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Christopher Carr Novels
Category:
Action/Thriller
Publisher: Book Case Engine
Type: Fiction
Pages: 309
Copyright: Feb 24, 2015
ISBN-13: 9781628480534
Price: $4.99 (eBook)
Historic fiction thriller/mystery based around the 1970 Kent State shootings
13 seconds. 67 shots fired. 4 dead. 9 wounded. And the killers went free.
It was May 4, 1970.
Fast-Forward 40 years. Former Ohio National Guard members and other 60-something men are randomly being murdered execution style.
Special Agent Skyelar Blu — a weapons and martial arts expert — is assigned to the case. She discovers that her reclusive father was a Sergeant in the Guard unit that made history when soldiers fired their weapons into a crowd of unsuspecting Kent State University students. It’s uncovered that the men being killed were once members of this unit, as well as agitators from the SDS (Students for a Democratic Society).
Why is someone killing these men? Is it insanity...revenge...or something deeper? Is Skye’s father the prime suspect or is he the key to finding the killer?
Now Skyelar must catch the killer and unwrap the mystery surrounding her father and the murders.
Dear readers: I believe this book will give you some insight to this historic event. Although it's fiction, it is based around the actual event and a rumor that swirled around it, but was never proven. I wanted to get into the psyche of the man that pulled the trigger first and how that event may have effected his life.
I was inspired to write this book becasue in 1970, I was actually a student at Kent State University and stood less than 100 yards from the Ohio National Guard soldiers when they opened fire.
I wrote the screenplay first and then the novel. The entire process took me over two years.
The books title, MAYDAY, was the logical choice. The even happen on May 4, 1970 and "Mayday" is an international distress signal.
I actually created the cover. The bloody peace sign symbolizes the outcome of that day and is also one a reoccurring symbol/clue throughout the novel.
The hardest part of writing this book was reliving the event over and over in my head. I did a lot of research and learned a lot about the events that transpired in the years that followed. To the families and love ones, mostly.
I hope you will read MAYDAY. For those of you in my age range it will bring back memories of those days. For the rest of you, I hope you will learn a little about a tragic event that I pray will never be repeated.
-Christopher Carr
Excerpt
You Can Ring My Bell.
The Jeep motored down a sodden road, mud splattering in every direction. The caked windshield nearly obscured the driver’s face, the cigarette smoke rolling out of the window the chief indication that someone sat behind the wheel.
The Jeep wormed into the lot beside a 24-hour convenience store. Only one car, a rusting Dodge Dart, occupied the far corner. The fading sticker on the bumper read Guns Don’t Kill People. Postal Workers Do. The driver parked so that the Jeep was partially hidden by a dumpster. He exited, spat on the ground, wiped his mouth on his sleeve, and headed for the front entrance.
The air felt as thick and sticky as corn chowder. The sweat beaded on his head. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing old tattoos: a skull wearing an army helmet with a peace sign symbol; an American flag draped over a POW-MIA crest. As he entered the convenience store he noticed a black-and-white rising up over the crest of a hill, along with the sun. He shook his head in disgust. He hated cops.
Inside, the proprietor, a scrawny, sixty-something man, worked alone. The long scar on the side of his face had to be white phosphorus, or Willie Pete, which the Vietcong poured into grenades to turn them into incendiary weapons that burned hot as lava.
The proprietor stalked up and down the aisles, ranting to himself as he stocked his shelves. “How many ways can they package cancer sticks?” he asked. “They’re killing kids. Little dumb-asses. Where the hell are their parents? They ain’t buyin’ from me . . . no way.”
He checked the old Chesterfield clock over the door. 9:30, he realized. He hoped Kelly, his cashier, would get her ass in on time so he could slip out for a few casts later that morning.
The doorbell rang as the driver of the Jeep slithered inside. His presence startled the owner. Early mornings and late nights kept the business humming, but by 8:00 a.m. the place fell dead as a rule. Made him crazy. He wondered how much longer he could stay in business.
“Hey,” the owner said. “Ya startled me fer a sec. I was thinkin’on largemouths.”
The Jeep driver stood zombie-like at the counter, dressed in military fatigues and boots. The proprietor didn’t notice the butt of a .45 cal Smith & Wesson protruding from the back of his waistband. Only the security mirror, mounted high in the corner, observed.
“What can I get ya?” he asked. “Just put out fresh thermoses of flavored java. Fresh chocolate-covered donuts and sweet rolls in the bin behind you.”
“Don’t eat that crap,” the man said. “Only thing kill ya faster is a bullet to the brain.”
“My third wife came close,” the owner said. He slapped his thigh, yukking it up.
The stranger didn’t acknowledge his merriment. “Two unfiltered Camels,” he said.
“Well, hell, those’ll kill ya even faster.”
“Take two packs a cherry Lifesavers.”
“Got a sweet tooth, do ya? Oughta grab one a them rolls.”
“I need that Midwest travel map behind ya.”
“Doing a little traveling?” the owner asked. The silence deafened.
“Not much of a talker, are ya?”
“Not the chatty type.”
“Okay, okay. I gets it.”
Outside, tires crunched on gravel as the cruiser pulled up.
The proprietor stared for a moment at the man’s weathered and furrowed face. Something familiar about it.
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