The Kurragans

James M. McCann unleashes his imagination with his first ebook The Kurragans. Earth and its people face a showdown with The Kurragans an alien race with more than just exploration on their minds. In this tale McCann provides a face to what it is about aliens that we all truly fear.

The train was late. It was always late. For as long as Clayton Mears could remember, whenever he had to catch a train it was always late. Unless of course he was running late, in which case the train would be early.

Today, however, Clay didn’t care. The small bundle of papers he had bound together in his back pack meant a brighter future for himself and Kim, and Kim would love to hear this news. For the last three years that they’d been together, Kim had given her unconditional support to Clay through all his writing endeavours. From the multitude of short stories Clay had sent off to various magazines (some of which actually got published!) to the point when he finally finished the manuscript that was now bound in his back pack as he stood on platform 3B. Now that Clay had signed a deal with King Publishing for the novel, and three more novels following that, his life with Kim would be financially easier.

Missed birthdays. Missed anniversaries. Missed times together. The bound pages in Clay’s back pack represented all of these, as Clay had been made to travel all over the country in hopes of meeting with publishers at the drop of a hat in order to sell his novel.

A light breeze blew eastwards across the platform, the cool wind a welcome intrusion on this hot July day, sweeping empty sweets wrappers that danced on the currents across the tracks.

That’s when he noticed her. A tall good-looking woman of around twenty seven, maybe twenty eight. Her hair was light brown with rivers of blonde, her sun tan was perfect but seemed somehow fake. She was wearing big, square, red-brown sunglasses that gave her the appearance of a mad scientist’s Roy Orbison. The pink suitcases with the black Playboy bunny logo on stacked at her feet portrayed the illusion of a woman desperately trying to cling to her late teen years.

This made Clay’s writer’s imagination take over. What, he wondered, had happened to her to have had her teen years taken away from her that she’s trying to reclaim them now? An announcement over the tannoy informing the passengers what they already knew, that their train would be late, came and went without making a dent in Clay’s mind. As he was looking at the woman with the pink cases and big sunglasses out of the corner of his eye, he could see little floating letters in the air coming together to form words in front of his face.

Her book was writing itself.

Rich Harvey, a very young looking twenty five year old, walked onto the platform, brow dotted with tiny beads of sweat to demonstrate the effort of carrying his guitar on his back. The light breeze blew once again and lifted the ends of his long, jet-black ponytail, reaching out like tentacles, off his red Bruce Lee t-shirt.

Gotta be in a band, Clay thought. Probably smokes a helluva lot pot, too.

The train finally arrived like a giant metal snake weaving its way along the curves of the tracks before pulling into the station, letting off a magnificent sigh of hot air as it rested at platform 3B. It’s carriages were empty.

Clay, as well as Pink Cases and Sunglasses Lady and Rich Harvey, clambered onto the train that would take them all west, and in the case of Clay, home. Home. A tiny, one bedroom apartment in an okay part of town that he shared with Kim. They would often spend their Sundays strolling through the market that was set up along Faulkner street, just one row of houses over, and peruse the fresh fruit and veg. Kim would always wait with anxious excitement for Clay to make some juvenile joke about the melons or bananas or how he’d hold up a pear and compare its shape to that of the frumpy old woman who ran the stall. All in muted tones, of course.

The woman with the pink cases took her seat to Clay’s left, across the aisle. If her luggage had left any room for doubt, this now proved she wasn’t a model or an actress or anything else that would put her in the public’s eye. Famous people travelled First Class.

One seat in front of Clay, Rich had nestled into a chair by a table, guitar in black case propped up next to him like a person, a loved one, being shown the loving care of a father to a son. The note book lying open on the table was already full of various lines of lyrics, a snippet of a song here, a chorus of another there, that Rich was now desperately trying to stitch together, like Dr Frankenstein putting together body parts for his monster.

Upon his return home, he was hoping to meet up with the rest of the (as of yet unnamed) band that had been put together several months ago. In that time the band had had already gone through four singers and two drummers, a fact Rich wasn’t happy about. It’s very difficult to come by a competent drummer, being on the third before they even had a name for the band was a bad omen. Bad Omen, Rich jotted it down as a possible band name.

Clay brought out the manuscript and just held it. He flipped through the pages, gently letting each one caress his fingers, as the carriage shuddered into life, and took them west, rocking rhythmically along. He knew the journey would last a few hours, but he also knew that it would pass quickly, as it was a good day, clear skies and a carriage that wasn’t too hot. And besides, he was planning to read over the manuscript again.

Maybe I should have bought a gift for Kim? he wondered momentarily turning away from the window and staring at a seat on the opposite end of the train. For the first time in a long time, as long as Clay could remember actually, everything in his life was going well. He was on top of the world, and nothing could bring him down.

His mud-caked trainers carried his mud-caked grey track suit across the far-reaching muddy fields. He’d been at this now for almost an hour, and Vin’s legs were already past the burning stage and had now gone completely numb. At 6’4 and seventeen stone of mostly muscle, he was an imposing figure, which had helped him to cut deals with all the local inn’s for them to use the milk produced on his farm.

Vin’s wife Terri had been away for three weeks on business (she was the Vice President of Marketing for a very highly respected film distribution company) and he wanted to be back to his old self for when she returned home. Terri was a twenty year old barmaid trying to put herself through a business course at university and working towards a degree when she’d met Vin. He was working several jobs including meat stocker at the local slaughter house, and unloading crates at the docks. He and his equally burly friends would often come in and attempt to drink the bar dry, all the while Vin would be eyeing up Terri as if she was a steak.

Now, twenty years on and having just celebrated his forty first birthday, the Work Out bug had taken Vin over again. The weight bench in one of the smaller barns had been brought out of storage, dusted off and set up, and a heavy bag was now hanging from a wooden beam. Many years ago, Vin was a very good prospect as an amateur boxer, but after spending two hours every other day in a barn gym, it became quickly apparent that he wasn’t twenty one anymore.

Sat on a dry stone wall dividing two of his fields, Vin realised he’d missed his shot at being a warrior in life. Stroking his smooth black goatee beard which brought his jaw to its natural conclusion, all the potential of youth seemed a life time ago.

Looking out over the rolling fields, that soon would be filled with sheep or the cows, Vin remembered about how he and Terri had done a good job of raising the girls here.

Each field held a memory. To his right was where Amanda, their eldest, had made a full day of getting within ten feet of a sheep and then running back to her mother’s arms back when she was three. The field that stretched off to curve around the back of the barn was the pet cemetery. Almost two decades worth of dogs, cats, hamsters and goldfish were buried back there. Vin had never been able to get his head around the fact that Marty, the youngest, had been adamant about getting a hamster when her house, her whole world at that young age, had been cute, furry animals.

‘She’s got her mother’s scowl’ Vin said out loud now to empty fields, just as he’d said some sixteen years ago passing around a baby Martine to family members sat in the large living room of the farm house. When they’d bought it, it was a hallow, cold, stone tomb. Over years of hard labour, Vin and Terri had turned it into a warm, welcoming, comforting home. It was whilst over-seeing the new windows being put in nineteen years ago that Terri had come to Vin with the news that many months of unprotected sex had caught up with them and she was carrying Amanda inside her womb.

Rubbing the open palm of his right hand over his face, Vin was brought back to today, back to reality. The daughters he has fallen in love with every day for the past nineteen years no-longer lived anywhere near and his wife was out there with them. Amanda had moved away in the hopes of getting a job, and Marty had gone with her, taking a year off before going to college.

‘Damn this place is too quiet’ Vin said to himself as he stood up and began a slow walk back to the house. Take your shoes off before you come in here Vin could hear his wife’s words ringing in his head, I’m not having you trudge mud through here!

As Vin made his way up past the barns, his attention was drawn inside. The animals were acting up, making a hell of a racket. If he didn’t know any better, Vin would’ve sworn blind a fox had gotten in.

Checking on the two horses at the very front of the barn by the doors, and then on the chickens at the very back, Vin noticed something; the smell of shit was immense, almost overwhelming. With no fear of exaggeration, it made his eyes water and almost knocked him over. The stench was fresh, and he could see steam rising up from the hot piles hidden by the ‘stable’ doors. Something was scaring the shit out of the horses, quite literally.

Having checked the barn and finding nothing but straw and shit, Vin decided it best to just lock up the doors and return after his shower to feed the animals. ‘Something’s got you spooked though, doesn’t it?’ he asked Boxer, the huge brown horse named after the horse from George Orwell’s Animal Farm.

Locking the barn doors Vin stopped and allowed himself a moments look at the fields which stretched all the way down to the coast, the landscape clear except for Salem’s Castle in the distance. Even though it somewhat spoilt the view (‘A pile of Lego bricks dropped by a careless god’ Terri had once described it), Salem’s Castle had been there for thousands of years, and it was responsible for the majority of the local tourist trade, which of course in turn created the local inns to have need for fresh milk. Salem’s Castle itself had added an extra wing in recent years as a hotel portion, the ability to keep tourists at the castle seen as an opportunity to milk them even further.

‘Something’s not right here’ Vin whispered to the wind, ‘and I don’t like it’.

Salem’s Castle had been there, looking out over the ocean, for as long as anyone cared to remember. It was built out of massive grey-purple stone as a look-out for in-coming attacks by sea. Just who, exactly was supposed to be attacking no one actually knew. Certainly it had been used as a defence against the Vikings, and the Romans, but the stone pre-dated any attacks that any historian or scientist could think of.

From the small bay which looked up at the intimidating structure, the castle turrets appeared to be a great grinning skull, peering down over a small grassy field. The beach was a creation of soft white sand, quite unusual for this area where beaches made of pebbles and shingles were more the norm. A curious observation about the bay was that there never seemed to be any seaweed and seagulls appeared to steer clear. Many people, the large percentage of whom were tourists, all complained that whilst being on the beach they felt queasy. Often people would recall how they felt their stomach’s were churning and the organs inside were being moved around.

No one really knew too much about Salem’s Castle, and no one ever really cared too much to find out. This lack of knowledge should have made tours around the huge halls of the castle somewhat difficult, but tourist business had always boomed. There was just something about the whole area. There was just something about Salem’s Castle.

‘Holy shit!’ Another loud explosion and yet more screaming, both of pain and fear, woke Clay from his sleep. As per usual he’d dozed off with the gentle rocking of the train, and as per usual his head had slumped to the side, causing a snail’s trail of drool to seep from his lips and down the front of his shirt.

For a moment, a very fast, solitary moment, Clay thought he was still dreaming. He was floating through the air, now quickly descending to what looked to be the side of the train carriage. What? The thoughts ran through Clay’s mind fast, How can this be right? Clay’s body smacked off the window of the train with enough velocity to cause a shudder of both glass and bone. Somehow, the carriage was now up-turned, on its side, and derailed. And sliding. Clay was sure the train carriage was now sliding across a field.

What was this? Had the engineer screwed up and caused the train to jump the tracks? You hear about it on the news all the time, I suppose-

‘Where are they coming from?’ Pink Cases Lady shrieked to no one in particular through tears, ‘Where?’

The train slid to a stop at last, kicking up bits of mud and grass and field and earth as it did, leaving deep grooves in the ground, an easy-to-read direction guide from where it came, a good few hundred yards from the tracks, whatever caused the train to come off it’s tracks must have been extremely powerful.

Clay sat up, wiping what he believed to be sweat out of his eyes.

‘Is everyone okay?’ he questioned the other passengers. His query was met by silence, the sound of his own heavy breathing filling Clay’s ears.

‘Is everyone okay?’ Clay repeated.

‘We’ve got to get out of here’ Rich spoke up as he desperately fumbled for his guitar and notebook. We all could’ve died, Clay thought, and the first thing he does is check for his fucking guitar.

Rich helped Pink Cases Lady to her feet and checked with her if she was alright as Clay tried to find one of those little red plastic hammers to break a window. Since the carriage had, to the best of his knowledge, been detached from the rest of the train, the electrics would be fritzed, so exiting through the doors was no longer an option. Having no luck finding a hammer, Clay picked up a metal thermos flask that had escaped from someone’s case, and bounced it lightly in his hand.

‘Everyone get back’ he commanded. The Pink Cases Lady was rabbiting on, constantly non-stop yapping on about how she had an appointment to keep and how was her hair and had her face been cut and where had her cases gone and why wasn’t anyone helping her and–

‘Why?’ Rich asked.
‘Because I’m going to break the window out’ Clay answered.
‘With what?’
‘This flask’
‘You sure?’
‘Yeah. Why not?’
‘I dunno. You won’t get in trouble?’

Raising his arms and shrugging as he looked about at the up-turned, totalled train was all the answer Clay could think of giving. It was all the answer Rich needed. Grabbing Pink Cases Lady and leading her back to the far end of the carriage, Rich nodded a kind of permission at Clay, who proceeded to throw the metal flask directly up at the window over-head.

Ricocheting off the glass pane with a clunk, the flask fell back down, narrowly avoiding Clay’s head.

‘Do it a bit harder’ Rich commented as Clay knelt down to pick the flask up. ‘And try not to make that cut any bigger’.

Clay looked at the hand he’d wiped the sweat from his eyes with and saw claret. He’d sustained a small cut above his eye, it was nothing major, but Clay knew that cuts on the brows could produce a lot of blood, and often looked much worse than they were, especially when sweat got into the mix. ‘I’ll check it once we’re outside’ he declared in attempt to sound heroic.

Clay launched the flask up again, this time cracking the window, sending long-reaching narrow fingers splintering out along the glass, making a violent spider’s web through the pain. ‘One more should do it’ Rich said approvingly.

And it did.

Clay hurled the flask towards the violent web in the glass and then hurried to join Rich and Pink Cases Lady before the glass rained down like a million glittering jagged stars. A shower of tiny, cutting fragments.

‘Alright, let’s go’ Rich announced, leading the way to the now smashed open window. On very unsteady legs Clay followed, the shattered, fallen glass giving way and snapping under foot.

‘I’ll give you a leg up’ Clay told Rich. ‘I look a bit stockier than you’.

Which was true enough. Although not as tall as Rich, Clay was certainly heavier, a fact he attributed to the cyclical lifestyle he led.

For months on end Clay would sit and drink copious amounts of tea and stuff his face with junk food and snacks, whatever was ready to eat. He had no time for the rigors of cooking whilst he was writing. Then, following that, once the book had been completed, he indulged in a severe physical transformation program. Weight lifting and running. This left Clay with a steady, stocky build and wide hips.

‘Have to get rid of those edges, first’ Rich stated pointing up at the serrated shards of glass, jutting out from the window’s frame like dangerous teeth in a madman’s mouth.

‘We haven’t really got anything’ Clay thought out loud looking around the up-turned carriage. ‘Unless we use her suit cases. Just kind of swing them up there and knock ‘em out?’

‘Works for me’

It was only now that both Rich and Clay realised they hadn’t heard Pink Cases Lady waffle on for a while, she had fallen silent. This drew their attention quickly to her, as she stood by the luggage rack by the door at the end of the carriage. She was stood, mouth agape, face pale as snow, her full cheek bones making ashen shadows on the lifeless-looking cheeks. Her sunglasses had been lost in the tumble.

She was pressing her back up against the closed door, the opening of which now ran horizontally behind her. Frozen to the spot, her eyes were the only part of her that showed any life, but even they were stuck with fear. Raising her trembling right hand to waist level, she directed Clay and Rich to look at the floor. Just by her right foot was a blood covered hand, looking almost like it was reaching out from beyond death to grab at her ankle, and maybe drag her down to the other side with it.

‘Come away from there’ Rich told her, leading her over to the exit gently. ‘Don’t look’.

The trembling right hand took Rich’s gentle hand and grabbed it with a vice-like grip, a super-strength she didn’t even know she had.

Clay, after several deep breaths, forced himself to look over and investigate the body he hoped was still attached to that pale, dead hand. What he found was a man, probably late fifties, going bald on top and had dyed what little hair he had left on the sides black. The man was overweight, his spare chin now hanging like a hammock full of sopping gunk.

The man’s round glasses were askew and the lenses were cracked, and Clay found himself delicately moving objects searching for a bowler hat he was sure the dead man must have been wearing. He just looked to be the sort of man who would wear a bowler hat and could always be found with a broadsheet newspaper.

‘Is he..?’ Rich’s voice interrupted Clay’s mind and broke his train of thought. Clay shook his head, and gulped hard. The realisation had hit him that the two other people and himself were now trapped in this steel rectangular tube with a dead body. The glass shards crumpled under the force of the two bright pink suitcases with the black Playboy bunny logo bouncing off them. Another swing, another piece of glass brought down. Quickly turning their heads to avoid getting any more lacerations from the glass debris, Rich and Clay took it in turns to knock out all the glass left in the frame.

Rich went up first, using Clay’s cupped hands as a step. ‘Alright I’m up’ came the knowledgeable voice as the blue jeans and Converse trainers slid out of view. ‘Now pass me your hand’ And Clay helped Pink Cases Lady up to the empty window frame, where Rich took her still trembling hands and pulled her up.

‘Okay’ Rich yelled back into the carriage, ‘you’re next, pal’

Expecting Clay, Rich was pleasantly surprised when his guitar case neck came out of the window first. Rich was happy to see it, but still hadn’t summoned up the courage to check it, just in case it was damaged in some way. The pony tailed guitar player didn’t have long to think about it before Clay popped his head up through the empty frame and requested ‘A little help?’

A loud roaring, almost whirring, wailed out across the fields. Rich, Clay and Pink Cases Lady looked all over around them but could see nothing except the turrets of Salem’s Castle in the distance. To the left of where they were stood, in the distance of the woods, smoke bellowed out from deep within the dark of the trees. Paying more attention to their surroundings, the three survivors noticed smoke bellowing up from all around them, off in the distance in every direction. There was burning wreckage where the train tracks should have been. There was no rest of the train.

‘What happened here?’ Rich asked, not expecting an answer.

‘This can’t have been an accident’ Clay answered. Pink Cases Lady remained silent.

‘What’s that?’ Clay asked to no one in particular.

A red quad bike was coming down the field, bringing the whirring noise with it. Vin had heard the explosions, seen the smoke and came out to investigate. This was land he owned.

As Vin was about a hundred feet away up the field, a loud, piercing whistling noise shrieked through the sky, almost deafening everyone before becoming a loud thud, followed by yet another explosion. The force of the explosion sent Vin flying from the quad bike and knocked Clay, Rich and Pink Cases Lady over. The ground shook beneath their feet.

‘What the fuck?’ the young writer yelled, his ears consumed by ringing.

‘We’ve got to get away from the train’ the musician ordered.

‘UP! Up the field to that guy’

‘Agreed. Go, go!’

The trio from the train wreckage stumbled, limped and fumbled their way up the field toward Vin, who was by now already up and moving toward them. Whereas the others had difficulty in getting their feet, Vin was now wearing his work boots and moved easily around the field, as mutilated as it now was.

‘Here’ Vin commanded to Clay, ‘gimme your hand.’

Clay did as he was told and was yanked up off the ground in one fluid motion. The force almost wrenched Clay’s arm out of the socket. Vin took charge of the situation immediately, helping Rich and Pink Cases Lady up, and then leading them back up the field. ‘C’mon’ Vin’s voice bellowed. ‘Follow me to the house, we’ll call the police from there’

And they followed. Vin, in boots, tough old worn jeans and a green rain proof jacket, looked like he’d know what he was doing out here. Rich was dressed like he had been plucked right out of and MTV video, and Clay was the poster boy for Book Worm Monthly; black boots, black jeans, a t-shirt and black over shirt, and a black shower-proof jacket.

Pink Cases Lady, however, was wearing black leggings and a pink t-shirt with Playboy Princess written on it. She was now carrying her pink high heels, make that high heel, the other one had been lost either climbing out of the train or running across the field. Clay thought about the clip-clop sound they’d made as she’d wheeled her bags onto the train platform hours ago and now she had soil and mud squelching through her perfectly pedicured toes and feet.

Something caught Vin’s attention as they made their way up the field. To his left, there was three people sprinting, wobbling as best they could, towards Salem’s castle. They must have seen the crash and gone there for help, he thought. Then looking straight ahead at his farm and home he stopped suddenly. The violent holt caused Rich to run into the back of Clay.

Vin had a single bead of sweat running down the right side of his face, making its way from his temple down his cheek. The colour had fled from his face, much like Pink Cases Lady when she’d discovered the dead body. Clay wasn’t happy. The man who had come out of nowhere as a fearless saviour was now stood staring at what they all believed was his home, and although his face stayed stoic, the eyes gave him away. The face was carved out of stone, but the eyes were trembling pools of fear.

‘What…what is it?’ Clay asked nervously, not really wanting to hear the answer, whatever it was. There was a sound floating on the wind from beyond the house. Much, much farther beyond the house. It was coming from a thick wall of smoke off in the distance. It was unified chaos. It resembled the noise of an army running together, the rumbling thunder of each booted foot hitting the ground in time.

‘What’s that noise?’ Pink Cases Lady asked, finally breaking her own self-imposed vow of silence. Vin just stood shaking his head.

‘I don’t know’ Rich answered to anyone who cared to listen. Clay had only just met Vin, but he knew the bearded man was not a man easily scared. Vin’s fear was causing Clay to go to panic stations, every primitive instinct in Clay’s body and brain was screaming at him, pleading him to run for his life.

‘Where’s it coming from?’ Rich inquired out loud.

‘Over there’ Vin pointed to the smoke in the distance.

‘What’s over there?’ Pink Cases Lady asked.

‘It used to be the city’ Vin took several deep breaths, before adding, ‘We’ve got to move, now!’

‘What is it?’ Clay asked, instantly regretting it.

‘That’ Vin nodded his head towards the horizon.

Clay, Rich and Pink Cases Lady all followed the direction of Vin’s nodding, and on the horizon, as though appearing through a gap between the green fields of land and the thick black smoke came a thick strip of black and silver. The horizon was now taken over by a million maggots all black and silver and chain mail writhing over each other.

‘What the fuck?’ Clay said, embarrassed by the break in his voice brought on by the fear.

‘Some kind of militia’ Vin answered. ‘Terrorists or something. We’ve got to move’

Vin lead the way towards Salem castle, a good few minutes added to the journey as they had to go around the huge burning meteorite that had imbedded itself in the field which had earlier knocked Vin off his quad bike and floored Clay, Rich and Pink Cases Lady.

Rich was taken aback. Being something of a science-nut with an interest in space, he knew that a clump of rock this size wouldn’t just find its way into Earth’s atmosphere. Something must have pushed it, or dragged it, in.

Clump. Clump-clump. Clump. Clump-clump-clump-clump. It began to rain as the four of them ran towards Salem castle. Only it wasn’t rain drops pelting down upon them, it was rocks. Small pieces of meteor, about the size of tennis balls, began to drop from the sky onto them with force. Clay allowed himself an ‘Argh, fuck!’ as he was struck in the left shoulder by one. Vin seemed to just shrug it off when he was hit in the thigh by one.

Their footsteps were over-taken by the sound of a rumbling. The vibrations could be felt anywhere in the vicinity, only it wasn’t the rocks raining down causing them, but the running army getting closer to the farm house. The four didn’t have the chance to get tired, as the fear pumped adrenaline through their bodies, ensuring that they all kept on running. Pink Cases Lady didn’t even feel the smouldering hot pieces of rock slice her feet and then instantly cauterize themselves. Instead of climbing or even jumping the small wooden gate at the end of the field, Vin just put a boot up and ran right through it. The fields were both empty of any live stock as Vin and Terri had purchased those fields just to make sure ‘they’ couldn’t bring the train tracks any closer. As they ran, Clay gave a look back over his shoulder.

He could see that whomever it was up at the farm house they had come mob-handed. Even at this distance he could see it was quite an army. Clay thought to himself that he was glad Kim was many miles away, at home. Safe. Pink Cases Lady lost her footing, fell down, and rolled at some speed past Clay and Rich and was then picked up and flung with impressive ease over Vin’s shoulder.

‘Jesus’ Vin implored them all, ‘quicker!’

Thud-thud-thud-thud-thud. The rocks had stopped hailing down on them, but something new had started. Arrows. Long, black slender arrows. With shiny, glaringly bright tips which were so sharp they imbedded themselves deep into the ground. Gotta be kidding me, Rich thought as he ran.

The four made their way to the entrance of gate in the wall, which at one time had been a very impressive security system. Over thirty feet high, the great wall had once surrounded the entire castle, but now parts were gone and had been replaced with ‘tourist friendly’ iron railings. Barging in past the un-locked and open iron gate, the quartet made their way along the draw bridge (which some people insisted was original) and up to the massive wooden doors, which themselves were very impressive. This must be the only building in the world big enough, Clay thought, to house those doors.

‘Let us in!’ Vin yelled. ‘C’mon, we got hurt people out here, let us in!’

From within the vast court yard behind the brown wooden doors came a rather meek and timid voice. It was also scared shitless ‘How do we know you’re not them?’ It asked.

‘Because if we were them’ Vin responded, ‘then we would’ve blown our way in. Now open up, we got a casualty out here, you asshole!’

Behind the door was home to much scuffling, a lot of deliberation, until finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, the doors parted maybe two feet, and let Vin, Pink Cases Lady, Rich and Clay in.

Ebook Details
Size:	910 KB
Publisher:	whiffyskunk.com
Date published:	Mar 2009
ISBN:	978-0955833342

DRM Settings
Copying:	not allowed
Printing:	not allowed
Read Aloud:	not allowed

This product is listed in the following categories: