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Terror Undeleted, Literary Fiction-Cavis Adams.


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Name: Cavis Adams

Novel: Terror Undeleted

Genre: Literary Fiction

Comparables: "Version Control" (Dexter Palmer). "The Lathe Of Heaven" (Ursula K. Le Guin). 

Hook Line: 

    Being kicked out of Tent City, New York, Nicco turns to an experimental tech-firm for the chance of a lifetime--to commit his mind to the good of science and to get paid of course. If only that were the story, and not one of undead terrorists rehashing their own bloody plot. 

    From homeless to would-be savior of the world, Niko stands to lose more than he finally has, a place in this world.   

Pitch

    Nicco finds himself habitually at his lowest, kicked out of Tent-City, New York for kickin' ass one time too many. 

    When a mysterious tech-authority searches him out in those corner hours--back to drug dealing, what else--a sting is set up that winds up being the chance of a lifetime he's never had. 

    Posh accommodations and good money. What more could be asked of a shady tech-entity? To volunteer his mind for an emergent universal technology, of course, making him among the first to experience the immersive thrill of lifelike scenarios replayed digitally in his brain, or so he thinks. 

    The stakes rise higher than life or death as he relives it repeatedly in that virtual world of theirs. These are the bloody, first person recollections of terrorist cell members, those killed in the act of carrying out a massive viral attack on New York City just years prior. 

    What could be worse? Those fragmented memories coming together in the unwitting mind of an able-bodied host, recalling not only themselves as terrorists, but their undying mission! 

    All strings attached, Niko struggles to find his purpose outside of that cutting-edge program, before he loses total control and takes those last steps in the wake of the undead, carrying out that mission to detonate their contagion bomb, infecting all that he's just begun to love. 

Prose Sample (taken from Resurrection Arc, by same author)

    The firetrucks rose with a final cresting of the street and from there forward it grew--a two-and-a-half story brick building that hailed....

    Brightness spewed from the burning eyes that were its upper windows... the black lashes of smoke turning upwards into mammoth horns that tapered short of the sky. 

    This is what Meyers saw that night--the action and the sounds. The shouts through heated air impressed forever in his memory. 

    When he dawned the face-piece his eyes appeared again, open and shifting from inside. Embers burst from above, raining past in dashes of red and amber not stopping for the ground but rebounding. While at the heights of treetops ashes drifted softly as flakes along the browsing gusts. 

    The fire howled with a wind its own then, a deep and steady pitch that orchestrated the actions of its time. Between the present ground and the firmament, its raging halation was to reign in the searing memory of now

    "We gotta get in there!" The captain shouted over the background as best he could, stopping to pull down his own face-piece. He appeared the very image of fireman after that, diminishing in scale below the plumes that blossomed into black clouds of red highlights above. 

    At the foot of it, the captain is a different kind within the firefighting gear--that second-skin of red helmet and mask. And as the air-tank hung like a third lung from his back, there breathed the confidence of a braver soul within. 

    There was--suddenly as the fire--someone else there. It was someone other than that frazzle-haired man that barked about the firehouse over missing bars of soap... the spittle at his lip over axe heads left too rusty in the tool compartment. This one who beckoned with a gloved hand in the short distance... this was the captain. Amidst the flicker of flames from overhead--the far-side of flashing emergency lights--the man's voice deepened with commanding presence. 

    "We have to go in. Just in...." the man was saying. But the words resounded ominously, reverberating on a level somehow beyond the danger of this situation. There was something to the man's baritone that pressed lower than the heightened anxiety of the here and now.

    It was a displacing sound that moved the rookie in the strangeness of the present, compelling him to listen closer to what was happening around him--closer to that voice of growing dissent from within. It was the voice that questioned if he even belonged here... if he were ever meant to be a fireman. 

 

Author Bio

    I am a career Firefighter for the city of Minneapolis, Minnesota where I hold the position of Battalion Chief. I moonlight as a Spanish/English medical interpreter for Hennepin County, Minnesota. 

    A black man who has walked stages of the world, from the infamously touch-and-go streets of North Minneapolis to the graduated stage at the University of Minnesota's Liberal Arts ceremony (a Spanish Major affair), is bound to be rifted and made of bittersweet experience--very real and imagined--that words simply cannot express... and then there's writing. 

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