We have been working our way through the forest for most of the day, speaking as little as possible, thinking our separate thoughts. We have been wiping our foreheads with the backs of our hands and drinking sparingly from our canteens, knowing with each step that it is not too late to turn back.

And yet we know also that we will not turn back. We have set our feet on a path that will lead us to one of two places. One is Hell. The other is, if not Heaven, at least something better than what we have.
It is not an easy decision to leave one’s country behind. Not easy at all. And I am not a brave man, not nearly as brave as Carlos.
But I have had enough. One only gets one life to live. To accept what life has become–what allour lives have become–it is giving up esperanza, giving up hope. And there must always be hope.

My grandfather told me that a long time ago. We had gone fishing, and he came out with it unexpectedly. I remember nodding, thinking I would recall his words forever, for I loved the old man.

And see? I still remember them.

My grandfather did not like Carlos. For that matter, he did not like any of the boys who appeared at our door to date my sister. But he had liked Carlos least of all, it seemed to me, as I peered at them that night from the kitchen. A child of nine in his pajamas, I had watched Inez disappear into the night with her new boyfriend.

Carlos had caught a glimpse of me, and winked. It was a promise, it seemed to me, that I would one day have the freedom he had, the freedom to wear a black leather jacket and take girls out in my blue convertible.

And now we are friends, Carlos and I. We are equals. The realization intoxicates me, almost as much as the fact that we are leaving our country. Carlos Velasquez and I are iguales.

“Come on,” he says, his voice a rough whisper, as he makes his way between two boulders. He hooks at the air with his finger, a signal for me to follow.

All right, perhaps not equals. Carlos is still the leader.

I have not seen him smile lately the way he smiled when he took out my sister. Life had ground him down a little. Even him. He had sold his convertible before his twenty-fifth birthday, and his leather jacket as well. He had lost his job, found another, and lost that one too.

The sweetness, the dulzura, had gone out of his life. But he would get it back. We both would. That was what we had resolved, and that was what we do.

Unfortunately, there would be hardship first.

It would be easier if we could use the roads. But they are too easily visible from the air–from the drones. So we are forced to cross the wilderness if we want to find our Promised Land.

A wilderness where the sun is starting to go down, making it a bit more difficult for the drones to spot us. They have infrared, of course, but it is not as reliable as regular surveillance. Everyone who has tried to get over the Wall in the last few years knows that.

There was not always a Wall.
Continue reading Free Fiction: The Wall →

We’ve been telling you how great Pangaea is since we released the all-new anthology last summer.

We’ve been telling you how great the sequel, Pangaea II: The Rise of Dominjaron, will be when we complete our Kickstarter campaign this month and release the book in September.

What we haven’t done is show you what we mean. So, let’s fix that. We’re offering you the first story from the anthology for you to read for free. That’s right, no obligation to buy more or order before midnight tonight (not that we’d mind). We are so confident you will like what you read and want to see more, that we’re presenting to you “The Breaking”.

If you like it, please consider buying Pangaea and supporting Pangaea II: The Rise of Dominjaron.