’s skull opened. Where a corridor of flesh led straight to its primitive brain.

Bang.