Showing results by author "Dell Sweet" in All Categories

To my brothers and sisters on the inside, those whose names I whisper in the quiet hours, those who taught me the brutal calculus of survival: may your scars be badges of your strength, and may your eventual release be a sunrise that washes away the long night. This book is a testament to your resilience, a raw whisper from the belly of the beast. It is for the ones who never made it out, whose lives were extinguished by the system, and whose memories serve as a perpetual warning.

My apartment had been a testament to my former life. Walls adorned with schematics and whiteboards filled with arcane symbols. Bookshelves overflowing with volumes on computer science, algorithms, and theoretical physics. The air had always smelled faintly of ozone and the metallic tang of new electronics. It was a space of intense focus, of dedicated intellectual pursuit. The idea of being truly alone, stripped of the constant, stimulating hum of technology and the implicit safety net of organized society, would have been utterly alien. I’d prided myself on my ability to navigate complex...

He thought about Sarah Jenkins. He’d studied her profile, her habits, her supposed weaknesses. He’d seen photos of her – sharp, intelligent eyes, a determined set to her jaw. She was good at her job, unnervingly so. She had a knack for digging where others wouldn’t dare, for asking the questions that made powerful men sweat. He’d always viewed her as an obstacle, a variable that needed to be controlled. Now, he saw her as something else entirely: a potential ally, albeit an unwitting one. She was a threat to Green, and by extension, she was becoming a threat to the very conspiracy...

The sun, a weak, watery orb, struggled to pierce the perpetual gloom of the junkyard. Its rays, filtered through the grimy haze of industrial decay and the skeletal remains of rusted cars, cast long, distorted shadows that danced with the shuffling figures of the undead. This was their sanctuary, a chaotic landscape of twisted metal, shattered glass, and the lingering stench of decay – their home. Ethan, his face etched with the weariness of a thousand sleepless nights, hauled a dented bucket overflowing with salvaged canned goods. Each can, a tiny victory snatched from the jaws of ...

The map, a faded testament to a world long gone, lay between them, its lines representing not just distances, but the stark choices that determined life or death. The choice wasn't just about finding Havenwood; it was about preserving what remained of their humanity in a world that relentlessly stripped it away. As hours bled into the night, a sense of collective exhaustion settled over them, a kind of fatigue that went beyond the physical. It was the weariness of countless hard-fought battles, the exhaustion of constantly battling despair and uncertainty. The air hung heavy with unspoken ...

Jimmy began to formulate a plan, a multi-pronged strategy designed to chip away at the foundations of Murphy’s power. He couldn't take down the king, but he could dismantle his army, one soldier at a time. The first step was to gather irrefutable, independently verifiable evidence against Corbin. This meant discreetly accessing internal police records, cross-referencing witness statements from past cases that had inexplicably gone cold, and even, if necessary, obtaining security footage from locations Corbin was known to frequent during his illicit dealings. It was a dangerous game, ...

Billy was up on the roof. Beth, Jamie, Winston and Scotty were standing at the edge of the building as he was, looking out over the city. Things were crazy, and they seemed to be getting worse as the days rolled by. The police precinct was still burning. It had started sometime during the night two days before, and since there was no one to put the fire out, it had been raging for hours now. A few minutes ago, the roof of the building next door to the precinct burst into flames. Maybe the fire had started inside, or the extreme heat from the burning police precinct had caused it to burst ...

Before Candace could speculate, a low, guttural growl echoed from the far end of the depot, followed by the distinct sound of heavy boots crunching on gravel. It was a sound of human origin, but there was an aggression to it, a territoriality that sent a prickle of alarm through Candace. "Someone else," Elara whispered, her hand tightening on her pipe. Candace nodded, her gaze fixed on the source of the sound. "And they don't sound friendly." She could see them now – a group of figures emerging from the gloom, their silhouettes indistinct against the muted light. They were armed, their ...

The world ended not with a bang, but with a sickening lurch. One moment, Mike was wrestling with a stubborn garden hose, the scent of cut grass and impending rain filling the air. The next, the sky ripped open. Not with thunder, but with a silent, violent tear that bled impossible colors across the horizon. Candace, usually so grounded, had simply pointed, her hand trembling, her eyes wide with a terror that mirrored his own. The air grew heavy, thick with an unidentifiable metallic tang, and a profound silence fell, deeper and more absolute than any they had ever known. It was the silence ...

Fourteen million dollars in a burned suitcase. Severed body parts of a dead man in a duffel bag. Two hired killers. A drug dealer. Two organized crime kingpins; all chasing two white trash kids from New York down to the deep south as they head for what they think will be safety in Mexico. Put the story together and you have one hell of a modern-day Bonnie and Clyde. Adult content. Sex and violence. FIVE-STAR READERS FAVORITE CHOICE AWARD REVIEW - Reviewed By: Lex Allen Review Rating: 5 Stars - Congratulations on your 5-star review! Get your free 5-star seal! Reviewed By Lex Allen for ...

As they were bagging their meager findings, a sudden sound echoed from the front of the store – a faint scuff, like a boot on loose gravel. Both men froze, their bodies tensing. Mike slowly raised his rifle, his finger hovering over the trigger. Ben drew his machete, his knuckles white. The silence that followed was deafening, stretching out, each second an eternity. Then, another sound, closer this time – the unmistakable creak of the store's front door, the one they had pried open. "Someone's here," Ben breathed, his voice tight. Mike signaled for Ben to stay put, then moved silently ...

The King is dead, the headlines screamed. A hard, hard day. But, what if the king wasn't dead? What if the king just got fed up with all of it and called it quits... The quiet cadence of Aaron’s days was rarely broken by external disruptions. His hermitage in the bayou was, by design, an exercise in profound isolation. Yet, the world, like an persistent tide, would occasionally lap at the shores of his self-imposed exile. These intrusions were not of the dramatic, attention-grabbing variety that had once defined his existence. Instead, they arrived as fleeting whispers, carried on the ...

Her worn boots crunched on shards of broken glass and twisted metal, remnants of a world that had once teemed with life. Buildings, skeletal remains of their former glory, clawed at the sky, their empty windows like hollowed-out eyes staring blankly at the desolate landscape. She moved with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who had learned to conserve energy, every movement measured, every step calculated. Survival was a delicate dance, a precarious balance between hope and despair. Elara clutched the worn leather satchel close to her chest, its contents her lifeline: a handful of dried...

The air in the chauffeured SUV hummed with a manufactured excitement, a brittle façade over the collective exhaustion of four men who navigated the concrete canyons of Manhattan. Mike, the architect of this urban sabbatical, surveyed his companions with a practiced eye, the same gaze he employed to close multi-million dollar deals. Beside him, Joey, perpetually wired and radiating an aggressive energy that served him well in the trading pits, fidgeted with the cuff of his bespoke suit. Behind them, Bobby, a lawyer whose sharp suits hid a nervous disposition, stared out at the receding ...

The True: True stories from a small town are true stories from that place. From my childhood up through my adulthood. Some heartfelt, some heart rending, some the horrible truth of the life I lived at that time... (Based on a true story from my life. Names have been changed, but truthfully almost all of them are dead now so it doesn't matter.) The feeling of being thrown from the car, the jarring impact, the dizzying disorientation – these were moments etched indelibly into my memory. The world seemed to spin wildly, colors blurring, sounds distorting, creating a distorted kaleidoscope of...

In my younger days I lived my life like there was no tomorrow. I wasn't thinking about what to do when the check came due, when life changed, when I crossed someone or they crossed me. I wish I had grown up different, but my time on the streets and the lessons that taught me. And my time working for bad people after that just set me up for the mistakes that would nearly end my life more than once. Even people who were supposed to care about me did their best to sacrifice me when the time came to pay the check. Luckily, for me, some things and some people got in the way and stopped some of ...

The whispers of the undead were not confined to gothic novels or campfire stories; they were woven into the hidden history of the city, particularly within the shadowy tapestry of the Valois lineage. For generations, the family had been privy to this ancient truth, a truth that set them apart, a truth that granted them a terrible longevity and a terrifying power. This wasn't a history learned from books, but a legacy inherited, a curse passed down, a dark bargain that had been struck in the shadows of centuries past, ensuring their continued dominance. The very name Valois, when spoken in ...

The dust swirled around my worn boots, a miniature desert storm kicked up by the frantic thump of my own heart. The air hung thick and heavy, the scent of dry earth and something else… something metallic and sickeningly sweet, clinging to the back of my throat. It was the smell of blood. Old blood. New blood. The kind that stains the soul as deeply as it stains the earth. I’d been clean for six months, six agonizing months of sweat-soaked nights and gnawing cravings, a testament to a willpower I never knew I possessed. Six months of staring at the cracked pavement, avoiding the shadowed...

He had been lying half in half out of the gutter for the last several hours that he knew of. He had no idea how long before that. Days? Weeks? Weeks seemed wrong. Days, he decided. He turned his attention back to the roadway before him. Was it a roadway? When he thought roadway, he thought highway, something like that. From what he could see this was more like a city street. It had never occurred to him in the passing hours to move his head, but the thought of it being a street in a city had caused him to move his head slightly so he could look around to be sure. Slightly, but enough to ...

It is Bear and the Outrunners that will become the bridge between The Nation and its biggest rivals. It is also the Outrunners who will eventually unravel the mystery of how the Zombie Apocalypse came to be. They will protect The Nation, search out weapons and stockpiled foodstuffs, and they will fight the Zombie Plagues. Bear is the key to all of it. The one man who lives on the edge and likes the view there. With Beth he is the major force behind the Outrunners, who keep the Nation safe and allow the society there to live in relative peace in their valley. ... The battered chassis of the ...