Doc - Book 1 in the Daybreak 2525 series by Jude Mason
ISBN: 978-0-85715-490-3
Genre: Futuristic - post apocalypse/
Sci-Fi/ MM/ MF
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Book Blurb
Returning from a visit to one of the outland farms, Doc
finds his village destroyed, his family either gone or dead and his lover
vanished without a trace. The few survivors hidden among the ruins tell a tale
of ruthless, sadistic marauders taking what they want and burning the rest. Doc
finds too many dead and his heart breaks for those he finds alive. Mothers
whose children are gone, Husbands who have lost everything and everyone.
Pulling as many people as he can together and tending their
wounds, Doc vows to find the rest of his people. His father is among the dead,
but his mother, his sister and lover are not.
The hunt is on.
Series Blurb
War, over-population, pollution and generations of uncaring,
greedy governments have finally brought about the collapse of world as we know
it.
It’s the year 2525 and the cities are dead, or very nearly
so. The remnant of humanity struggle for survival along with a menagerie of
wildlife that oftentimes isn’t native to the land it now inhabits. New plant
life thrives, the old withers and dies. Marauding bands of thugs travel from
village to village, taking what they will and destroying the rest.
This is the world Doc was born into. Pearl, his mother, is a
healer. His father was a warrior of the tribe. Doc takes on the roll of both,
as needed. His lover, Jazz, means the world to him. Together, they have a bond
that’s unbreakable. Their family means everything to them and they’ll do
whatever it takes to protect them.
This is their story.
Excerpt:
He dropped the satchel filled with his doctoring tools and
herbs to the grass and unslung his bow. It was a small affair, made of some
mysterious alloy manufactured before the big war. He’d discovered it in what remained of the
old city to the north and found it easier to aim than the long bows he’d been
using. With a great deal of practice, the small weapon had proven extremely
accurate, and he rarely travelled anywhere without it. An arrow in hand, he
automatically notched it but didn’t draw it back. When he leant down to pick up
his satchel, he saw movement below and again froze.
Doc squinted, hoping to see Jazz crouched amid the piles of
rubble. His mother and father would be there, and his sister Robin—unless they
were dead. Just thinking about it made him cringe. The warriors, where were
they?
He noticed several of the bodies ahead were very small. His
stomach churned.
More movements below caught his attention. The familiar
figure of a white-haired elder shambled out from under one of the heaps of
debris. Each tribe in the region seemed to have at least one person who kept
the histories of what had taken place over the last few centuries, passing on
stories from one to the next. Seth was one of these ‘Rememberers’, keeping the
records of their tribe. Being the oldest person, he’d lived through much of
what needed recalling.
The wind turned, and Doc got his first whiff of the fire and
of the burned flesh. His belly rumbled. He swallowed bile and gagged.
Straightening up, he squared his shoulders and looked
carefully around. The woods surrounding the village remained undamaged and
quiet. There were a thousand places to hide. He watched for several
heartbreaking moments, knowing he had to be sure those who’d attacked were gone
before he ventured in.
When he was confident no one remained in hiding, he returned
to the path leading down the hillside. His pace quickened until he was jogging.
He scanned the brush on either side as he hurried on his way. Visions of the
atrocities he’d seen, mingled with flashes of his family, and Jazz, his
darling, sexy Jazz, leapt into his mind.
Jazz, the man he’d grown up with and had fallen head over
heels in love with, a handful of years ago, kept returning to his thoughts. If
these were simply marauders, Jazz would have fought and probably died trying to
protect the tribe. But if the attackers were after slaves or trade goods, the
outcome might have been much different.
He thrust both of those thoughts aside. He couldn’t bear to
think of Jazz dead. Captive or slave might be worse in some ways. Doc’s heart
lurched. At least you’d be alive, my
love.
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