Well, I’m almost home.

I don’t think I’ll have it published by the end of this month like I’d hoped. I’ll probably have edits done, but I’ll still need to do Kindle formatting along with everything else that goes into getting it as polished as I’d like. If it all goes well I should have it out by January.

I can live with that. I’m varying between anxious and excited about being on the home stretch. I don’t think it will feel real until I’m staring at it on Amazon.

It’s been joyous, exciting, painful, growth-inducing, and humbling writing and re-writing this book. I’m glad to say some early version readers have had some very positive things to say about it. Any writer will tell you, that means the world and beyond.

My goal has always been to make an entertaining, enjoyable, page turning story. I think I’ve come a long way to doing that. For all you reading this, I hope you give my story a shot when it’s done.

And with that, here’s the excerpt. Fittingly, I’m ending with the beginning–it’s the opening to the book. Enjoy!

–Evan Pickering

The iron sights of Hood’s AK-47 lined up perfectly between each other, trained on the dark-haired man in the muted blue of predawn light. Hood’s heart picked up speed, his chest rising and falling with hasty breaths. The Kaiser knows we’re here. The purposefulness of the man’s search was proof enough. A lone wastelander would’ve kept his distance from their camp. How many more are coming? The image of a host of the Kaiser’s soldiers waiting in the dark mountain woods set his mind ablaze. Focus. The man hustled to the next tree and crouched down behind it, leaning over to peer around the mossy bark towards the campfire up the hill. No one else followed behind him. Maybe he’s just a scout.

The man’s chest rose and fell quickly as he closed his eyes, pistol in hand. He switched hands on his pistol as he wiped his palms on his pants. He doesn’t want this. He’s just like you. The thought surged into his mind unabated. Hood tried to cast it out, focusing on keeping his aim true. Just turn around and go back, Hood pleaded. He had a perfect shot from his flanking position up in the tree, but his finger stayed still on the trigger.

If you don’t shoot him, he will kill someone you love.

Hood chewed on the salty pull string of his well-worn hoodie, breathing in deeply and holding the air in his lungs as he squeezed the trigger on his rifle nearly to the firing point, keeping the sights steady.