Waterproof
By Amber Garr
Five years after the last drop of clean water disappeared, global societies collapsed and nuclear war shattered all hope of recovery. In a place now only a skeleton of its former self, survivors fight to avoid capture by the government. Forced to work in factories that produce the only drinking water available, those who go in, never come out.
Zach and Vivienne have lived as deserters since they were teenagers. Fighting amongst their own and scrounging for the necessities of life, they’ve learned to rely on each other in every way. Yet when tragedy strikes and the true objectives of the government facility are revealed, their world is ripped apart.
A fate once thought to hold their demise may be the sole answer to their survival. Who can they trust? Who can they believe?
Link to Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPyeJa4PWZ8
Series Website: www.thewatercrisischronicles.com
Buy Links
Smashwords - http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/357057
Barnes
and Noble - http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/waterproof-amber-garr/1116958419?ean=2940045278089
Excerpt :
Ten more
steps.
My legs ached
with every jarring move, growing heavier the closer I got to my destination.
The weight of my bounty pulled against me like a prisoner’s chain. If I dropped
it, I would be safe. The idea taunted me as I ran through the abandoned junk
yard, dodging large pieces of scrap metal and sliding over the rusty hoods of
skeletal cars.
“Drop them or
I’ll shoot you dead,” a gruff voice yelled behind me.
I didn’t dare
turn back. Something whizzed past my ear and slammed into the side of an old
van blocking the path in front of me. A reddish dust full of steel splinters
exploded in my face as the unmistakable sound of tearing metal pierced the dusk
air. I’d gravely misjudged this group of deserters.
Heart
hammering in my chest, I slid to a stop before crashing into the bullet hole
meant for my head. Two bottles slipped from my arms and rolled underneath the
van before I could stop them. Shit.
There wasn’t enough time but I couldn’t go back with only those left in my
hands.
I braved a look behind at my pursuers. The
three men tearing after me had nothing but revenge in their eyes. If the two
sawed-off shotguns didn’t represent their intentions, then the man firing the
military rifle at my head made it very clear.
Another bullet
slammed into the van just as I ducked down to retrieve the bottles. Footsteps
pounded against the broken pavement and dead leaves, sounding more like an army
than a handful of survivors like me. I reached as far as my shoulder would
allow, ignoring the pain searing through my tired muscles. My fingertips
brushed the plastic container just before it rolled further under the van.
“Where’d he
go?” one of the men called out. He sounded close.
Dropping to my
stomach, I nestled the remaining bottles under my left arm, while trying to
retrieve the others with my right. After squeezing half my body underneath the
van, I finally grabbed the first, then the second. Another shot ricocheted off
the ground in front of me. They were trying to flush out my position and if
they found me now, I was dead.
Scooping up
the prized possessions I’d risked my life for, I prepared to run. Trapped
between two vehicles, only one option presented itself - I’d have to get to the
old cargo containers. This particular group of deserters set up their camp
inside a metal scrap yard. Smart and resourceful. The dilapidated containers
had been pushed to the sides, creating a barrier and providing some semblance
of safety. Although I’d slipped through them easily on my way in, my arms were
now full of water bottles that slowed me down.
Water. Wars
were fought and lost over it. People died. Billions of humans perished in the
days leading up to the end. And now I risked my life for a mere eight liters
because we’d used the last natural drop of clean water on the planet five years
ago.
Metal cracked
above my head. Dust fell into my eyes and tiny pellets showered over my back
like a swarm of bees.
“I’ve got
him!”
I looked up in
fear, only to see that I still had a clear path to my escape. Shotgun man had
his sights somewhere else. Now was my chance.
Sucking in a
deep breath, I scrambled to my feet and ran as hard as I could toward the
narrow crevice between the containers. Forcing myself not to turn and look
where they were, I ignored the shouting and distinct sound of shells hitting
the ground.
Five more
steps.
Amber
Garr spends her days as a scientist and nights writing
about other worlds. Born in Pennsylvania, she lives in Maryland with her husband
and their furry kids. Her childhood imaginary friend was a witch,
Halloween is sacred, and she is certain she has a supernatural sense of
smell. Amber is a multiple Royal Palm Literary Award winner, author of The
Syrenka Series, The Leila Marx Novels, The
Water Crisis Chronicles, and the upcoming Death Warden Series. When
not obsessing over the unknown, she can be found dancing, reading, or enjoying
a good movie.
Social Contact
Website: http://www.ambergarr.com
Email: amber@ambergarr.com
Twitter: @AmberGarr1
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