APOCALYPSE ROCK

And so it ends. Thank you for following this story — and it’s meant a lot to me to see that some people have even parted with their hard-earned cash for the ebook/audiobook versions of APOCALYPSE ROCK 🖤 🙏 🖤I wanted to give The Beachcomber the last word, delivering the epilogue to APOCALYPSE ROCK. She is an odd, and to me, endearing character. Along with her obvious personal eccentricities, she is sharp, curious, persistent. Valuable and inspiring qualities, I think.Indeed, The Beachcomber knows that no story ever really ends… And so, for you, o subscribed reader, I do hope the Sternum Island universe will persist, strangely, curiously, irregularly… And there are several more stories set in the Sternum Island universe that I have been developing. More on that soon 👀 I would be remiss to not mention that you can buy APOCALYPSE ROCK as an audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) Bon voyage, happy trails, safe journeys, fare thee well 🐾 A FAMILIAR MONTAGE of aerial shots of different shorelines passed by, filmed using a variety of cameras and recording technology from over the past century: tropical beaches shot in old warbling video, grainy 16mm film footage shows a speedboat cutting a white line across Biscayne Bay in Miami, a series of massive breakers pummel the rocky shores of some dark, treeless and wind-blown Atlantic island, in super-sharp flatness a fisherman in a tiny dinghy waves up at a drone flying across the placid lagoon of a South Pacific atoll, and others. “The Beachcomber,” title comes up in shimmering golden 3D letters. A digital wave of oily water crests and crashes down over the title, submerging it in lurid, frothy blue and green fluid. The ersatz tide pulls back to reveal numerous brightly colored running shoes, covered in black seaweed and encrusted with bone white barnacles. “Ahoy there,” the screen cut to The Beachcomber, standing stiffly on a moss-covered bluff over a choppy grey sea in the background. Dressed in her signature navy blue sailor’s cap and coat, and heavy hiking boots, she stares into the camera as she’s baffled by a strong wind. After a long moment, she finally speaks in her stilted rhythm, “Last episode we were on our way to Sternum Island in the Pacific Northwest. We were to join our investigative crew as they tried to get to the bottom of a mystery. A mystery of dismembered body parts. A mystery of a special school with a dark past, for special kids with troubled lives. A community under a mysterious threat. A mystery with some special, sinister characters…” The screen zoomed in to The Beachcomber’s face, making her nearly transparently pale skin almost glow against the grey seascape behind, her unblinking pale blue eyes widening as if to hypnotize her viewers. “But, that had to be canceled,” The Beachcomber continued, finally blinking her eyes in a slow, purposeful manner. “There was an incendiary event of still unknown origins that seemingly caused a telecommunications blackout, as well as the cancellation of all transportation. We attempted to hire a seaplane, but even air travel had been banned. For safety reasons.” The screen cut to The Beachcomber walking along the bluff, hopping over rocks and logs as she continued. “In the sea, everything is connected. Nothing is separate.” She stopped next to a twisted Arbutus tree and pondered it, raising her hand and touching its thin-skinned blistering bark. The Beachcomber turned back to the camera, “Our team embedded on Sternum Island has yet to report back. We’ll have to wait until telecommunications are restored.” The grainy nighttime image of a speedboat came onto the screen. There were what looked like a dozen figures hunched in it, about to depart from a pier in the rough seas. Animated red circles drew themselves around two of the little, blurry faces as the screen zoomed in. “But before the storm knocked out signal, we received this from our team. It is Brian Bozmann aka David...

Things are coming to a close for Doug and his friends — it’s been a long and strange journey for everyone! Now, after all the changes — the ingratiating new age retreat and their piles of tech corporation cash, missing pets and people, packs of rabid and feral dogs roaming the island, children living out in the woods, and everything else — things seem to have calmed. But, as ever on Sternum Island, things aren’t ever what they seem… If you’d like to get a complete copy of APOCALYPSE ROCK you can buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! “THERE’S THE HOPPER now. Late as usual…” Officer Singh said. Sunlight dappled through Doug’s eyelids, reflections coming off water. He inhaled fresh, salty air. Seagulls squawked in the distance. Somewhere behind him the buzz of a weed whacker echoed, and then a dog barked. Familiar sounds in a familiar landscape. A Reassuring boredom. A blast of a ship’s horn rolled in from the ocean and Doug opened his eyes. It was a sunny day with only a few, small fluffy clouds in the sky. He was down at the Sternum Island Village Marina, facing out toward the calm and radiant sea. Doug was slumped in a wheelchair. A blanket loosely covered his legs, his right hand tucked under it, cradled in his lap. His head drooped to one side, his jaw slack and mouth slightly open. He felt some drool drip down his chin. A gruff wipe of a cloth jiggled his jaw. “No stress, buddy. You’re gonna be in good hands.” Doug recognized Dr Hubble’s voice coming from just over his shoulder. “They’ll get you back to wherever you belong.” “He’s opened his eyes again?” This time it was Officer Singh. “Hopefully Terminal PD can communicate with him.” “They have to take it easy with our boy in the woods,” Hubble replied. “He’s goddamn innocent until proven guilty! He needs to recover properly. Who knows how long that’ll take. Then there’s that weird strain of rabies he got out there, somehow, not to mention the cocktail of meds in his blood. No surprise he’s a goddamn vegetable. It’s a miracle he managed to get to the main road in his condition.” Across from Doug was the marina noticeboard. He could just make out scraps of yellow and bright pink bits of paper, tiny silver staples pinning little colored wedges on the board — the corners of July’s missing posters, the ads for “No Job Too Small!” — all of them had been torn down. “He’ll have ample time to recover. Besides, the fingerprints on the gas cans from July’s shed are enough for us to hold him. And that other house in the central valley? The partials from the explosion up Costo? All over the place.” “Like he was squatting everywhere.” “Or like he was trying to burn the island down.” “Oh, whatever. The Terminal squad can just sit on their asses and wait until he gets better.” Try as he might, Doug couldn’t make a sound, let alone move his mouth. “Speak of the devil… Hey, July! How’re you doin’?” “Morning, you two! What great weather. How’s our mystery man today?” “Ah, some more signs of life,” Hubble replied. “He just opened his eyes again. And the infection where the wrist was severed has cleared up.” “Oh good to hear…” July kneeled down in front of Doug, and peered at him. He could see the deep lines of concern on her face, her sharp nose almost pointing at him, her scrupulous eyes probing. Even with his head drooped to the side, he saw her pupils dilate slightly in the emerald green of her irises. As if she recognized him. “It’s lucky we found him when we did,” Hubble continued. “Woulda had to take it off at the elbow myself…” “Good morning, mystery man,” July whispered to Doug, smiling. “Now I can see your eyes. That’s good. We’re all so interested to find out just who you are, and how you ended up wandering through the woods like that.” There was a...

It’s the morning after the day before, the storm has passed and everything’s peaceful, calm… Well, most everything… If you’d like to listen and/or read all the way to the conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK you can buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! “… TELL YOU WHY? Why I don’t like Mondays? Ok. Let me tell you why!” the deep-fried voice of the DJ sang out of all the radios and digital receivers tuned to 107.7 Horizon FM. “You know exactly why I don’t like Mondays. It’s the same reason you don’t like Mondays. Why none of us like Mondays. Because that’s official pretend-you-like-your-shitty-job day! Pretend-you-respect-your-smiling-stupid-incompetent-boss day!” The long sound of a flatulent rasp rippled out moistly from all the speakers. “And to top off that big ole crap pile, Mondays also mean back to reality. Back to… the news,” the DJ carried on in a grim tone. “Oh, God help us: the news. But do stay tuned. Because after the dread call of the heralds, we’ll return with more golden oldies for all you folks out there hanging onto Horizon FM. Next up it’s country music hour!” A horse whinnying sound effect was followed by the sharp crack of a whip. “And we’re kicking it off with a classic Monday-morning-feels track: Johnny Paycheck’s Take Your Job And Shove It! Stay tuned…” A brassy, triumphant call of trumpets was followed by the nasal voice of a newscaster: “Reports of a large fire on one of the Border Islands is the source of much local interest. And to top it off, Sternum Island, population circa 5,000, has gone silent since Saturday evening, with all telecommunications down and ferry connections suspended due to the weekend’s stormy weather. Residents from islands close to Sternum are talking, though, and they report a large fire visible on Sternum Island’s north side in the early morning hours…” The newscaster paused and there came a barely audible murmuring from the background. “Excuse me, folks… This just in: Terminal City Police Chief John Stonkrin has called an extraordinary press meeting to address new and breaking developments around the recent exponential increase in human foot discoveries around the Salish Sea region. Tammy Way reports.” There was the sound of cameras clicking and people shouting. Tammy Way’s voice spoke rapidly above the noise, “Only two days ago, Chief Stonkrin was forced to make a public announcement due to increased concern around the recent detached human foot discoveries. Now, after numerous rumors across social media about infections being related to the grim discoveries, and a series of protests around the region, Chief Stonkrin has been forced to call another conference.” A voice called people’s attention, then hushing and some coughing, then relative silence, apart from the clicking of camera shutters. “Ladies and gentlemen of the press, and the general public, I thank you for attending on such short notice,” said a flat, emotionless voice. “I wanted to inform the general public about some important developments surrounding the recent increase in human foot discoveries around the Salish Sea region. As you all know, we have been pursuing with haste and relentless energy to find the owners of each foot. As you also know, time and again with these discoveries, they have all been found to the result of tragic accidents or suicide. But, just this morning a medical health issue has arisen. I’ll hand the conference over to Sandra… Uh, Dr Sandra Bernchuck, Lead Health Officer for Terminal City and the surrounding region…” Some coughs and care shutters clicking. “It’s my duty to inform the public that tests have revealed a strain of rabies in several of the detached feet that were discovered last week. From initial results, this is a hitherto unknown form of rabies. It is still...

Doug has escaped the murderous clutches of Gavin and his mercenaries, as well as the attention of the remaining new age acolytes. Into the dark forest, to Arbiter’s Perch, and to meet a kindred spirit, of sorts… If you’d like to listen and/or read all the way to the conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK you can buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! HE STUMBLED THROUGH the forest, dragging the weight of his heavy clump-arm along with him, his hand crushed inside by the bronzed cylinders. The voices in his head had slowed to a more hypnotic pace, fading in volume and intensity. “Moon… Regret… Ancient… Hungry…” As he passed a bluff, on one side the downward slope was clear of trees and he could see the server building below in the distance, glowing, and getting smaller as he traveled further through the undergrowth. Just before it left his view, there came a flickering of shadows, of bodies in front of light, cast up against the translucent walls. He hobbled past Cassandra Lake, the black pool mirror-still, even in the gales. His limbs felt like they were flapping about, becoming ever more weak and disjointed. Above, the powerful winds cleared away the remaining scrappy clouds, the cold stars twinkling up in the vastness. He pushed into the pitch-black forest, the low branches of the evergreens whipping against him. He struggled up over the soft stump of a tree so rotted that it must’ve died a hundred years ago. He slipped down the other side, the clump of cylinders on his hand clinking as he landed hard on his backside. He stifled a yelp. Moisture seeped through the bottom of his trousers, soaking cold on his buttocks. He leaned back against the fallen tree in exhaustion, and looked up. Through a gap in the canopy, the stars slid and spiraled about, cutting long traces across outer space. They sparkled behind the black-on-black silhouettes of heavy branches that twisted like a kaleidoscope, tails flitting and maws chomping. He closed his eyes and the blackness took on radiant depths. The nervous force which had carried him thus far was failing. He was lost. After a while, he opened his eyes. The moon had moved close to the western horizon, and shone a little metallic light through the trees. He was in the middle of a clearing, around him loomed rocky mounds covered in ferns and moss. Bits of jagged, rusted metal stuck out from the undergrowth, old car doors and vulcanized tires, the remains of ancient spring mattresses, motors, wires, and tubing. A locking-style fridge door from the 1950s rose up from a mound to his left, like a standing stone, its chrome handle wrapped in dead, thorny blackberry vines. Only a few flakey patches of the original white paint left after so many decades. He was in the old dump. “Hello?” He called out. After creeping onwards for several minutes, his good hand hit cold rock. It was the sheer stone wall of Arbiter’s Perch. He felt along the surface of the boulder. He could only hear his breathing, and his heart beating loudly in his ears. He would soon pass out from exhaustion. In a hollow at the boulder’s base he squeezed his long body into the small crevice where the stone met the earth. His gangly limbs contracting and releasing, burrowing into the soft soil. His clump hand lay on the ground just outside the hollow, burning inside with excruciating pain. He let his head go limp and closed his eyes. He remembered once being told that focusing on breathing would help after fight or flight reflexes took over. Breathe and then think, he told himself. Breathe then think. Think. Think. His phone vibrated. With his good hand he pulled it out and held it close. Two bars of signal, a small miracle up here. A message had been sent through to his Sternumcoin app. He opened it. “Dear Douglas, I...

This week, everything comes to a boil — and, as the title hints at, it’s not for the squeamish, so consumer beware, there’s some violence and gore herein — Doug’s head is still swimming with voices, and Ramses the Great Dane has reappeared. But now everything that the new age retreat has been working on is about to be exposed… If you’d like to listen and/or read all the way to the conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK you can buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! INSIDE THE TECHNOLOGY Thing, Doug was immersed in the reassuring hum of server and crypto-miner cooling fans. A constant warm breeze flowed around him as he crept through the darkness. The machines blinked red and green like little stars. The words chanted through his thoughts: “… Myth. Bomb. Never. Witch. Collapse. Practice. Feed. Shame…” Ramses was gone, but ahead Doug could see the central space. Light glowed through the ringed hedge of bushes, succulents and small palm trees. Some voices murmured out under the drone of the cooling fans. Doug thought he saw movement through the ring of plants. Keeping to the shadows of the server shelves, Doug snuck up behind one particularly thick cluster of bushes. “… Open. Despair. Creek. Road. Again. Ice. Least. Kingdom…” “… But at least it worked where it needed to…” a voice came through the foliage. It was Marcus. Doug crouched, taking care to hold the heavy clump of cylinders in his pocket. He pushed aside a large, veiny leaf. Marcus was sitting at one of the desks, a laptop open in front of her. Strapped to her back was what looked like to Doug a sheathed sword. Shining Wind sat facing Marcus, his back to Doug. Sitting perched on a desktop to the left was Bruno. In the middle, where everyone’s attention was focused, a holographic image of Tiberius Organ glowed. As Organ spoke, Doug saw that the three dimensional rendering of the businessman-guru from the performance had been replaced by a flattened image. A cartoonish thought bubble rose out of Organ’s frozen smile, “Hey! Due to restricted and/or reduced bandwidth, I’ve been replaced by an avatar :/ I’ll be back to life as soon as possible. Sorry!” “We’ll only know for certain after they wake up,” Organ replied to Marcus from his frozen smile. Doug thought his voice sounded worried, tired. “It’s going to be a long night,” Bruno sighed. Shining Wind was hunched forward in his chair, head drooped and shoulders stooped as if he was scrolling through his phone. “… Maybe only another hour until it wears off,” Marcus continued. “Maybe we can start early…” Marcus was holding up something in her palm and peering into it: a dirty green glass cylinder, the same as Doug’s. “Not yet,” Organ interrupted. “They’ll be confused and groggy, the debriefs need to happen after they’re completely rested. We all want want to get over the finish line, but we can’t risk another Blubber Bay.” “Well, where is she, then?” Bruno replied. “We’ve been waiting for an hour now. Government workers are all the same.” Organ scoffed, “Maybe she’s out looking for her dog?” “Here boy!” Bruno laughed, then patted Shining Wind on the back, making the young man wobble in his chair. This made everyone laugh. Shining Wind stayed motionless apart from the slow rise and fall of his breathing. Heavy footsteps came from behind Doug. He felt his heartbeat increase, and his vision narrow. He shoved his lanky body further into the mass of plants around him, then tried to keep as still as possible, like a scarecrow trying to hide in an open field. Someone passed close by to Doug, then pushed through the wall of leaves and into the central space. Marcus, Bruno and the holographic Organ turned. Standing in her muddy hiking boots at the edge of the space, was July Straitemore. “She has arrived!” Bruno...

Doug awakes to find all humans and beasts asleep in the sweat lodge — and meets an old friend who he hitherto thought was lost… If you’d like to listen and/or read all the way to the conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK you can buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! “AGAIN…” Doug gagged on the frothy kombucha gurgling up his throat. A mouthful of fizzy green bile spewed down his shirt and jacket. Doug rolled over and finished vomiting out the contents of his stomach. “Moon. Regret. Ancient…” The words chanted through his thoughts. After the nausea passed, he rolled onto his back. Above him, the tent roof flapped in the strong mountain wind. Through cracks in the billowing textile, Doug could see that the sky had turned violet, and the first stars of the evening were twinkling through. “Refuse. Actor. Witness…” He sat up and wiped a small bit of vomit from the side of his face. He looked out through the gloom at the slumbering mass of bodies, humans and dogs nuzzled in cozy piles across the floor. The herd of deer had passed out as well, creating a low, brown-haired and antlered wall around everyone. By the stage lay the passed-out figures of the red-robed and orange-suited cohorts. Among them, Bacon snored loudly. Mayor Mike, treasurer Stan, Dr Hubble and Osmar, had collapsed against each other, forming a propped-up pyramid of snoozing figures. Cuddled up with them were a few scraggly lapdogs. “Myth. Bomb. Never. Myth. Bomb. Never…” The wind intensified and the roof shuddered, letting in a chilly gasp of cold air that made Doug shiver. Across the tent, on the small stage, Doug could see all the little bronze cylinders gleaming on the appendages of the contraption. They stirred a bit, and jangled like a crystal chandelier. He felt his jacket pocket rise, as if something was pulling it up. He looked down. Protruding through the fabric was the shape of Doug’s glass cylinder, pointing toward the other cylinders on the contraption, like a magnet. “Collapse. Practice. Feed…” In a stupor, Doug navigated through the crowd of sleeping animals and humans, toward the contraption, his jacket pocket sticking out in front of him, leading the way. He circled around the contraption several times, the cylinder in his pocket jerking from side to side as it passed each appendage. The bronze cluster rattled with the movement, attracted back toward Doug’s cylinder. The hairs on the back of his neck tingled — he could feel an intrusive hum coming from the bronze cylinders, one that he imagined something highly radioactive might give out. But also entrancing, enticing. He reached out. The shock of an icy burn ran up his fingers. He stifled a yelp. “Fuck it,” Doug whispered. If these were so valuable to Golden Years, he reasoned, he might be able to use them as leverage to get his friends back. To try and get rid of Golden Years, and all the other crazies and freakish things that had washed up on Sternum. He adjusted the grimy bandage on his hand, widening it out to form a ragged glove-like padding. Holding his jacket pocket open with his other hand, piece by piece Doug knocked each bronzed cylinders from its appendage. They flew into his pocket. When finished, Doug’s jacket bulged with the bronze clump, now encompassing his dirty green cylinder. Tip-toeing through the slumberers, Doug had to jump over a couple sleeping deer, the cylinders clinked slightly in his pocket. One of the deer snorted, nuzzled its snout into a nearby human’s armpit, then settled again. Inside the tunnel leaving the tent, it was pitch black and the wind roared outside. “Despair. Creek. Road…” the chanting voices in his head stayed strong. A blasting cold wind greeted him outside, chilling the perspiration that covered his body. The driftwood kiosks sat...

And now, the ritual begins… If you’d like to listen and/or read all the way to the conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK you can buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! DOUG’S BLISSFULNESS MEANDERED along pleasantly with the droning voices of the crowd. He began shivering feverishly as the temperature in the tent rose. Around him, people were in various stages of stupor, laughing and smiling as if high. Most people had stripped down to their underwear, or just got naked. Apart from Doug, whose thoroughly drenched clothes stuck to his clammy skin under his jacket. A gong sounded and the crowd went silent as Farleece and her dancers returned to the stage in a graceful flutter of lunges and pirouettes. The dancers too had shed their costumes, now naked apart from their face masks and makeup. Farleece, the slim and pale raven, twirled naked through the crowd. Above her she swung an ornately decorated silver turibulum, suspended on a glittering chain. Thick plumes of incense billowed out from the squat censer’s holes, its heavy smoke wafting over the audience, muting the burned clover smell with the earthy, balsamic pine scent of an orthodox church. All those around Doug were captivated by the naked dancers, expressions of tense wonder on their faces, like they were watching a high-wire circus act. The vocal drone intensified, and a procession of several dozen red-robed figures entered the tent from either side of the stage. Hoods obscuring their faces, they each carried a small silk pillow in their white-gloved hands. Resting on each pillow was a small cylinder — similar to the one Doug had, but all had a dulled bronze sheen. As the robed figures circled the stage, Farleece and the dancers wound around them in a serpentine motion. The robed figures slowly swayed from side to side. A group of five figures emerged from behind the stage. Wearing thick black sleeping masks over their eyes, they were all dressed in the same collarless suits as Bruno and Tiberius wore, but these colored in a dusty tumeric orange. Their heads had been freshly shaved down to the scalp. Each carried an assortment of wood, metal and glass parts — incongruous junk held like some holy relics. In a neatly choreographed series of movements, they stepped through the swaying red-robed figures and naked dancers, onto the stage. In unison, and still apparently blinded, they assembled a tripod structure out of the junk. Atop this tripod they placed a cylindrical glass object resembling the beacon of a lighthouse. From the base of that beacon jutted out numerous metal arms with clasps on the ends. At various places across this contraption were words printed in a Cyrillic script. It looked like an an old box camera to Doug, but one that had collided with a 1950s Soviet satellite, and crashed down to Earth. The orange-suited figures stepped back from their completed contraption. The red-robed figures filed one-by-one up onto the stage, each in turn securing their bronze cylinders onto a clasp. When finished, they filed off to the front of the stage and sat down. The beacon started rotating, its multi-faceted surface shooting out beams of light that refracted through the cylinders, projecting colorful abstract shapes across the tent’s interior. Doug felt nauseous. The audience became immersed in a pallid light, their faces blurred in the pulsing glow; a nose contorted across a face, ears flapped over eyes, arms twisted around torsos, rubbery legs lifted up over heads and flailed as if in some storm that Doug was excluded from. He closed his eyes and put his head between his knees. There, in foetal position, came visions of a mesh of trees before the blackened blue sky, of rolling clouds, a rocky beach strewn with thousands of small glass cylinders, running...

Doug — and seemingly the rest of the Sternum Island population — are cozy in the New Atlantis Sweat Lodge. Now who should show up but Tiberius Organ himself — new age guru and CEO of InnovoSol (among other things), and even though he’s a busy man, he’s got a lot to say… If you’d like to listen and/or read all the way to the conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK you can buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! THE STORM OUTSIDE was growing. Along the base of the tent, the textile ruffled in the wind, making flashes of brilliant daylight flicker in, lighting up the hazy air. A low-pitched, pulsating drone started rumbling throughout the tent. The drone intensified, rising like the string section of a symphony orchestra. Doug rose blissfully with it. A holographic figure of a man flickered into life, glowing out from the middle of the tent. It hovered above the crowd. Perched on a holographic stool, he was smiling with an open, welcoming expression. Trim and dressed in a grey collarless suit jacket over matching trousers, a white t-shirt underneath, moccasins on his feet. He had a five o’clock shadow, its stubble a soft, hazy white against his dark skin, a sparkling upside-down halo. The luminescent figure emanated success. “Hey folks,” he said. “My name is Tiberius but all my friends call me Ti. Since you’ve been generous enough to come along today, I’d like to think we’re all friends. So please call me Ti.” “Hello, Ti!” a few of the audience members called out, groggy sounding from the heat. “I wanted to join you in person today. But, I got delayed. And now, with all the hoo-ha around the storm, I can’t make it, I’m afraid. That said, I’ll be coming up to visit regularly, and so hopefully I’ll see you there soon, we can all grab a coffee in the village sometime…” The hologram of Tiberius shimmered a bit. Doug suppressed a giggle. “… Anyhow, I’m here to tell you a bit about Golden Years. I’ll try and leave out all the boring parts. There’s more than enough material in our archives, if you’re interested in hearing more.” A large image lit up on the main stage’s backdrop. It was an historical painting, like the ones from old National Geographic magazines. In dark, moody swirls the painting depicted a beach. Stormy grey waves frothed out to the horizon. Far in the distance, a large volcano erupted plumes of black smoke and veins of red magma. On the beach, in the foreground, was a small group of prehistoric humans, filthy and dressed in ragged animal skins. They were huddled together, their faces grimacing in terror at the ashy flakes falling over them. “Now, there’s a wolf in our midst,” Tiberius said. “A shark in the shallows where we wade. You hear stories about it. A hunter is out trekking for weeks. They sense they’re being followed, but only ever on the cusp of their consciousness. Then, when they finally see the wolf, when the wolf allows its presence to enter the consciousness of the hunter, it’s too late. The hunter has been got.” The spectral Tiberius stood up and started to pace back and forth above the audience, a worried look on his glowing face. “I’ll get back to the wolf shortly. But, fear not intrepid audience. It’s a presence we can actually do something about.” A warm smile returned. “If you know anything about me, then you’ll know I love science. I love its processes, I love its history, and I love how it never ends. The kind of truth that science creates is always just our best guess at the time. From the perceived facts at hand, of course. But it’s contingent. Science tries to cast light onto things, and expel the dark ghosts of ignorance. Kill the beasts that stalk us, banish the…” A gust of wind shook the tent violently. Tiberius flickered, and several distorted lines coursed through his body...

This week, Doug finds himself herded into the so-called New Atlantis Sweat Lodge, and things are about to get… dramatic. If you’d like to listen and/or read all the way to the conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK you can buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! THERE WERE SEVERAL hundred people inside the tent. There was a dim, warm sepia light, the color of sand. A hodge-podge of old woven carpets had been laid about the space. Hundreds of large pillows were scattered about the floor, upon which numerous people already reclined. Adults and children relaxed and chatted in the dusky light. Over the musk of bodies, and gasps of mountain air, hung the heavy scent of burning clove. The mugginess increased as people continued to pour in. Beads of sweat dripped down Doug’s forehead. He settled down on a mound of pillows and stared up at the tent’s roof. The light from outside flickered and reflected through the space in a way that pleased Doug. The warm feeling in his stomach had spread through his body. Despite the crush of the crowd, he felt calm, almost better than he’d ever felt before. The paranoid feeling of being surrounded and forced to enter the tent was completely gone. His wounded hand wasn’t throbbing anymore. His arms and legs tingled with numbness, but it felt pleasant. He had an urge to giggle. “Woe betide!” A rotund, pasty-skinned man with dyed, jet-black hair and a goatee was precariously perched atop a ladder rising up from a circular stage at the center of the space. He was wearing a Tudor costume of heavy red fabric, a white, lacy silk ruff around his neck. He wore a headset microphone which amplified his raspy voice around the tent so loud it was hard for Doug to think. “Woe betide! I am Francis Bacon! Esteemed philosopher and statesman. And I say again: Woe betide those who stray from the path of their own heart!” It was DJ Bacon, now bellowing in a hammy, fake English accent. “And scorn for those who let their minds drift into ill-thinking and poor process.” The same sword that had been hovering above the tent outside, now descended through the roof. Bacon reached up and grabbed it. He waved the blade around at the crowd, motioning for them to sit. “True success is all in the ghosts one chooses to honor…” At the base of the ladder, right below Bacon, sat Dr Hubble in his Jedi costume, next to mayor Mike Dobson and treasurer Stan Brakhage. They where dressed in purple robes with golden trim that gleamed against the velvety fabric. With them sat a burly man, a head of bushy black hair, and a beard to match, his eyes hidden behind opaque, wraparound sunglasses. It was Osmar Elian Prullansky, cult film director, and Siobhan’s current boss. The group swayed from side to side, humming along with each other in a meditative state. Around them were more robed island locals, swaying and humming in unison. As the temperature inside the tent increased, people in the audience started to strip clothes off. Bacon continued to ramble loudly from the ladder. His hand clasped to the illuminated sword, as if he was dangling from it. The sweat-beaded furrows of his brow, the oddly gaunt chub of his pallid jowls. Doug could see them in surprisingly clear detail, the man’s heavy theatrical makeup highlighting the distinctive crow’s feet that spread out from Bacon’s eyes. Doug’s stomach froth rose higher, travelling up his gullet, tingeing his mouth with a rank, bitter taste. “Beloved travelers,” Bacon shouted across the audience. “Before we begin, I must ask you to switch off all cellphones, cameras, and any recording device of any type. It will help preserve the integrity, and the enjoyment of tonight for everyone.” There was a flutter of distraction around the tent, while Bacon waited awaited the audience. When calm...

Doug’s on his own now, pushed ever further by throngs of visitors to the new age retreat’s open day. His kombucha gets spilled, there’s gibberish in the air, and holograms… If you’d like to listen and/or read all the way to the conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK you can buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! ANOTHER WAVE OF people pushed up against Doug, making him spill frothy kombucha over his bandaged hand. The fermented tea soaked through quickly, stinging his wound. He stifled a yelp. Doug squinted in the harsh sun. He sipped down the last of his kombucha, and then gulped down Gus’s as well. “I’ll take care of that,” a smiling young woman plucked the empty cups out of Doug’s hands. Written across her raw hemp t-shirt was, “I’m Official: Ask Me Anything!” in a child-like scrawl. Doug’s stomach bubbled warmly as he was slowly swept further along by the crowd. Like he was drifting down a slow river, he could lift his feet up, then just float with everyone else. In the distance, he spotted the top of a structure poking up above the prefab roofs. White sails billowed about in the mountain breeze, striking against the brilliant blue sky, as if about to rip loose and fly off into the Earth’s atmosphere. Another surge of the crowd, and Doug saw the large tent blossom into view. It was shapeless, like a cloud, sheets of super-light tarpaulin fluttered over an invisible skeleton, keeping the bones of the structure itself always just out of view. Plumes of white smoke or steam puffed out from cracks hidden deep in the tarp, making it seem even more otherworldly. At the center of the rippling walls was a dark tunnel, people streaming into it. As the crowd pushed Doug toward the entrance, a gust of wind ran over the structure, making the sheets whip even harder. Plumes of steam puffed out, a blast of tepid air exhaled from the tunnel’s mouth, making Doug’s face feel sticky. Pink pieces of paper fluttered out from the gaping maw — it was the missing poster of July. Inside the tunnel, Doug could make out hundreds more of July’s face smiling in the darkness. There was an electric crackle over the tent. Doug looked up to see the moon had already appeared, making its way toward the western horizon. Cast over the silvery disc was a sword, its jewel-encrusted hilt sparkling, hovering high up in the air on its own as if by magic. It was the sword that Doug had seen in the paintings at the art exhibition. For a second the sword shimmered and wobbled slightly, like the tracking distortion from an old video tape. It was a hologram, somehow projected atop the tent, glowing and sputtering in the rising steam. “All soul-carrying phenomena welcome!” the DJ’s amplified voice carried above the wind, and echoed across the canton. “The bones will sing… in a good way! The mountain will burn… in a good way! How’s that for a Saturday night?! The New Atlantis Sweat Lodge welcomes you, phenomena… in a good way!” The DJ was now practically screaming, his voice forcing its way deep into Doug’s ears. The warmth in Doug’s stomach grew, the lightness of it lifting his mood against the DJ’s intrusion. A song blasted from the loudspeakers: the pip-pip-pip sound of a metronome followed by an elephant-like trumpet call, then a familiar, airless voice sang a cappella and lonesome through the blustering wind: “Me llamo es moon con regret, as kept ancient zen tree hungry. At con refuse actor watashi wa witness, men el dolphin para myth bomb never.” Everyone flowed into the darkness of the tunnel. Doug’s stomach frothed along with them. As their feet trod over thousands of empty kombucha cups, July smiling all around them, the voice sang on: “Tu refuse un actor con fall witness, Il Sono Dolphin to Myth Bomb Never, alla witch, shining stiffer, scheduled...

This week: Doug and Gus arrive at the Golden Years retreat near the summit of Mt Costo searching for their missing friends, and things are heating up — literally: the sun is out and it’s boiling! Luckily, the new agers have set up a kombucha stall… But what’s with all the creepy kids dressed up like animals, following Doug and Gus around? If you’d like to listen and/or read all the way to the conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK you can buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! THE PREVIOUSLY DESERTED retreat was now buzzing with visitors. At that altitude, the mountain winds swept away the evaporating water immediately, making the forest air fresh and sweetly fragrant. Out on the plateau, under the direct sun, it burned. The blue metal walls surrounding the cantonment had been decorated with a trim of dark green branches and cut ferns. These had been woven into the bows, the wreathing punctuated with late seasonal wildflowers of yellow and blue. Posted up around the retreat’s entrance were dozens of July’s bright pink missing posters, her happy face smiling out. “You weren’t joking when you said it was institutional,” Gus wiped sweat from his pink forehead. “I mean, they tried… But man, all those posters of July? I get that they’re just trying to help. But it looks creepy. It’s like they’re… I dunno, mocking her…” Gus continued his stream-of-consciousness monologue as he followed Doug and joined the crowd of people entering the retreat’s main gate. They had decided that they should scope out the retreat, and try to slip away from the crowds to search for any clues that might lead them to their missing friends. Inside, hundreds of people were wandering around the windowless prefab buildings. Each of the bland structures had also been trimmed with lush foliage. Folks mingled and chatted while children played. Doug recognized many of the people as locals, but just as many looked to be from off-island. Dotted around the cantonment were kiosks made out of driftwood. From a distance, these strange assemblages looked arachnid, crustacean and prehistoric in their bleached bone-like material. Each had a theme of its own: “Plant-based Hot Dogs & Burgers,” “Tarot Readings & Astrology,” “Massage & Chillout,” “Bespoke Garments,” “Eco-psych Therapy,” “Endless Wellness & Community Alignment,” “Cryptocurrency Top-up,” and so on. One of the larger and most popular kiosks had “Job Information and Enrolment Centre,” posted above it. Doug spotted the perfect place to slip away — the “Kombucha Refreshments” kiosk was right in front of a small alley between two buildings that led back to a cordoned-off section of the cantonment. He and Gus could line up and buy some drinks, then sneak off behind the kiosk when no one was looking. “… I’m all into carnivals. But this is straight out of a horror film,” Gus had stopped in his tracks, and was now almost hissing as he pulled on Doug’s elbow. “What do you mean?” “What do I mean? The kids in animal costumes!” Gus explained, nodding his pink head toward a kiosk. Doug glanced over to where Gus was motioning. Just outside the “Massage & Chillout” kiosk, a small figure dressed in red leotards, a fox mask covering their face, was slowly writhing up and down, lurching playfully at passersby. “Messed up…” Doug muttered, the heat was making him dizzy. “Let’s get something to drink, then try and get away behind there…” “Man… Déjà vu. I’ve seen that before…” Gus stopped again. He was staring at another dancer. This one, dressed in gray leotards and wearing the mask of a hare, was prancing around outside the employment kiosk, teasing the visitors, its long felt ears flopping around. “Shit!” Gus whispered, eyes widening, face pinker. “I can’t believe it!” “What can’t you believe, Gus?” “It’s my old...

This week: Doug and Gus head to Mount Costo in search of their missing friends and some answers — they’d better hurry as there’s a storm brewing… If you’d like to listen and/or read all the way to the conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK you can buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! GUS LOOKED UP from his phone. “Well, actually, humans can be infected with rabies.” Doug and Gus were driving north, on the central road that wound its way through Sternum, toward Mount Costo. Outside, the rain had stopped, and the sky had brightened, turning the forest’s emerald greens vibrant, and making its foliage gloss in the sun. “That’s an urban myth,” Doug responded after a moment. He stretched his bandaged hand. It throbbed and ached. “No. Promise. It’s real,” Gus replied. “It could explain Sweetland last night. Aggressive and agitated — I mean, he always is. He needs help with that for sure — But, having strange thoughts and hallucinations? Bizarre postures and contortions? Seizures? That fits the bill. It can be fatal if it isn’t treated.” “Okay. I dunno. Burning all those dogs wasn’t exactly a sign of balanced mental health.” “Maybe that’s what’s been happening to us?” Gus gave Doug a timid sideways glance. “Maybe we all have some mutated form of rabies? And it’s developing in different ways, and at different speeds in all of us?” “Right. So first, I need to see a therapist. And now I need to see a doctor about my rabies. Or do you think the entire island has rabies?” Doug asked. His patience at the end of its tether. “It’s a possibility.” “I don’t fucking think so, Gus.” “And it’s any less plausible than a bunch of hippies brainwashing everyone with some node or whatever?” Gus’s face had started to go red. “Interstellar probe.” The two sat in silence for a while. “Well, anyway. We should call the ambulance if we see Sweetland,” Gus summed up. “What ambulance?” Doug muttered, and turned on the radio. Gus frowned out the passenger side window. “… warnings of high winds remain through the weekend, and all sailings around the Juan de Fuca Straight and Terminal City have been cancelled. Likewise, all light aircraft have been grounded, and all small vessels are urged to find a safe port. This is 107.7 The End…” “Ain’t Kansas anymore, buckaroo,” Gus said to the radio. Doug laughed, and the tension in the car eased slightly. The breathless newscaster continued: “Chief Stonkrin updated the public this morning about the department’s ongoing investigation into the recent human foot discovery on Bainbridge Island.” The police chief’s deliberate voice came on. “As most of you folks know, we are investigating the recent discovery of a detached human foot, found in Murden Cove. We have made significant headway in the past day regarding identifying the missing person, whose foot this belonged to. But, as you know, for a few different reasons, we need to keep that information out of the public sphere right now… And a complicating factor has arisen. Over the past 24 hours, there have been new detached human foot discoveries across the Salish Sea region. That’s from Galiano Island in the north, and down to Whidbey Island in the south. At last count, 12 more feet have been discovered…” “Woah,” Doug exclaimed. “The earthquake coulda caused it,” mused Gus. “Shook out some of the corpses, made the feet come off and float up.” “We have tried to keep the discoveries out of the news, due to our ongoing investigation, as well as to keep rumors to a minimum. But unfortunately, as usual, many folks have decided to post information about it onto social media. So, we’re releasing that info today. With a reminder that all previous solved cases have clearly shown accidental death, or suicide as a cause…” Approaching headlights blinked over a...

It seems like the replacement of Sternum Island’s population is almost complete — right down to Brandi of Brandi’s Café now being run by the human-boutique-pop-up known as Shining Wind. The sight of a particularly hallucinogenic donut led to Doug having a waking dream from which he emerged to find himself assaulting Shining Wind. Definitely not in character for Doug. Luckily, good old Gus was there to help settle things down. THIS WEEK? Preparing for the storm that’s about to hit Sternum… 🚨 OMG!!! you can now – right now! – listen and/or read to the (wowza!) *conclusion* of APOCALYPSE ROCK! Buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! “I GET IT, Dougy, sometimes you just wanna, like… wring someone’s neck until they’re dead as dead can be!” Gus and Doug were standing by the old and battered station wagon. “But I really need to say that what you just did was transgressive. You looked like you’d lost your friggen mind!” “I watched a video last night,” Doug said in a low voice, leaning against his car and glancing over Gus’s shoulder at the cafe behind him. “It was about Shining Wind. Him and Golden Years… and July…” Doug shivered as he lit a moist and slightly bent cigarette. It took him several tries. “Zip up your jacket, Dougy,” Gus gave him a worried look. “You look like you’re going into shock.” Doug yanked the zipper up, and pulled the hood over his head. “The video said that Golden Years do brainwashing experiments. Like, government brainwashing. It said they’re trying to take over Sternum using mind control. Somehow, Shining Wind’s involved. And maybe July too…” Doug held the glass cylinder up to Gus’s face. “This is an interstellar probe that can travel at the speed of light,” he said. Gus blinked, and readjusted his glasses. Doug took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled. “It has such strong gravitational effects, that it can mess with your head. Like time and space and reality stuff. I think these are all over the island.” Gus frowned and thought for a while. “Y’know, between you, me and the birds, I had a mental health issue years ago that required some professional help. I know. I’m everyone’s easy-come-easy-go Gus these days,” Gus rambled, seemingly unaware of Doug’s confused look. “But I wasn’t always like that. I had a few anger issues. I couldn’t control it and it was ruining my life. I don’t mind telling you that it was a small part of me and July going our separate ways. Anyhow, I ended up seeing loads of psychologists, therapists, counselors. You name it, I talked to it! But nothing worked. I mean, they were all good people, with good intentions, right. Road to hell is paved with all those and that. Nothing matters at the end of the day if you just can’t connect with someone. It needs to be a proper relationship.” “I don’t really understand…” Doug replied. “What are you talking about?” “Just hear me out,” insisted Gus. “Eventually, I found someone who clicked. Who really got me. It sure took a while to make it work. But it helped me become the man you see before you today.” “So… You’re saying you think I should go and see a therapist?” asked Doug, growing weary of Gus’s rambling. “I’m saying you have to find someone who gets you,” Gus explained. “It could be a therapist, a doctor — I don’t mean Doctor Hubble, right — or a guru, a creative writing mentor, a lover. Anyone. So long as you have a connection.” The two stood silently in the rain for a long moment. Gus had gone pink again. Doug’s head was lowered. He stared at the ground as he took another puff. “Okay, look, Gus,” Doug exhaled a plume of smoke. “You can take what I just told you seriously or not. But you have to agree that there’s something bad going on. And I don’t mean more llamas getting loose, or that Mayor Mike’s been dipping...

It’s the morning after the day before and Doug’s realized he’s not the crazy one — it’s everyone else! Or so he thinks. Either way, he needs a coffee… 🚨 DID YOU KNOW: you can listen and/or read right to the (brain-melting-in-a-fun-way!) conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK *right now* Buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! “I WAS OUT of it, so I guess they took me home. I can’t remember a goddamn thing! I gotta say I’m a bit embarrassed. I hope they didn’t have to put me to bed… I swear I only had two drinks!” Doug and Gus were walking down the main road, toward the cafe. They huddled in their jackets against the rain. Siobhan had picked up the kids early in the morning, rushing to try and catch the first — and likely, due to the storm warning, last — sailing back to the mainland. Doug had tried to reach Bear and Brandi, but neither had answered. So, he and Gus had agreed they needed to figure out what their next steps should be. But, Gus seemed more preoccupied with rehashing what had already happened, and had rambled non-stop since they met. “It’s all incredibly concerning. All this stuff happening at Leek Point in the middle of the night. I have to say, my entire life on Sternum, no good has ever come out of that place. Trust me, the things my father told me about what went on there? You do not want to know! If that Gavin guy is involved there, and he’s as warped as you say he is, it’s good you got the girls off Sternum. I really hope they caught that ferry. All seaplanes were grounded from this morning, and the all the sailings just got canceled. I hate to say it, but maybe everyone else should have got their kids off the island too!” Doug nodded his groggy head. The cafe doorbell chimed and the cozy, coffee-scented atmosphere enveloped them. A dozen or so people sat around the cafe, chatting quietly. Doug didn’t recognize anyone. The cafe sound system reverberated with Brandi’s favourite whalesong composition. The slow, elegiac variations of the sea mammal underscored by relaxational instrumentals. They went up to the counter. The service area, and the kitchen behind it were empty. There was a large pot steaming on the stovetop. “Hello?” Doug called out. “Hey, Brandi! Rise and shine,” Gus bellowed. “You got some VIP customers out here!” Doug hung his drenched jacket on the coat rack by the door. Gus whacked the bell on the counter several times. Pinned on the noticeboard was the bright pink missing poster of July. It overlapped with another, promoting the Golden Years retreat. That showed a picture above Costo in the bright sun, the sea in the distance. Its bottom edge was torn. All the little cut leaves with contact information had been taken. Pinned around that were even more Golden Years posters. These ones featured a large, ornately drawn picture of a radiant sun. Printed around that – as if rays of light – were the words, “Today! Golden Years Retreat. Community Open Day From Noon. Rain or Shine! Free Food, Drink, Entertainment. Sweat Lodge & Meditation Sessions. All Souls Welcome!” From behind Doug, a man’s voice called out from the kitchen. “Greetings, and good morning, folks!” “Uh, hey?” Doug heard Gus’s surprise. “It’s Gus, isn’t it? May I offer you a beverage or a bite to eat?” Doug turned around from the noticeboard. Behind the counter was Shining Wind. He wore an immaculate canvas cooking apron, and was carrying a large tray of donuts that he’d just finished decorating. “Morning, Dougy,” Shining Wind gave a warm smile and put down the tray. “I didn’t see you over there. Coffee or donuts? They’re as fresh as can be.” Doug and Gus looked at Shining Wind, standing behind the same counter where Brandi had greeted them most every day for well over the past decade. Brandi, who was now missing. A...

So now Doug’s sure that the population of Sternum Island is being mass-brainwashed by cold-war mind-control techniques - enhanced by the private tech giant, InnovoSol. Still, he needs some rest to clear his head and figure out what to do. But while he’s trying to get to sleep, Doug’s friends have been busy… 🚨 DID YOU KNOW: you can listen and/or read right to the (frazzled-in-a-fun-way!) conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK *right now* Buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! DOUG WOKE IN a clammy sweat. There was a ringing in his ears, and his right hand throbbed from the unhealed bite. The wind and rain had let up, and he could hear dripping outside, from the gutters and trees. He’d been dreaming of disembodied eyes staring at him through his bedroom window, staring at him through his phone, through his computer. Doug rolled over. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the light of his phone switch off. In the darkness, his retina was marked with a shape of the screen and a message notification. He fumbled around in the dark, and managed to open his phone. It was a message from Bear. He had sent an image of the Leek Point building at night, lit up by floodlights around the perimeter of the fence. Bear sent another. This one was taken closer to the building. It showed several cargo trucks outside the loading bays at the back. On the side of one truck was an image of a smiling pig wearing a cowboy hat. The text over it read, “Seattle City Beer Barn”. Another image arrived. It showed a massive, pale green tanker truck with “Border Islands Water Systems,” written on its side. The truck was leaving the facility, let out of the gates by uniformed guards, machine guns hanging off their shoulders. Bear sent another, a short, grainy video. It must have been taken from a very close position as it clearly showed the inside of the loading bay. There were several palettes of beer and soft drinks. But instead of being delivered to the Leek Point facility, the crates were being taken back out, and loaded onto the truck. For a split second, Doug could see the figure of a man emerge from behind one of the palettes. Doug paused the video. It was blurry as anything, but unmistakably the school counselor, Gavin, still dressed in his muddied grey suit and tie. Another image arrived. This one was dark and distorted. Of nothing in particular, taken by accident. Doug messaged Bear, “Did you get over the fence?” When he didn’t hear back, Doug tried calling. But Bear didn’t answer. After ten minutes, Doug’s calls came back with a not-in-service message. He tried to fall back asleep, just for the blissful darkness of an hour or two, he hoped. But his mind was rushing. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit apocalypserock.substack.com

After last week’s violent altercation between the log-wielding Doug and the sinister school counsellor Gavin, it’s bed time. Doug is bushed. But the night still holds some more surprises – namely, The Beachcomber: she’s returned with some startling research that will finally shed some light on all the shadowy goings-on around Sternum Island… 🚨 DID YOU KNOW: you can listen and/or read right to the (brain-jiggling!) conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK *right now* Buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! A gust of wind and a splatter of rain shook the window, waking Doug up. His shirt was soaked in a cold sweat. He stumbled out into the corridor. He looked in on Dora and Irene. He could see the gentle motions of their breathing. He went to the bathroom. In the mirror, his face was sallow, but the bruise on his head was healing, and the stain from Hubble’s secret sauce was fading, thankfully. He disinfected, and redressed the bandage on his right hand. It was still red and painful. He double-checked all the locks on the doors, and made sure the windows had been closed properly. At the front door he took the glass cylinder out of his jacket pocket, clutching its cold weightlessness in his hand. He returned to his bed. He tried to take a picture of it again, using his phone. Still just a blank screen. He put the cylinder on the bedside table, and pulled the warm covers back over him. Just as he got comfortable, his phone vibrated. Siobhan had messaged: “I’ll be on the first flight in. I think it was a mistake to threaten Sharynne. But that’s really scary what you describe about this school counselor. I think the girls should have a mini-break. I can take them to their grandma on the mainland until all this blows over.” Doug wrote back: “Yes, it was a mistake. But couldn’t help it. Good idea with the mini-break.” Doug was still confused as to whether what he experienced earlier that night in the pub had been real, imagined, or otherwise hallucinated. He looked through local Facebook pages, on the Undertow site, and whatever other blogs might have been posted about it all. But there was nothing. His phone vibrated again. Another message from Siobhan. “I’m in a taxi to the airport now. Osmar is with me. He’s going to the retreat. I’ll come get the kids as soon as I arrive. Please get their stuff ready. The ferries might get canceled from the storm, so we’ll leave right away. ” Doug went to Shining Wind’s Instagram profile. The past couple of days showed images of what looked like the woods on Costo, of the giant trees towering up into the sky, and the sea reaching out into the distance, of the young man standing on Arbiter’s Perch, staring out into the horizon. There were a series of videos from the art exhibition, showing the abstract paintings, their vectors and vortices. Over those images, Shining Wind had added colorful animated text: “Avantnow,” “accelerationismB4accelerationists,” “Transcendental Abstraction is Healing,” “The Spirit is Eternal,” and so on. The most recent post was a black square. Doug clicked on it. A press-play arrow popped up over the square. Doug tapped it. A grainy video began. Shot in slow motion, it showed Sweetland’s police truck engulfed in flames. The dog corpses just a burning blur. Shining Wind had added a filter that accentuated the oranges and reds of the curling flames, overlaying it with a grainy, old camcorder video effect. Doug could see the crowd of pub-goers, glowing in the orange light. Everyone still and silent, hypnotized by the burning truck, and its grisly contents. In the caption below the video, Shining Wind had pasted a quote, “Fire that’s closest kept burns most of all – William Shakespeare.” Doug opened the comments thread. There were hundreds of them: “How’d u get this...

Doug’s come down and sobered up - at least he thinks he has. But back home there’s a few surprises waiting for him… 🚨 DID YOU KNOW: you can listen and/or read right to the (brain-jiggling!) conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK *right now* Buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! THE LIGHT IN the kitchen was still on. Doug hung his jacket up. He could see light coming from behind the door to the living room. A voice was murmuring. The door to the kid’s room was open, and Doug could see their empty beds, the covers missing. He crept along the carpeted corridor toward the living room. The murmuring voice becoming clearer. It was too deep to be Sharynne. “Little Puppy visited her friend Tiny Bear. As they sat together in a clearing, the moon hovered just overhead.” It was a man’s voice. “Fireflies fluttered around them. Speckles like twinkling stars fell from their wings. Tiny Bear wanted to play with them. Little Puppy did too, but with regret, she had to tell Tiny Bear it was time for them to go home.” The man was reading from Irene’s favorite book, about a little puppy and his adventures in a forest at night. “On the way, Little Puppy and Tiny Bear walked by Ancient Cave. Silly Boy was inside, snoring up a storm. “Don’t sleep all night!” Little Puppy sang. “We are hungry and want you to cook for us!”” Doug peered into the living room. “But Silly Boy had to refuse…” The voice came from a grey-haired man, sitting on the sofa, his back to Doug. On a chair to the right of the sofa sat Sharynne. Gently rocking back and forth, her posture erect, arms folded neatly in her lap. There was a vacant smile across her face, her eyes wide open but staring off into the distance, as if hypnotized. She was sweating profusely in her massive fuzzy jumper. Opposite the man, facing Doug, Dora and Irene sat on the floor in their pyjamas. Pillows and bedding around them, the fireplace roaring behind them. Doug felt its dry heat escaping out the crack in the door, blowing softly over his face and hands. “Little Puppy and Tiny Bear went home to their mountain, gazing at the sky. They wondered if Silly Boy had ever seen fireflies or stars…” Neither Sharynne nor the man had noticed Doug coming home. But now Doug recognized the voice. “Hey, kiddos!” He said, striding over to his daughters. He crouched down to give them a hug, but they didn’t react. They didn’t even notice him. They were unblinkingly fixated on the man reading to them. “Dora? Irene?” Doug held their arms, but neither daughter responded, their glazed eyes stared out vacantly. “Dora!? Irene!?” Doug grabbed their hands, but there was no response. He stood up and turned to the man on the sofa. The heat from the fire was stifling. It was Gavin, the school counselor. He was perched cross-legged and erect on the sofa. Though warm inside, he was tightly buttoned into his grey suit and tie outfit. “Why are you here?” Doug asked. “Why is he here, Sharynne?” A little jolt seemed to pass through Sharynne, but she kept her vacant stare. “Mr Shasta…” Gavin tried to say something. Ignoring him, Doug walked over to Sharynne, “Are you awake? Are you here? Wake up!” “Mr Shasta,” Gavin continued, “Sharynne is in a deep state of meditation, as are your children.” Doug put his hand on Sharynne’s shoulder. He felt the twitch of a motor-reflex, but no change in her gaze. “Mr Shasta. It’s futile to persist. Sharynne is focused, beyond your presence. She is aware of you, but her mind is operating across multiple layers of consciousness, and you are but a small part of a fold in that right now.” Doug went back to his daughters, a rage boiling up inside him. Their eyes still blank. “Dora and Irene are perfectly fine,” continued Gavin. “Trust me, they’re in a good place. You could say they...

This week, Doug and his friends drag themselves home from their mind-bending session at the pub, all with varying levels of sobriety… 🚨 DID YOU KNOW: you can listen and/or read right to the (brain-jiggling!) conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK *right now* Buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! “NO ONE’S PICKING up,” Brandi seemed sober. Maybe it was because she was sitting next to Gus, in the back of Bear’s car. Gus was clearly inebriated, his belching figure swaying unsteadily. “I thought the compound was supposed to forward our calls to Terminal PD, if they couldn’t answer.” The car roared around a sharp corner, making Gus slump over into Brandi, knocking the phone out of her hand. “Oof. Sorry,” he slurred. Brandi reached down into the footwell and retrieved her phone. “I’m feeling… off. I’ll try to get back to you shortly…” “If we can’t get through to anyone,” Brandi put the phone back to her ear, “we should go and check Leek Point ourselves. July’s been missing for too long now. This replacement cop should really be doing something.” The four sat silently for a moment, individually mulling over the strange evening and its horrifying climax. Doug’s jeans had completely dried. Most likely in the heat of Sweetland’s crematory bonfire. No one mentioned it, but a smell of urine wafted through the car whenever Doug moved. As they pulled up Doug’s driveway, Bear spoke up, “Ok. So I know it was a crazy night. But did you see how drunk everyone was? Even before the whole thing with Sweetland?” “Yeah, I was a complete mess,” Doug struggled to recall his conversation with Bruno and Shining Wind. And his nightmarish confrontation with Constable Sweetland, at the time seemingly unforgettable, was fading too. “But, like a beer and a joint couldn’t do that… What I thought Sweetland told me about July… that could have been a hallucination. It’s hard to believe that she ran off into the woods with a pack of dogs…” “No it isn’t” Gus slurred again. “Maybe,” Brandi replied. “But we have to follow it up.” Doug looked back at Gus, “How many drinks you have tonight, Gus?” “Oh, just one or nine!” Gus laughed to himself. “No, just two. Hoppy Ending. Damn strong stuff!” “I had three,” Brandi replied, laughing at Gus’s dissolute state. “But they hit me. I had this moment when one of those posters they have in the pub, it came alive. Some old lumberjack from the 1800s popped out of his picture. He asked me for a cigarette. Then told me that I should start accepting Sternumcoin at the cafe. And then he told me that I had to hire Shining Wind as a pastry chef!” “Point proved?” Bear smirked. “So it was more than just drunk. Like everyone was on acid, or something. I only had one drink. But I had some crazy, mind-bending hallucinations. Like the pub was some arena, packed with hundreds of thousands of people. I thought I was gonna have to leave my car there. But you know. The minute I got out, I was back to normal. And it wasn’t just me. Charlene was out of it, Old Ted was out of it, everyone seemed high. But when we left? Nothing!” Bear pulled the car up outside Doug’s front door. The motion sensor switched on the light over the front porch door. It glared through Bear’s rain-spattered windshield like a lamp in a police interrogation. “I think our drinks were spiked,” said Bear. The friends continued discussing their theories, but Doug was tired. He said a quick goodnight, and before anyone could respond, he jumped out of the car and ran through the rain toward his house. He did feel far better; he was lighter, his sense of coordination had returned. The night at the pub felt like some twisted dream, growing ever more distant with each passing moment. This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other...

Maybe it was the mix of the drugs, booze and meds that Doug’s on, but if he was hoping for a chilled out time at the pub, it was quite the opposite. Now, after his psychedelic experience in the art gallery, Doug’s trying to get his mind and body back in gear, and get out of this place! But the erstwhile local law enforcement might have some other ideas… 🚨 DID YOU KNOW: you can listen and/or read right to the (brain-jiggling!) conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK *right now* Buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! EVERY STEP DOUG took down the stairs felt like another turn loosening a clamp from his head. He had to look down at his every single footstep to make sure he didn’t topple over and land back in the pub head first. When he was sure that he’d got to the ground floor, Doug looked up. There, across the room, leaning against the bar alone, and gulping from a glass of beer, was all seven-foot five of Constable Sweetland. His massive leather-gloved hand made the pint glass it held look the size of a baby’s first cup. His red Mounties uniform was buttoned tightly around his thick torso, its red fabric slashed and stained all over. Spots of dark and sticky blood splattered his gray-skinned face. The previously packed pub was now almost completely clear of people. The remaining stragglers were slowly backing out the main door, into the rainy night. Sweetland glared at them, using the threat of eye contact to push them outside. Sitting on the bar, next to Sweetland, was a long wooden-handled axe. The kind you use to split tree rounds. Its sharp, heavy metal head was covered in blood. His other gloved hand was lightly cupped over the axe handle’s throat, fingertips stroking it gingerly. An orange light flickered through the windows. “Another!” Sweetland slammed the empty glass down on the bar. Chas, who as it turns out was cowering at the far end of the bar, quickly pulled a frothing pint of Optimistic Lumberjack Double IPA and set it down in front of Sweetland, who then drank the cloudy fluid down, his gullet sending out grotesquely cartoonish gulping sounds with each contraction. Sweetland got halfway through his pint, then paused. A deep and wet belch came up from his gut, and then crackled into a laugh that echoed through the empty pub. Doug stood at the stairs, grasping the bannister for support. He took a deep breath and then wobbled toward the main door. The weight on his legs was gone. The pressure on his head lifted. But those had been replaced by tunnel vision, and a severe lack of coordination of his limbs. The Mountie swayed at the bar, mumbling to himself. A grimace spread across his gray face, black eyes burning into the middle distance. He twisted around toward Doug and barked, “Mr Shasta. License and registration, please!” Doug came to a lurching halt. His entire body was now an awkward and limp marionette. His limbs jangled around as he turned to face Sweetland. The constable’s grimace widened when he saw Doug’s pathetically uncoordinated flailing, “Where you going little Mr Shasta? Get your pills? Need some sleepy time?” He cackled, some of the beer frothed out the side of his mouth, and drooled down his chin. At that, Doug’s bladder loosened. Piss ran down inside his jeans, most of it draining into his left boot. Sweetland looked at the dark stain spreading around Doug’s crotch and exploded in laughter. “Tsk, tsk. Going to bed without diapers again, are we, Mr Shasta?” Sweetland’s caressing of the axe became more excited. “Where did you… Where did you take July?” Doug stammered, his leg had already gone cold from the urine Sweetland belched again. “Oh. The old bag has joined her dog friends in the forest. Up the mountain. Some hidden trails. I knew she was a bitch. But I didn’t know that she...

Doug and his pals are at the pub, quaffing craft beer. They all reckon that Sternum Island is quickly falling under the spell of the new agers – mindfulness, crypto, high paying jobs. Money for nothing. But there’s no such thing as a free lunch, as they say. THIS WEEK: a mildly inebriated Doug Shasta takes a guided tour through an art exhibition and meets an old friend… 🚨 DID YOU KNOW: you can listen and/or read right to the (brain-jiggling!) conclusion of APOCALYPSE ROCK *right now* Buy the audiobook through Audible (CA/UK/US) and the ebook on Kindle (CA/UK/US) 🚨 Hit play above to listen or scroll down to read. Please rate and/or review the story wherever you’ve found it, and share with any friends who you think might like it! DOUG’S KNEES WOBBLED as he worked his way through the crowd to the back of the pub. The strong ale sent a warm glow through his body. As he reached the entrance to the performance space, the band start playing again. An off-key male vocalist started crooning the opening lines to a song Doug recognized, “Lay where you're laying/Don't make a sound/I know they're watching/They're watching…” He didn’t like the song, and this version was no improvement. He stumbled up the stairs toward the toilet. The landing at the top had been darkened. In front of him were two arrows, pointing in opposite directions. One to the right read, “Toilet”. The other, to the left, “Art Gallery”. Doug peered down the corridor toward the art gallery. Through a crack in the door, he could see a luminescent dark blue light. As he came nearer to it, a music enveloped him. The crowd chattering in the pub below, the band playing. It all disappeared into a wash of droning synthesized vocal harmonies and bird-like trills. Doug felt a buoyant calmness, as if he was floating upward, as if there was some healing light on the other side of that door. He pushed it open and peered in. A dulcimeric arpeggio seemed to vibrate through his skeleton, as if he had put his head against a grand piano as a heavy chord was played. “Hey Douglas. Come on in,” a voice greeted from the far end of the long gallery. Right in front of Doug, sitting around the floor, were small groups of people, meditating, or talking in hushed tones. Most were familiar faces – local teenagers dressed in black hoodies and shawls. Fire Chief Mike Goggins’s daughter, Farleece sat with a friend, both dressed as vampires, from what Doug could tell. A series of unframed canvas paintings crowded the gallery walls. Each spotlit by their own small light hanging above the work, making the paintings seem to float off the blue light-bathed walls. Each image showed a different craggy mountain peak, some alpine, some glacier-covered. Others, forested and undulating. All were covered in glinting ice and snow. Depicted in fine, luminous colored lines, each mountain had a pavilion-like structure built atop its summit. Some crystalline and fractal in shape, others geometrical and hard, some crawled up the peaks, worm-like, others blossomed out like a flower. Most of the structures were multi-colored and translucent, as if made of glass. Some, hanging near the far end of the room, looked like billowing, cloud-like sails. From behind each structure, came rays of a dawning or setting sun, exploding up and out into the cold, starry cosmos above each frozen mountaintop. Doug could make out small figures painted throughout the landscapes. Some human, some animal, some a hybrid of the two. Anonymous, little specks in among the grand visions; the figures intersected with the glowing structures, overlapped and shattered with them, swallowed up in them. Under one structure — made of white flags and sails rippling in the wind — there stood a figure, larger than the others. It was a woman holding a sword above her head. Its blade dripped blood. On one side of the woman, three decapitated heads floated in the air. On the other side, three torsos spewed out their intestines. Doug squinted through...