RIEPE'S WORLD

I love the serenity of Mystic Canyon here in New Mexico it's been a great source of inspiration for my stories. I felt the spiritual elements the first time I walked the deep wide arroyos. We writers get our inspirations from the strangest sources. On occasion however the wife and I hop in the land yacht and cruise up to LasVegas for business, friends and family. For some time now I’ve had the pleasure of chatting with my neighbor in Las Vegas, Edward 'Rex' Riepe. He is the author of the popular Fema Camp novels set in a grim future where the government has failed miserably. The once proud American way of life has been replaced by concentration camps, slavery and cannibalism.

He’s published twenty-five books predominantly in the speculative fiction genera, apocalyptic being his specialty. Among his works the 2101 Chronicles [8 books and over a million words], the Fema Camp series six books, The God Trilogy, Las Vegas Worm Club, and Arks from HEAVEN just to name a few.

Many writers begin right out of school and work for decades spinning yarns about life in their carefully crafted worlds. Rex by contrast has lived a rough and rambling life and then started writing rather late. I can relate to that. His work is course, gritty and lacking in fine silky finesse but then real life is seldom silky and almost always gritty. I totally get that as well. He spends night after night listening to Pink Floyd, sipping whiskey over ice in a coffee cup and banging out explosive violent chapters. A writer after my own heart.

In truth it was not his body of work as a late blooming author that got me into writing this piece. It was the life altering events, and the strange source of his ‘divine’ inspiration that really got my attention, so it begins thusly.

KCV: I’d like to write a story about your life and art. I think it would be interesting.

REX: Aw hell, my life’s not interesting.

I would have to disagree with him on that point, but ‘interesting’ might not be the correct word. Riveting. Yes, that’s the word. The guitar playing rocker has traveled a well worn path that has left many a scar from road rash on his weathered carcase. I was determined to peal back some of the scabs and see what lay beneath.

Oh don’t get me wrong it’s not that he’s terribly shy about talking, Rex can go on for hours and never skip a breath. But as I scribble notes with pen to paper I can’t keep up and he’s already two chapters ahead of me. Then I get side tracked as we digress into talking about writer stuff which we love to talk about. The stuff that really wouldn’t interest anyone but slang slingers like us. So it’s taken a dozen visits to compile this short piece.

Born in Kansas City to a family of modest means there were no silver spoons. At the tender age of eight young Rex was stealing fruit and vegetables from a kindly German lady, Mrs. Gufthaus. She caught him but rather than seek punishment she gave him a job and he became a wage earner rather than a criminal.

REX: Mrs Gufthaus was a wonderful woman, she paid me thirty cents and hour.

In his early teens he began to play guitar and later would play backup and opening acts for some of the great legends of Rock-N-Roll. He played for me some of his tunes on his digital guitar it was amazing. His fingers danced over the strings like butterflies seeking musical nectar.

KCV: So you were a Rock Star?

REX: No, not a Rock Star, just a musician... but a damn good one.

As the turbulent sixties came to a close so did a tragic episode of American history. In 1969 Rex was a senior at Florida’s Oviedo High. I perused his year book, he’s on every other page. Football, Sax player in the band, building bonfires. He boast of getting into fights with a coach and teachers but managed to stay in school. Oh yeah, this crewcut sporting jock was also captain of the basketball team. He delighted in pointing out all the pretty blonds he cavorted with but there was one picture of a shy girl that somehow avoided the rowdy Casanova. But her story doesn’t begin for another twenty-five years.

Segregation was ending but racial tensions were running high. Five white team mates failed to show for practice when four black players joined the team. Rex stayed on in spite of the usual name calling and peer pressure. It’s good to have the hide of an armadillo, it helps to deflect the bullshit.

KCV: So why didn’t you quit with your teammates?

REX: I love basketball, and the girls were always coming around. I didn’t care who I played with, I had a lot of fun with those guys.

Donald Sterling apparently didn’t get that message forty years ago. Rex went on to collage and eventually graduated after some... shall we say disciplinary differences. Okay, he was a smart ass there too. After collage he tried a suit and tie for a spell but being a respectable Joe just never played well with the rebel and another clean cut youth fell prey to the lure of Drugs, Sex and Rock-N-Roll, yeah baby.

While he was a damn good guitar player music dollars were fast and loose. Over the years he was successful in the computer business and other endeavors but marriage was not one. Finding himself a single father dropping the kids of with the Ex., his life had taken a down turn. No he never reached the highs of a Rock Star but he certainly partook of the earthly pleasures of one. On a dreary Christmas eve after dropping off the kids he wandered into a bar looking for a friend in a glass. His roving eye spied a couple of girls at the bar one in particular drew his gaze.

REX: She was a real looker, but I didn’t recognize her as anyone I knew.

As he was about to embrace the sweet caresses of a seven and seven a voice from his past penetrated the purple haze he’d fallen into.

MR: You’re Rex Riepe aren’t you?

REX: Who are you?

MR: Marcia Beasley. We went to High school together.

REX: Well you sure have change, in all the right places.

He hadn’t seen her since high school, two and a half decades had passed but she had certainly grown up. In that moment the fog cleared and his life suddenly took a new turn. Santa Claws had come for Rex Riepe and delivered an enduring love affair. They were inseparable in play and work from that moment on. They moved around a lot and Rex worked in construction. Marcia was no house bound daffodil she took up carpentry and they worked side by side.

REX: That’s how we shared our lives. We did everything together.

Money was decent and the road had smoothed a bit but when you least expect it there’s always a sharp turn. In 1998 while working on a roof in Florida he heard Marcia yelling his name amid vicious growls. From the roof he saw a massive black and tan Rottweiler dragging his owner like a sack of potatoes. The huge canine had her pinned down, she blocked with her arm as the dog went for her face. Rex leapt into action by jumping off the roof and landed flat footed near the great hound. Finishing hammer in hand he beat the beast off her until she could scramble away. Marcia escaped permanent injury save for a persistent fear of dogs. However, two days later suffering from excruciating back pain, Rex learned his third and forth vertebra were compacted from his hard landing. The damage required a long rehabilitation. It was a big hit in the bank book but they persevered and eventually started over.

Another ten years would pass and the pair would share every day with work, family and the usual stress of life. In Vegas that’s rich food and cheep drinks a combo that ushers along the ravages of time, and age was creeping up on the love birds.

Along about 2009 Rex was suddenly gripped with chest pains. A crushing spasm that surly felt like the hand of God was holding his heart and giving it a playful squeeze. Unable to drive he surrendered the keys. Marcia took the wheel and headed for the hospital. The pressure from his pounding heart increased and Rex was becoming delirious. Traffic was at a crawl and out of desperation Marcia took the car onto the sidewalks and zoomed around the jam. They arrived at the emergency room none to soon for a few minutes more and the guitar picker would have been strumming a golden harp.

REX: She saved my life, no doubt about it.

During his recovery the doctors discovered large tumors in his body and evidence that the hard working life had taken a hefty toll. Recovery was slow and painful. During his convalescents he began to have dreams, spiritual in nature. Later he would recall them vividly. A movie would play in his head staring characters bearing a strong resemblance to his German-Indian ancestors. Strange worlds in far flung star systems, dark apocalyptic visions swept across the movie screen in his head. He started to write the stories down and the visions continued they seemed to carry a prophecy of man’s rejection of the Word of God and the dire consequences to come. The dreams grew more powerful and the movie in his mind more graphic. The message was crystal clear. Time is running out for you Rock-N-Roller.

The tumors were inoperable and the notion of giving up liquor had little appeal. So Rex consulted with his God and decided to proceed on faith. A deal of sorts began to manifest requiring him to deliver a message laced in his high adventure prose. So proceeding with powerful inspiration from a divine source, Rex picked up his key board and has been writing like a man possessed ever since. A pile of rejections sit on a shelf but he publishes his works on Amazon and sales mount daily as a legion of fans clamor for more of his dark prophecies. He has defiantly truck a cord that appeals to a great many.

REX: Marcia is my editor, critic and co-writer. It’s what we do now to share our lives. They’re just stories but we’re having fun. When it stops being fun I’ll quit doing it.

Their stories foretell of a government turning on its citizens. Spying on Americans, stealing their property, taking their guns, and a diabolical collaboration of the super rich and the mega powerful to wield ultimate control. Foreign powers seeking world domination and the crushing boot of oppression on the traditional values of family and freedom. No I’m not repeating today’s headlines, I’m talking about Riepe’s World... Or am I?

My friend is still dreaming and still writing and the world is still headed towards his apocalyptic prophesies. Is he worried? Not as long as he has Pink Floyd and and a cup of cool sweet Seven.

PASS THE CALAMINE PLEASE

I've been dark for a while and it has been hell. Not prowling the web and posting is my life now and checking in on all my friends. I wouldn’t even post this explanation but it seems I'll be off line a little longer than I first thought. You see it all started with what I believed was a backache. About three days before Christmas. That evolved into a racking spasm wherein I became bed ridden for two days and nights in agony. An internet search suggested a kidney infection or possibly a stone.

Now why didn't I run to the Doctor you ask? Well it was Christmas and my Doctor closes his practice on Holidays and the worst of it hit me over the weekend after Christmas. But as dawn came to Monday I called and got an appointment. I staggered into the shower dragging my feet like one of the Walking Dead. Not the fast ones mind you the real slow ones dragging a knotted rope of guts behind them. Yep that's what I felt like too.

It was at that moment that I caught a glimpse of big red spots in the mirror. OH shit! I said aloud to me in the reflection. Only one thought came next for I only knew of one thing that caused this much excruciating pain accompanied with such an inflamed red rash. I hobbled to the computer and ran one word. Shingles. Yes, the symptoms were all there.

My visit to the Dr. confirmed my suspicion but he was also concerned about my kidneys and sent me to the hospital for ultra sound and other tests.

I'm off to see him at 2:pm today for analysis of those tests... More on that later.

I'm back and the test were pretty much negative and the medicine I'm taking along with calamine lotion is already turning back the shingles. I'm starting to feel a little better too. So in a few days I should be back in action posting pics on BMSC and I have a new story for this blog. Thank you for following my efforts.

A SPLASH OF COLOR

 

 

I'm a big fan of comics, fantasy art and graphic designs with a dark mysterious flair. The darker and scarier the better. That said I also enjoy a little splash of color and humor stirred into the mix just for contrast. This I feel has to be done with care or you end up with a sappy mess. Just where that blend begins and ends is up to the writer initially and then you add the art. Here's where you either are a multi talented genius and can do it all or you're me. Oh sure I can string a few words together and tell a story on my computer as long as I have my son Patrick as back up. He's the tech savvy computer wiz, and my wife Carol as my financier and agent to keep me from falling off a cliff.

Growing up in Texas as a wild child in the sixties I was surrounded by relatives that could draw and paint with some skill. Unfortunately that particular talent was not in my genes: can't out draw a first grader.

I have been fortunate in my travels in that no matter where I land; no matter how far off the expressway I traverse. I can always find talented artists to collaborate with. Here in remote Mystic Canyon, nestled among the coyotes and cacti I have discovered a budding flower of artistry. Not yet nineteen Julie Edwards has that perfect blend of dark chaos and comic color.

For so long my crossbreed characters lived in E-books visual only through the reader's imagination. Now they have faces and form for which the eye can see. Here they are for your viewing pleasure.
 

“I am Skullduggery, and I serve my master Lazarus Zurga, Czar of the un-dead,” an evil laugh filled the arena. The truck's rear doors slowly opened, a purplish gas belched forth when a platform slid out the back, on it lay a highly polished black coffin etched with silver glyphs and writhing serpents. The platform tilted so the coffin came to rest in a standing position. The dancing girls pulled open the lid, inside a tall gaunt figure lay in a deathly repose on purple velvet. A sickly, pale greenish pallor made it seem as if he truly was dead. The girls touched and stroked the corpse in a sexually suggestive manner, yet dead he remained. The Bleeder fans were becoming agitated and began to chant his name. “Zurga! Zurga! Zurga!”

Skulduggery laughed his diabolic laugh. “As desirable as the devil’s daughters are, you know only one thing will bring the master back from the black sleep,” crazed howls and screams came from the throng. “Let the blood flow!” he demanded.
At that the devil girls produced a tall silver goblet and went around the fence holding the ornate cup so the Bleeders could cut their fingers and drip their blood into the skull shaped vessel.
The Voodoo dancers collected the gruesome elixir and made a show of pouring it on the dead man’s thin dry lips. Afterward, they resumed the suggestive attempt to revive him and this time his yellow-green eyes opened, he rose from his resting place to the deranged, delight of his fanatical followers. Crimson ooze trickled from his mouth, a long forked tongue darted out and captured the red liquid. A twisted smile let the fans see his sharp, curved fangs.

A steel step lowered to allow Zurga to easily get into the tall truck. The bovine beauties assisted him onto the elevator step, slowly it carried them up. Standing on the running board outside the cab posing for the fans in a black costume with imperial purple trim, he spoke to them in a strange lisping accent. “My devoted fans, I have risen once again to do battle for your pleasure. I serve you and only you. I know your needs as well as I know my own,” drawing his words out slowly, excitedly, as a schoolyard pervert seducing a virginal youth. A sickening grin stretched across his pale, shallow face, as he stroked each girl from their supple thighs to their sharp little horns. “How do you like my horny— heifers?— They’re so devillicious, are they not?” Wolf calls, howling and barking filled the arena. “In you go my pets.”Both girls bent over exposing their shapely rears to the crowd. Zurga

patted their firm, butt cheeks and stroked their tails as they crawled inside. “After the battle I think

I’ll get a little tail.”

The mob lost control and attempted scaling the fence; screaming and chanting. “Zurga!

Zurga! Zurga!”
The strange creature called Lazarus Zurga, held out his arms to the mad howling mob, as if
to absorb their primal essence, sated with their blood lust he bowed low to them, then vanished
into the Monster Hearse.
The mighty Skullduggery revved and roared. “Bring on all challengers and let the blood
flow.”

Murphy was just about to impute the gate code, when everyone’s attention turned to a faded blue Chevy pickup truck, careening around the corner. Engine racing, tires squealing, smoke blowing from the exhaust. The driver jerked the steering wheel hard to the right, whipping the truck toward the men. Gravel sprayed in all directions as the vehicle slid sideways. Abruptly, the driver hit the brakes, causing the pickup to grind to a halt in a cloud of dust. Griff and Butch had instantly adopted defensive postures.

Murphy grimaced and fanned the dust with his hat. “Tequila, that beater is older than I am. What’re you trying to do throw a rod?” his voice low and scolding.
The blinding glare of the sun made it difficult to see the driver clearly through the dusty windshield, except for a wide brimmed hat and a wild shock of hair. The driver’s door swung open with a rusty-metallic screech.“Now don’t use that tone with me, you grouchy old meany head.” The young girl drawled, as she slid from the cab and lightly landed on the ground. Her black western boots barely made a dint in the gravel driveway, as she squared off opposite the men. Sprouting from the high top boots a pair of long shapely legs, bare up to her blue denim shorts. The cut off hems rolled tightly around her silky thighs. The shorts snug over her curvy hips were synched tight around her thin waist with a black belt and silver buckle, adorned with a brace of pistols. Hanging from the belt a black leather holster cradling a Smith and Wesson .38 Special, with a white pearlescent grip.
“You don’t wanna get me mad now... I just might have to do a Texas tap-dance al-l-l over you,” Tequila's slow western drawl snuggled around her words like a cozy kitten.

Butch took Jessie's new gun and went to work programing it, after a half hour he was satisfied and handed it to Jesse. “All set, all you need do is strap it on.”

Jesse did as instructed, the holster clung to his leg like a custom fit. “It’s light, I like that.” He reached down and took the grip. Instantly he felt it charge. Then he drew it out.

“Howdy deputy, name’s Hoss and I’m ready for duty,” the cyber pistol spoke in a scrappy

little robot voice with a country twang.

Jesse looked at Butch; siting back in his chair appearing pleased with himself. “Hoss? And

what’s with the deputy bit?”
“All I did was set him to the western mode so you two would fit together, I didn’t pick his name. Talk to him, not me. Tell him who’s boss.”

“Okay, Hoss, I’m Jesse Colt Badham worlds greatest stunt rider and trick shot, got it?”

“Your DNA test checked out or you’d be down in the dust pard, I know who ya are.”

“Good then let’s get a little practice in so you can get use to my style.”

“Set up a target tenderfoot, let’s see what ya got.”

Butch quickly set up a chunk of deadwood fifty feet away.

“Set to level one, pard and try not to shoot your own foot.”

“He’s kinda sassy,” Jesse observed.

Butch grinned, “I like him.”

Jesse gripped and ripped, the draw was slow and clumsy, the shot missed the stump.

“My granny can draw fastern’ that,” Hoss quipped
Jesse tried again.
“Ain’t no second place in a gun fight pard.”
Again.
“Missed, if that was a rattler he’d a bit ya.”
“Something is wrong Butch fix it.”
Butch chuckled at Jessie’s frustration. “It’s just that your not thinking right. He’s cyber-linked to your brain and you’re still trying to draw like you had a regular gun. Open the link, and let him work for you.

Khimaira lounged seductively, just out of reach of his claws. Her graceful lines strong, athletic, her long antelope horns gleamed in the fire light. “Which would you prefer to devour? The dead fish or sate your natural hunger with me. To taste my tender living flesh in your mouth, to feel the hot spray of my blood on your face as you slice open my veins with your fangs.” Stroking her inner thigh as she spoke.

“Come a little closer,” his voice a low growl.
She smiled at him. “Yes, I have no doubt you would kill me. Sadly, you would let me rot and eat the dead fish. You’ve become too civilized, we of the wild understand the dynamics of the predator and the prey, one cannot live without the other. It’s the natural order.” Using her spear, she pushed the table to within his reach.
“Last meal for the condemned?”
“Only if you wish it.”
“Let me guess, you keep me on a short leash as your well fed and pampered pet. For a price.” His snow leopard tail twitching.
“Join me Butch, I don’t want you to die. It’s your choice, but either way, you should eat.”
He sniffed the food and water suspiciously.
“Really Butch, if I wanted you dead or sedated I would’ve had the guards do it. I much prefer you awake and talking to me.”
Surrendering to his raging hunger, he set upon the feast. Between mouthfuls he managed to get a few words out. “Your spies should have told you— the machine doesn’t work.”
“Not yet, but they say you’re the grand master techie.”
“I’m not good enough to crack the DNA key code,” talking and chewing.
“You think I’ll free you, if it doesn’t work?”
“Not at all. I think you’re a sick bitch, who takes pleasure in watching helpless men die in agony. You plan the same for me.”
“You’re wrong, I do what I’m forced to do. We must survive any way we can.”
“By Murdering for AARDVARK?”
Her cheek twitched at the name. “You could change that. You could be our teacher. You could have anything you desire.” Her hands caressing her breasts.
“The fish wasn’t bad, just a little overcooked for my taste.” He downed the last of the water and licked his lips.
Khimaira shot to her feet twirling her spear over head, eyes flashing, her proud amazonian breast glaring at him. The deadly spear tip came to a stop, aimed at his chest.
The claw of his pinky finger picked at his teeth.“Is this where I cower at you feet, begging for mercy?”

Griff shouldered the 12 gauge and probed the blackness, his night vision could gather low light enough to see large objects, but fine details eluded him. The room was huge and required a thorough search. He kept Ursula close behind as he crept forward. Several times he paused listening for any sound. His first warning of danger came not to his ears, but from a fetid stench, faint at first, but soon became overpowering. The malodorous reek of animal musk and decomposing flesh.

Behind him he saw Ursula covering her face with her white cloth, and fighting the urge to retch. Slowly he backed her up, guiding her in the dark with his free hand. As they retraced their path backwards, a shuffling sound began to trail them. Griff held her still and peered down the long barrel of the formidable weapon. Slowly and very gently so as not to startle her he pushed her toward the entrance. The stealthy shuffling began again on feet not wholly human, then a large black shape shifted from behind a massive machine. Only for a second, then moved back out of sight. Seeing they weren’t alone he urged her down the hallway. The stalker’s foot steps kept pace with the quarry. 
Griff moved away from the rasping sound, taking care not to make any noise, yet it
continued to follow. As it drew closer they heard heavy breathing. He turned to Ursula and signed for silence and made a running gesture with his fingers.
She got the message and as quietly as possible hurried to the end of the hall. Griff slowly retreated
backward while facing his deadly shadower. The huge dark mass suddenly appeared in the doorway,
filling the space with it’s bulk. Briefly, he caught a glimpse of a rack of twisting horns, the lower
pair curved down around the small dark eyes. The thick powerful arms supported it’s upper body.
The wide snout flared and sniffed the air. A broad leer scalped the lips back showing a set of
gleaming white teeth, the great mouth parted slightly and a low mirthless laugh drifted out of the
cavernous hole that was it’s gullet.
Griff braced himself and drew a bead. Breathing deep, slow and steady he marshaled his wits and will as every instinct argued in favor of running, steady as an oak, he stood his ground.
Ursula reached the door, as six rapid blasts reverberated down the hall. They all cringed at
the blood crazed howl that followed. A second later, they heard rapid foot falls rushing toward
them. Griff flew through the door so fast he couldn’t stop til he slammed into the wall at the opposite end of the room.
“What is it?” she yelled.
Sucking in a single gasp of air he choked out one word. “DEMON!”

Julie is working on another piece I can't wait to present it to you.

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THE GOLDEN EASTER EGG

 

I haven’t posted in a while because I was writing a new story. I just finished it and now I'm doing the arduous task of editing. Hate that part. It is not related to the crossbreed books. It will be the start of a new series based loosely on characters and adventures played out at the Blood Moon Social Club. Let me reiterate and say “loosely based”. This book is inspired by storylines I wrote for our inter active theater Blood Moon events. There were hundreds of vampires, werewolves, demons, mummies, ghosts, and human hunters running around the Blood Moon Social Club every month for years. Not all were directly involved with the main plots some were doing their own thing. However, to base a story on that sort of dynamic I had to condense the story from a big chunky stew down to a fine sauce. So I compressed many characters into composites and tried to capture the essence of what Blood Moon was all about.

The plot of any good story nearly always involves the characters be engaged in a hunt for the Golden Easter Egg. So it often was at Blood Moon. The GEE can be anything of worth from an amulet, enchanted sword, magic jewel, or a crown that grants one the power to control giants as in Jack the Giant Slayer. What an awesome movie I loved it. This plot device is used by every writer and film maker, the legendary director Alfred Hitchcock called it the MacGuffin.

I recently watched TNT's The Librarians their GEE was a magic crown worn by King Arthur. CW's rendition of DC's The Flash has a variation of the GEE. Barry Allen “The Flash” is searching for the mysterious killer of his mother. The same GEE is being used in Gotham the teenage Bruce Wayne is after the killer of his parents. A live person is a perfect GEE. Imagine if you knew the whereabouts of such an individual. You might claim a reward or blackmail the GEE. But then you might end up dead and the plot thickens. Of the three examples I won't be following the Librarians it was a too silly for my tastes, and I was not drawn to the characters or the clunky dialog. The Flash is well done and holds my interest but it is a little weak on intensity. Gotham is wonderful. I absolutely love the new look at old BatMan villains back when they were young and had not donned their familiar costumes. This is a great rejuvenation of an iconic storyline. In addition you have a plethora of characters and many subplots revolving around the main plot. Much room to screw with your perception and create conflict and chaos.
The GEE, whatever it may be works best if you have a lot of characters running around in your story. One finds the Golden Easter Egg and has it for a while then someone steals it and now everyone is after them. Think of it as a football game if one team has the Golden Football most of the game the excitement level slows. But if the football changes hands a lot the pace picks up. If the score stays even right to the end the suspense builds to an explosive climax. {Yes I know mixing sports and sexual metaphors is cliche but I just couldn't stop myself.}
The writer can control the story's pace by manipulating the GEE and who has it. In Marvels Agents of Shield the writers do an excellent job of having more that one GEE and they keep them changing hands. Another tactic is you never know who is on what team. The characters are always dying or defecting. They also come back from the dead and then you're not sure of anything.
Agents of Shield is well written and keeps me wanting more. But where it shines is in the character dialog. I really care what happens to them. So you see the GEE is not always what makes a story compelling it's the characters competing for it.

In my own humble effort at writing SciFi action adventures, I try my best to involve the reader in the lives of the characters. In Crossbreeds 1: Battle Butte I send my Soldiers of Fortune Griff, Butch and Jesse off to find an artificial intelligence brain essential to making ancient technology work for the people of Battle Butte. However, my high tech GEE is not the primary focus of the story. It is the women these three reckless daredevils encounter. You see I find that the best way to create conflict and chaos; very important for any story, is to introduce strong independent women. Once you do that the male characters do what all men do. They become entangled in romantic webs and now you have real life unfolding in your fantasy world.
In my new story Death and Domination I have interesting protagonists and sinister antagonists. Some are the aforementioned dynamic females. Building strong character composites from those played by the ladies of Blood Moon wasn't difficult. Nor was it tough to interject romantic webs to entangle my male characters. Blood Moon was rife with supernatural lust.
Even with all of that going for me I decided to employ yet another writer's tool. As I said the GEE can be anything and doesn’t necessarily need to be the main focus. That said, it sometimes turns out that the GEE is so important that it becomes a leading character. Such as when the GEE is a live person, or when the object is so much more than everyone looking for it even realizes. I'll end right there before the teaser becomes a spoiler.

IN EVERY DARK AGE SHINES A LITTLE CHROME

If you want to see a horde of comic book aficionados rivaling the Mongols howling with blood lust. Just type in these three key words; comics the 90s. You will be engulfed in blistering rants about the Dark Age of comics. From 1990 to a little past 2000 virtually every comic blogger will tell you it was the worst period in comic history. The reasons are varied ranging from too many gimmicks to massive over printing. The culprits are viewed with as much contempt as the villains that smashed their way on to the pages of that era's comics. At the top of the list Marvel, DC, Image and of course Todd McFarlane and Rob Liefeld.

Now I don't make any claims to being a human comic encyclopedia. But I've been a reader and collector since I was a kid in the sixties; the Amazing Silver Age. Back then I paid $15.00 for Amazing Spiderman #1. Everyone thought me mad, a good one goes for $15,000.00 now. 90s vintage comics were ground breaking in many ways and the frenzy over them was justified. Just like Marvel stories from the 60s, so sooner or later a lot of those 90s characters will reemerge. Actually they already are.

The Bronze Age followed from 1970 to roughly 1985 or as I like to call it the age of Conan. I sold my Savage Sword of Conan # 1 for a hundred bucks and regretted it ever since. Many great characters and stories emerged out of this time. In fact over printing was a problem then as well as in the 90s. The thing is we have more people now. Once a comic issue is printed they stop, not so with babies we keep making them. Asian kids love comics and we have the internet now. Screw over printing.

Even back in the Golden Age when Superman was only able to leap, they had their comic crash.

 

Comics are always popular for a while then worthless for a while, but they always come back bigger than ever. From 1993 to 2008 my family ran Kool Kollectables Comics in Las Vegas, Nv. That's right during the Darkage.

I currently hold about 300,000 books in a secret bunker. So I know a little something about comics and the dreaded Darkage of the 90s sometimes referred to as the Age of Chrome. So called because publishers were taking advantage of all the hot tech available to them. Chrome covers were all the rage. So too was foil, embossing, 3D holograms, wraparound foldout and die cuts. Some of the sexier books sported leather and lace it was as much about the kool covers as it was the content.

It is also true that changes in distribution and other factors gave rise to a wave of friendly neighborhood comic shops and a few years later most were belly up. Even the powerhouses Marvel and DC were on the ropes. Scores of Indie publishers flourished for a time then blew up in mid air. Many one shot companies detonated on the launch pad. It was a volatile time. And yet it was as wonderful and exiting as any epic crossover staring the X-Men.

You'll hear a lot about the glitzy sparkly shiny gimmicks and all the insane multiple covers. Personally being a long time collector of the shinny and sharp I saw the foil 3-D chrome die-cut wrap around cover craziness as pretty damn Kool. So did all the complainers those books sold like gold at a dental convention.

Was the collector market over sold and flooded with too many books? You betcha but how could you stop it? When gold was discovered in the Yukon prospectors flooded into muddy boom towns and many sank in the mud and never recovered, but a few hit the mother load. Then there were folks that kept their wits about them and diversified. The 90s were marked by fad frenzy, every other month some new craze had gripped the country. Pogs, Magic the Gathering, Vampire the Masquerade, X-Men, Pokemon, this list goes on. Remember the hula-hoop craze? No of course not but your granny does she was one of millions to twirl that nutty contraption around her waist and shake her booty. Well my point is that I saw a hot young hoopster on You Tube hooping some pretty incredible moves that your granny never thought of. See everything comes back around and around and around... OK you get it.

With each new gold strike shops opened up specializing in just comics, games or cards and soon vaporized just as quickly. At KK we sold everything and road every wave as it rolled in. This was very difficult because we got stuck with a lot of Merch. But we held on and eventually someone would come buy up a bunch of back stock. If you couldn't hold out you got trapped when the roof fell in on you. Ultimately, we sold our buildings when the real estate boom was at its peak. We sold out just before the big crash of 08. So whether it's comics, real estate or the stock market the trick is getting out of the crumbling mine shaft with what gold you can carry before the cave in. As to all those collector/investors with back stock. Here's what I know from paying attention to history.

Every thing makes a come back. You can dump your load and take a loss but some clever entrepreneur will buy low.

 

Then he'll wait until Hollywood shoots another kick ass movie or a block buster TV show based on yet another iconic comic title, then flash your … I mean his shiny collection and snag a tidy profit. It's all happening right now so get ready to make your move.

HAPPY CYBER-WEEN

 

Well it's here and I'm sitting in front of my computer. I'm usually out trick or treating with the kids and hitting the haunted attractions. This will be a first for me a cyber trick or treat. Hopping around to all my sites in costume checking out all my friends in their costumes.
I just popped in for a tweet at Karl Clay Vetter @vetter99.

Then off to Blood Moon Social Club Page. https://www.facebook.com/pages/Blood-Moon-Social-Club/354434527949489?ref=bookmarks

A quick costume change before I drop into crossbreeds by KCV page. https://www.facebook.com/karlclayvetter?ref=bookmarks

And another change for the Blood Moon social group. https://www.facebook.com/groups/1488306761451445/

Well it's never going to be a kool as being there but to one and all HAPPY HALLOWEEN.

DAWN OF THE BLOOD MOON

The Blood Moon Social Club hosted its first Live Action Roll Play [LARP] based around Mark Rein*Hagen's controversial and disturbing Vampire the Masquerade on Halloween of 1993.

 

 The event was sponsored by the Kool Kollectables comic and game store and took place at the Road Runner Ranch. Most people think that was the beginning. In fact the curators of the RR Ranch were no strangers to disturbing events or controversy.

The year was 1989 and we had built a large Santa Fe style hacienda at the end of quarter-hores lane, twenty miles from Las Vegas. Surrounded by open range and a few scattered neighbors. We had a herd of twenty-five horses and a menagerie of calves, sheep, peacocks assorted poultry, a pig and a goat. In town we had a pet shop Parrot Gallery and there we had birds, fish, reptiles and even giant black scorpions and tarantulas.

The 'We' in this Dude Ranch project was my wife Carol our sons Patrick and Philip and our partner Marilyn Gubler.

Marilyn was from a prominent politically connected family and she had two adorable children Laura and her little brother Matt.

The project was to build a retreat from Vegas where family and guests could ride horses, have BBQs and quietly chill out. At least that was the plan but from the beginning 'quiet' was never achieved.

Saturday nights were always raucous for the bunkhouse crew were a rowdy bunch. Drinking hard and getting into fights over poker but such is the way of wandering saddle bums. But wait I said 1989 not 1889.

Although when the bark of gunfire stung the eardrums and gun-smoke chocked the nostrils, one was transported back in time briefly to a day when gunfighters and gamblers cavorted with dance hall girls of questionable morality. Vegas hadn’t changed much in a hundred years.

The Road Runner Ranch was known for its wild west theme parties and other things. There was a darker side to all those cowboy shenanigans. From time to time my wife Carol and sons Patrick and Phillip shed our big hats and boots and donned costumes of a darker more sinister look and we took our crew along with us. For to work at the ranch meant you had to play dress up with the eccentric owners no matter how bizarre those games were. One could surmise that we were a red-neck version of the Addams Family.

We then ventured into the desert littered with old mine shafts. Imagine the 'new guy's' nervous questions when instructed to load gallons of volatile liquid and a black coffin. The plumes of flame and smoke could be seen for miles. The crew were a mishmash of carneys, vagabonds, and even reputable citizens on the lame from responsibility, their rough and course manner made the locals nervous.

The sparsely populated neighborhood was already suspicious. So when they saw us with live snakes dressed in black and cammo setting fires, naturally they summoned the local constabulary. On more than one occasion I had to explain that we were merely shooting low budget movies, with my new digital video camera.

“Well, the neighbors think you’re practicing witchcraft and sacrificing animals,” said the cop with a grim eye on the snake and the black cat.
“As you can see officer the critters are alive and well and if you will step inside the house you can view the tape for yourself.”
“No thanks Mr. Vetter just keep it down,” he said and quickly left a flurry of dust in his wake.
I suspect he'd seen enough horror movies to know that when the creepy man invites the snoopy cop into the scary house... Don't go!

Young Matt grew and developed a morbid fascination for Magic, Halloween parties and all things of a frightening nature. Laura had a keen eye for fashion and perhaps being older and female leaned more toward normal.

We had just framed a large guest house and Halloween was right around the bend. So we stopped building and decided to do a one time Halloween blow out. I suggested to all that with no interior walls in the gust house we could do anything and after the party just slap up drywall and paint over the evidence. The idea was roundly accepted. We took black and red spray paint and tagged evil imagery all over the bare walls and spent a month decorating and coming up with scary ideas. The Gublers invited all their friends and we painted up our crew. Frankly that was easy they didn't need much help to make them look scary. The party was a smash, young and old ran screaming through our haunted house and the roar of my chainsaw no doubt frightened the neighbors as well.

 

We had gruesome fun in those nights, we made a zombie move and staged Road Warrior battles. But alas as the 80s had come and gone it was time for reinvention. We sold off our live stock and put away our guns and boots. I had been dragging my wife to gamer cons for a while and that's where she got the idea of starting a comic shop. I'd seen Vampire the Masquerade demoed at one and shortly after Kool Kollectables emerged.

 

It wouldn't be long before the RR Ranch would be crawling with Vampires, werewolves and all manner of fiendish monsters.

Our dear friend and patron Marilyn parted with us and started the Sandy Valley Movie Ranch. Which is even more spectacular than anything we had previously. Laura married a fine gentleman and had a son and still has her hand in fashion.

Poor Matthew never out grew his infatuation with magic and creepyness. He went on to the NY film school and now he's an actor, director and staring in Suburban Gothic a comedy horror film winning all kinds of critical praise and awards. And to think he could have been anything, a respectable doctor, lawyer or even a... politician.

FAST TIME IN THE SLOW LANE

Autumn chill at dawn in the low 40s is bearable in the tree house, with hot tea and a cozy parka. Some times I get lucky and spot wildlife foraging in Mystic Canyon as the sun rises.

Not this morning but the river rushing and the leaves turning is the perfect serenity I need to unscramble my thoughts. As of late I've been stressed over what direction I should go with my stories. Should I start something new that appeals to the masses and copy what everyone else is doing just so I can sell more books? Or should I stick to my original concept and travel the riskier trail of thorns?
I read your posts on FB and see that many of you struggle with similar issues with your own creative efforts in art, life philosophy or politics. Most of you tough it out to the bitter conclusion. That in of its self is a lesson in perseverance. It may not always end in riches and glory... Who we kidding? It virtually never ends that way? But when you think about it, win or loose it's the race against overwhelming opposition that makes any story worth reading. So it is with the struggles of life; a path paved with clover often leads to a slaughterhouse.
Or, if you're cute and adorable you land on a silky pillow but you're still some rich cat's bitch.
Don't get me wrong, if you're cute and adorable make the most of it. The rest of us will still tune into your pretend reality show and buy your produced for the masses designer gear. Cause rich cats still gotta buy premium for their limos ya know.
Here's a thought, what if life were like that Cars movie? I know a lot of people would love to be the Farrier, a Porsche or a Lamborghini. The road in life we travel has many detours and sometimes those side roads get real bumpy. I'm not so sure a sleek convertible three inches off the ground would survive some of the places I've been. Sooner or later most of us end up back on the free way and traffic is intense. How we choose to get down that free way is different for each but most go with the flow and are satisfied with nice regular acceptable vehicles.
As for my own quandary, well I've never been cute or adorable, and I never blended well with mainstream traffic. Maybe that's why I'm sitting in a tree house in a hidden canyon watching for mountain lions.
I don't know why I keep having this conversation with myself. The result is always the same. “To hell with trying to be like every other car on the road.” I'm not a sporty gas saving solar powered hybrid.
I did see a rig the other day that pretty much personifies what kind of vehicle I'd be in the movie.

So I'm going to battle it out my way, right to the bloody end and if my guts get splattered all over the high way, well that's just how the big rig rolls. Thanks for letting me rant and now I must buckle down and finish the work I've started, I hope you stay with me. Now move that Mercedes out of the slow lane I'm coming through.

HOW I BURNED OFF 40 POUNDS WITH RED HOT PEPPERS

Heed the warning signs your body is broadcasting, my friends. That's number one right there. For years I was complaining to my Doctors about chest pain and shortness of breath. They did all kinds of tests and found nothing. The pains continued and I wrote it off as anything but what it really was. At my peak I was hitting 248, then I would cut back for a while and drop down into the 230s. But I didn't really change my diet. Rather than list all the bad food I was eating lets just say this. I lived in Las Vegas, NV. for thirty years and never met a buffet I didn't fall in love with.
In the 90s I was writing a lot and sitting around all day, by the turn of the century I was really getting weaker and having difficulty with physical excretion. But still the Doctors could find no abnormality with my heart. I was getting so tired I couldn’t even write or concentrate. We like to fantasize about a catastrophic end by super storms, biblical plagues, or the eminent zombi apocalypse, but the real danger is right in our refrigerators.
In my life time I’ve eaten hundreds of cows, pigs, turkeys, sheep, countless chickens and just about
everything else even fried gator. I especially loved them deep fried with buckets of gravy and potatoes.
Fried catfish! Oh shit, don't get me going on catfish. Everywhere I went it was all you can eat catfish, breakfast lunch and dinner, YUM.
In 2008 we sold our Vegas properties and bought Mystic Canyon Ranch in New Mexico. At last I could devote more time to writing Sci Fi novels. I was getting more exercise working around the ranch but New Mexican cuisine is so freaking good and I do love spicy food. You know I found a place down here that serves deep fried avocados with jalapeno ranch. Kill me to death!
Unfortunately, the chest pains got worse, so bad I couldn’t ignore them any longer. At one point I was flat on my back like a five hundred pound gorilla was bouncing on my chest. What's his problem? I never ate any primates.
I went to the Doctor he took one look at my EKG and rushed me to the emergency room. They did some tests and determined that I had one foot in the grave and the other on a banana peel. They shipped me by ambulance a hundred miles away to a crack team of cardiologists. My surgeon was ancient shriveled up with hunched shoulders. He reminded me of the proverbial mad scientist, I new right away I was in good hands.
They went to work on me immediately making an incision in my artery and inserted wires and cables from my groin to my heart. They pumped a special dye in to track my blood flow through my heart. Once they determined my arteries were 91% blocked they inflated balloons in there and inserted three stints. Little tubes to keep the arteries open.

You know when you’re laid out on a slab wide awake and some guy you just met five minutes ago is using your heart as a sock puppet. You get a new perspective on life really quick. You also discover just how much excruciating pain you can endure without flinching. For to do so would instantly change the outcome of the procedure. Well, I guess I had it coming, I did eat all those animals.

After my near death experience 16 months ago I had to make a lot of changes. Diet mainly I’ve
lost 40 lbs on my salsa diet. Yeah you eat a lot of greens, very little meat and you cover all that
grass up with SALSA. It’s great and I feel good. I also had to reevaluate my perception of time.
You do that when you pass the reaper in the hall and he winks at you. I’ve been working my crossbreed series for five years and I decided I’ve got to get on with it because time is fleeting.
So how did I do it? Changing my diet was key. No fried food, no pork in any form and yes bacon is pork and stacking it a mile high on everything is not good. No sugary sweets or ice cream except on birthdays. Milk yogurt and cheese in extreme moderation.
Now days I have to eat a lot of vegies fruit and Oatmeal. so it’s good I like them but they can get boring if you must cut out red meat. Now that’s tough if you’re an omnivore. So here’s a tip, but I warn you it’s not for the weak of stomach.

SALSA OLE'

Slice and dice 1 cup of onion, 5 cloves fresh garlic, chile peppers to taste. I like a lot, but you should be careful if you haven’t built up resistance. Add a little cilantro if you have it and a squeeze of lime juice. Now comes the tomatoes. Dice them fresh as many as you need. 5 big ones will make a good amount of salsa. A faster way is 2 cans of diced tomatoes. Either way is good. Add all ingredients to a large pan and bring to a boil. Warning, pan searing peppers, onion and garlic together requires some ventilation. Very powerful combination.
Reduce heat to medium and simmer ten minutes or longer as needed. This is the basic recipe for salsa. From this platform you can run wild. Add almost anything, ground turkey meat cooked

separately or steamed vegies and mushrooms. Pour over rice, noodles, toasted bread of course chips will do but they are high in fat. Salsa has no fat or cholesterol. For a splash of western flavor add a squirt of BBQ sauce.

Salsa really takes the boredom out of vegetarian fare. You can also add cheese and other meats if your heart Doc doesn’t find out. Those days are over for me but the party must go on.

If you’re looking to shed a few pounds my salsa diet works as long as you eliminate the obvious
pound packers. You know the ones without me listing them. Alcoholic beverages are a factor too, I only have a glass of wine rarely anymore. There was a time when I launched battleships on seas of booze but not for many years.
I eventually dropped down to 195. after a year and just stopped, for months I was stuck. This was not good and my cholesterol count was still bad. So I had to make another change. I cut way back on carbohydrates. About a hundred grams a day. I dramatically reduced my bread, tortillas, rice, noodles, potatoes and defiantly cut back on sweets. Oh yeah gravy is for holidays only. I know that's rough but fear not, salsa will save the day I assure you. At this point I started eating the occasional steak, beef has vital nutrients and 2 or 3 times a month is acceptable. You can have a few bites of rice, bread and pasta... I said bites not bowls. A bite fits on the end of a fork. I don't care if it is fat free it's the carbs that kill you.

ZUCCHINI BOATS

We are lucky that we can grow organic vegetables in our garden. This year we started Habanero peppers. Ye ha! Hot!
So what do you do with a squash that’s as big as a watermelon? First you cut it in half and hollow
out the seeds then place in turkey pan. Then get out your slicer-dicer thingy and finely chop up
about a ½ cup each of onion, cauliflower, celery, cabbage, carrots, and broccoli. Then 1 or 2
jalapeno peppers, 5 cloves garlic, 2 eggs and 2 cups turkey stuffing. Moisten with chicken broth.
Grind up 2 skinless chicken breasts and mix it all in a large bowel. Then stuff the boats. Add some
vegies around the side and bake for 1& 1/2 hours at 450. Adjust cooking time to size of zuks.
This recipe is based on what you like and have in the fridge. If you want to go totally vegan leave
out the chicken and sub with lots of mushrooms. If you’re not too keen on all those vegies then
just smother it in salsa like me.
LINTAL FEISTA
Start with chopping red onions, garlic and a pepper. Add a leek if you've got it. Pressure cook a bag of lintels in four quarts of water. Very good for you and goes well with salsa. Actually most any beans will work with this recipe.
HUEVOS CON SALSA
I love eggs but I eat eggbeaters now [0 Cholesterol], I make spinach mushroom omelets with salsa for breakfast. Or oatmeal and fruit. No cholesterol to worry about and the carbs in oatmeal are off set by the fact that oatmeal helps control cholesterol. Unfortunately, oatmeal gets tiresome so I add peanut butter and pecans with blackberries.

NO BURN NO LOSS

Well that covers the diet, but if you don't burn the calories you take in it will never work. I get up before dawn and drink steaming hot Chinese green tea and watch the sun come up over Mystic Canyon. Some times I do this from the tree house. It gets my Zin going to face the day. I work on the computer for a while then I go out and work until around 3pm. I stay really busy just read the other blogs before this one. Physical activity is painful at my age but it keeps me from stagnating. You have to burn those cals and keep the body limber.
So why the big emphasis on salsa? Look at the ingredients. Onions, garlic, tomatoes, and peppers. These four items are packed with nature's healers, all four are known to aid with a score of conditions that plague humans. Thousands of books and articles have been written about them, you've got the internet at your finger tips look it up.
Then you must deal with the fact that we are carnivorous creatures. We love meat, dairy, sweats and bread products. If you cut all that out you will give up in short order because of boredom. Spicy food is not boring, salsa added to most meals will liven up your day. You don't have to go wild like me, I love the burn. You can turn the pepper down to a warm glow and be satisfied.
My current weight is 190 Lbs. When I went in for surgery I was 230. You do the math it's no magic formula. Eat less of fat and carbs work out a lot and spice up your meals to make them fun and exciting. I hope this helps and even if you're not concerned about your weight Salsa is a great party food.
FINAL NOTES
Counting carbs is a pain so I made a carb chart of all my favorite foods by looking them up on the net. I keep it handy where I cook and a small one in my wallet. Don't keep your peppers in the fridge. They tend to rot so leave them in a bowl on the counter. They dry out and turn red but you can still eat them. Also fresh salsa is the best but I always keep a dozen jars of store bought in the pantry. You know just in case the zombies overrun Walmart.

HALLOWEEN COSPLAY

Spooky Jack-o-Lanterns, monster costumes, scary movie marathons and bloody haunted houses. Yes it's that time again and I'm excited and sad. Sad because I won't be going to Vegas to hang out with Evil Don and Gail Charette. They run the loony bin known as the Asylum.

Or check out the block parties with Joe Eagle Eyes and Benny the Badger and other ghoulish gatherings that I wish I could see. Perhaps another time.

Excited however because my son Patrick and I are busy building the Blood Moon Social Club and Crossbreeds pages under the new www.koolkollectables.com. This blog vetterSverse is part of that effort but we are building much more. The BMSC page will have an undead art gallery and a Fangtastic Photo album. Filled with pics form back in the night when Vampire the Masquerade was all the rage.

The crossbreed page will expand on the crossbreed series. Featuring details that may not be in the books. Background on the characters and artwork to flesh out the world of the crossbreeds.

I think most writers approach their work from a classic literary prospective. They work up a concept put together an outline and craft a novel from that.
I do it from the prospective of a gamer. First I design the world and then I work up character profiles. In the beginning with crossbreeds I made miniatures and played out scenarios with dice. Later I visualized the world as a video game. For me this allows the characters to become more real. I get board with stories where the narrative is mostly from the writer. I give my characters each their own voice, I like to hear what they have to say.

Lieutenant Dixon; Eradicator: Infiltrator. Mission: Blend in gather intelligence. Report to Eiger Dracthorn. Reclamation of pre-war technology and precocious materials buried in landfills is crucial for survival in the world of crossbreeds. Hunter's Point a crossbreed stronghold is sitting on a bonanza of recyclable materials. The scrap boom attracts hoards of prospectors looking to stake a claim. One more scavie looks as any other and Dracthorn's agent skulks about drawing little attention. Dixon's first appearance in Scorn the Vulgarian, Crossbreeds 3: Dark Legends.

At this time of year I always enjoy the costumes, make up and props the most. After we moved from Vegas to Mystic Canyon my cosplay gear was buried in a steel vault. Recently I dug it all out. Since I'm in the Halloween spirit anyway I decided to take the crossbreed character development a step further.

Why not? I've got a massive collection of props and a hundred and fifty acres of canyons, winding river and dense forest. For those of you that remember how remote the old ranch was where we held the Blood Moon Vampire games. This is much further out. No one can hear you scream. The perfect setting to let the crossbreeds out of their book world and roam around the real world.

Trooper Rotax; Eradicator: Cyborg weapons specialist. Mission: Seek out and destroy all crossbreeds. The Crossbreed Phenomenon has no known cause. Yet many believe it is a contagion. Eiger Dracthorn believes he has the cure. With bionanotech he mentally controls an army of drones to rid humanity of the source; crossbreeds. Eiger Dracthorn's first appearance in Scorn The Vulgarian; Crossbreeds 3: Dark Legends.

Of course this all seems innocent enough, actually one could argue that it's silly for a grown man to dress up like a hideous mutant and skulk around in the woods with dangerous weapons. Silly you say! Next you'll accuse me of being a delusional paranoid psychotic and that somehow I've become detached from reality. Go ahead it's been said before, I know what they whisper behind my back. Well I say reality is what you make of it. In my world anything is possible. They come alive and speak to me, they live I tell you, they live...

Boris; Stage 2 Crossbreed: Caprine. Saboteur & hijacker. Mission: Bring about the end of technology in the name of the great horned one. With the world in chaos many sought comfort from clergy. When even organized religion could not give adequate response to why children were changing at puberty, cults claiming to have answers sprang up like weeds. A popular theory among them was the rise of the old ones. Somehow the ancient gods had returned to punish mankind for his worship of technology and the destruction of mother earth. Boris appears in Crossbreeds 2: Tanglewood Terrorists.

What I meant to say is they live as figments of my fevered imagination.

Badlander; Occupation: Road Pirate. Mission: Pillage and plunder. With the collapse of the government and disintegration of civilization. Many disaffected souls have gone into the harsh wilderness. Bands of raiders harry truckers and caravans to survive off the spoils. Both crossbreeds and 100% humans prowl the high desert looking for easy prey.

I'll cut this short, it's time for my pills and a nap. For the record I'll tell you the same thing I told the sheriff. I know nothing about those missing collage students. Naked hedonist, they could be anywhere. The deep dark canyons are so unforgiving.