Kirby Yates is the viewpoint character in this novel, Winter in July, a nuclear war drama. The aged Samuel Hatwell doesn't appear much, but when he does he owns the stage. All of us "sprouts" need a man or woman--a seer, like Samuel--to talk to when we need to know what's what in the world. Most of us, in the real world, aren't so fortunate.
From Chapter 6 Samuel Hatwell, Esquire:
"Course I don't claim the talk-radio fellers're right, either, liberal or conservative." Hatwell settled back in his chair, "Mostly they jist like'ta argue with the nut-cases who call in.
"In fact, 'bout all through the last twenty or more years folks haven’t talked 'bout it. Treatin’ nuc’ler war like it don’t exist anymore, like all them radical world leaders were all good fellas all of a sudden." Hatwell spoke slowly, choosing his words, "We buried our heads in the sand, boy, while them radicals buried research facil’ties an' fact’ries an' launch pads in sand'n'rock."
"I don't know, and neither do the talk-radio people, and neither do the pol’ticians. 'Bout the only ones who know're the ones who've got it."
"Nearest targets're the silos, 'bout fifty or sixty or more mile from me. We'd hear'em hit all right, an' we'd def'nitely see some almighty flashes. An’ even If’n the missiles didn't hit right on target—an' they're damnable ac'rate—their still gonna be a mite too far away."
"They blew’em all right, least some of’em, maybe even most of’em, at least they say they did, but maybe some sensible pol’tician, or more likely a combat-hardened gen'rul said'Whoa.'"
"I don't know much 'bout the after-effects, son. But their comin' all right. Folks don't want'ta believe that. I don't know when, but their comin.'"
From Chapter 7 80 Acres of Paradise
"My dad homesteaded it back in the thirties." Hatwell began preening his beard, stepped to the edge of steepness, then gazed toward the far expanses, probably remembering those long gone days, "I still say 'the thirties' as if we're still livin' in the twentieth century." A hesitation, "But we ain't. We're in the grand third millennium now, the great days we been waitin' fer a thousand years fer. But it's no greater'n the twentieth century. Now there was a great century. But we'll never see it again."
"Reckon this here piece's one'a the last in the state'ta be homesteaded. At that time nobody wanted it. Times since I could'a sold it fer many, many, times its value."
"People'd come in here with a bulldozer." Hatwell gripped his beard tightly, was staring far out and away, "They'd want'ta build a real house, an' they'd want a gravel road leadin' right up here'ta'a garage, an' they'd have'ta level off half the hill'ta get here. Naw, I'd never let 'nuther human bein' ever come here'ta live."
"Ya might not have'a lot'a time'ta think 'bout this, Kirby." Hatwell's face went stonily sober, "I'd get it decided a'tween ya, an' get it done with, an' then I'd get my butts on out here."
(One of three paragraphs, Kirby's viewpoint.) Finally he located the sound, then estimated it would be behind a spongy-looking, super-huge, gray-white cloud. He watched intently, straining his eyes till they watered. Then he saw it, shadowy against a patch of pearly sky. The cream-colored belly of a B-52 bomber, harbinger of nuclear bombs.
"They use this airspace fer their trainin' all the time." Hatwell said it without emotion, "Reckon they must figure this here sandhill real estate ain't too 'xpensive, or important, should one of'em crash. Or drop somethin'."
(Again, Kirby's viewpoint.) "What is it?" Colleen leaned back, her head also bumping the window, "Oh, it's an airliner. It's pretty against the blue sky."
Yes, true, very pretty. He looked at her, saw her innocence by ignorance. She could not really, truly, have comprehended the idea of nuclear war yet.
(The crusty Samuel will appear in two more chapters.)
Link to the Kindle edition: $0.99 http://www.amazon.com/Winter-in-July-ebook/dp/B004WTULAO/ref=la_B004GW465S_1_3_title_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1363634721&sr=1-3
Link to the paperback edition: $15.00 http://www.amazon.com/Winter-July-world-James-Nelson/dp/1460996003/ref=la_B004GW465S_1_3_title_0_main?ie=UTF8&qid=1363634912&sr=1-3
Thanks for reading
Contact
nelsonjamesw@hotmail.com email
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004GW465S Author page at Amazon
http://morninginapril.weebly.com Website & Blog
https://www.facebook.com/#!/ Facebook
http://subron7.hubpages.com/ HubPages
Feel free to contact me. (Response is not guaranteed) (The world is full of psychos and wackos)
A reminder for when you go to Amazon to read digital books, mine and many other authors: Amazon has a free APP download that allows you to read your book on any electronic device, including PC, Mac, iPad, iPhone, Android, and Blackberry.
Prices vary from $0.99-$2.99.
Occasionally I list one of my books as free for a day, sometimes more than a day. Look for those announcements on my blog, HubPages, Twitter, and Facebook
One last thing: When you visit my website, please check out the Freebies page.
From Chapter 6 Samuel Hatwell, Esquire:
"Course I don't claim the talk-radio fellers're right, either, liberal or conservative." Hatwell settled back in his chair, "Mostly they jist like'ta argue with the nut-cases who call in.
"In fact, 'bout all through the last twenty or more years folks haven’t talked 'bout it. Treatin’ nuc’ler war like it don’t exist anymore, like all them radical world leaders were all good fellas all of a sudden." Hatwell spoke slowly, choosing his words, "We buried our heads in the sand, boy, while them radicals buried research facil’ties an' fact’ries an' launch pads in sand'n'rock."
"I don't know, and neither do the talk-radio people, and neither do the pol’ticians. 'Bout the only ones who know're the ones who've got it."
"Nearest targets're the silos, 'bout fifty or sixty or more mile from me. We'd hear'em hit all right, an' we'd def'nitely see some almighty flashes. An’ even If’n the missiles didn't hit right on target—an' they're damnable ac'rate—their still gonna be a mite too far away."
"They blew’em all right, least some of’em, maybe even most of’em, at least they say they did, but maybe some sensible pol’tician, or more likely a combat-hardened gen'rul said'Whoa.'"
"I don't know much 'bout the after-effects, son. But their comin' all right. Folks don't want'ta believe that. I don't know when, but their comin.'"
From Chapter 7 80 Acres of Paradise
"My dad homesteaded it back in the thirties." Hatwell began preening his beard, stepped to the edge of steepness, then gazed toward the far expanses, probably remembering those long gone days, "I still say 'the thirties' as if we're still livin' in the twentieth century." A hesitation, "But we ain't. We're in the grand third millennium now, the great days we been waitin' fer a thousand years fer. But it's no greater'n the twentieth century. Now there was a great century. But we'll never see it again."
"Reckon this here piece's one'a the last in the state'ta be homesteaded. At that time nobody wanted it. Times since I could'a sold it fer many, many, times its value."
"People'd come in here with a bulldozer." Hatwell gripped his beard tightly, was staring far out and away, "They'd want'ta build a real house, an' they'd want a gravel road leadin' right up here'ta'a garage, an' they'd have'ta level off half the hill'ta get here. Naw, I'd never let 'nuther human bein' ever come here'ta live."
"Ya might not have'a lot'a time'ta think 'bout this, Kirby." Hatwell's face went stonily sober, "I'd get it decided a'tween ya, an' get it done with, an' then I'd get my butts on out here."
(One of three paragraphs, Kirby's viewpoint.) Finally he located the sound, then estimated it would be behind a spongy-looking, super-huge, gray-white cloud. He watched intently, straining his eyes till they watered. Then he saw it, shadowy against a patch of pearly sky. The cream-colored belly of a B-52 bomber, harbinger of nuclear bombs.
"They use this airspace fer their trainin' all the time." Hatwell said it without emotion, "Reckon they must figure this here sandhill real estate ain't too 'xpensive, or important, should one of'em crash. Or drop somethin'."
(Again, Kirby's viewpoint.) "What is it?" Colleen leaned back, her head also bumping the window, "Oh, it's an airliner. It's pretty against the blue sky."
Yes, true, very pretty. He looked at her, saw her innocence by ignorance. She could not really, truly, have comprehended the idea of nuclear war yet.
(The crusty Samuel will appear in two more chapters.)
Link to the Kindle edition: $0.99 http://www.amazon.com/Winter-in-July-ebook/dp/B004WTULAO/ref=la_B004GW465S_1_3_title_1_kin?ie=UTF8&qid=1363634721&sr=1-3
Link to the paperback edition: $15.00 http://www.amazon.com/Winter-July-world-James-Nelson/dp/1460996003/ref=la_B004GW465S_1_3_title_0_main?ie=UTF8&qid=1363634912&sr=1-3
Thanks for reading
Contact
nelsonjamesw@hotmail.com email
http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B004GW465S Author page at Amazon
http://morninginapril.weebly.com Website & Blog
https://www.facebook.com/#!/ Facebook
http://subron7.hubpages.com/ HubPages
Feel free to contact me. (Response is not guaranteed) (The world is full of psychos and wackos)
A reminder for when you go to Amazon to read digital books, mine and many other authors: Amazon has a free APP download that allows you to read your book on any electronic device, including PC, Mac, iPad, iPhone, Android, and Blackberry.
Prices vary from $0.99-$2.99.
Occasionally I list one of my books as free for a day, sometimes more than a day. Look for those announcements on my blog, HubPages, Twitter, and Facebook
One last thing: When you visit my website, please check out the Freebies page.
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