Jul 20 2014

Zephyr 1.4 “Spilling My Guts”

IT TAKES TWENTY minutes before I corner the new girl.

Imogen Davies resembles an Irish milk-maid with her long dark hair, dark blue eyes and fair skin, just a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose dark enough that I can see them by the streetlights once emergency services gets the power back up on the street. Possibly number one on my top ten, at least this week. Away from the camera crew and without her microphone she’s just a teenager, nervous and adorable and I can’t help falling into the smug, confident, all-powerful role she expects and will probably fantasise about later tonight. Or that’s what I imagine. She’s new to the job, but she’s quick to remind me she’s not fresh out of college, which isn’t something I really want to hear with what I have in mind. But I’m reassuring her that the night news shift is when all the cool stuff happens just as It’s Raining Men starts emanating from my lower back, and if I look horrified, Imogen Davies looks completely gobsmacked. I make a pained face and mutter something about having to change that ring-tone and then I back the hell out of there.

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Jul 17 2014

Zephyr 1.3 “Days Of Yore”

WITH MY FAVOURITE ex-teammate having pipped me in the hostage-rescuing stakes, I figure that leaves me with the madman. I yell again, wordlessly this time, since he seemed pretty on top of his game when last I made a noise and this should make him come again. And I’m not wrong. Office dividers fly out of the path of a wall of dirt and boxes of photocopy paper and busted underground cables and suddenly second-hand computers. It’s all I can do to jet out of the way as the mini-avalanche slams past.

In the vague hope I might be able to track my prey, I jog through the third floor of the bank in the wake of the debris, pebbles and grit leaving a path across the carpet like the skid mark of the world’s biggest itchy-assed dog. Then I’m at the row of back windows, saw-toothed with glass now, looking out the back of the building like I am in a slow-moving car, sienna’d automobiles trampled in the bank’s wake.

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Jul 17 2014

Zephyr 1.2 “Going Walkies”

THE SKY IS a grey curtain like a cataract across the stars. Thanks to me. Free-floating eight-hundred storeys above the tarmac chaos below, there’s nothing like it for fleeing your troubles – and I should know. The heavens are a frequent refuge of mine, even if the irony stinks. I can’t get any closer to heaven than the rest of you.

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Jul 13 2014

Zephyr 1.1 “Bright Red Zed”

FOR A MAN with the power of six-hundred thousand light bulbs or whatever the fuck the advert says, I am feeling kinda wrecked as I stumble up the steps at Halogen, fingers clawing into Red Monolith’s designer cloak as we make a show of laughing and clowning good-naturedly for the cameras. Actresses swirl around us like blowflies on a dead cow, minor grade, firm-bodied, their post-operative breasts stacked and racked as beautifully as the season’s evening wear can hope to provide for, and it isn’t like I am slapping them away. It’s times like these – which means yeah, pretty much every time I stumble into Halogen or the Flyaway or Silver Tower, or sneak in through the back at Transit or Aubergine – that I think about Elisabeth. Funny how someone you love so much can seem like such a nuisance. I blame it on my inner child, knowing she would as well.

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Jul 13 2014

Update 14-07-14

Dear folks,

The chapters some of you have been enjoying of late come from Zephyr: Phase IV, which has been for sale for a number of months (see sidebar) and its sequel Phase V. I’m working on Phase VI at the moment as well as ideas for a few other books.

In the coming weeks I am going to start posting chapters from the start of the Zephyr saga, which means hitting the reset button and going back to Phase I. There’s a variety of reasons behind my decision, including wanting to go through those earlier books with a fine tooth comb and check for inconsistencies. It’s my personal view that with the more recent volumes, the series has become stronger and bigger than I imagined it would be, and I want to ensure Phase I (as the gateway to Zephyr’s world) is up to scratch.

If you’re disappointed with the decision, understand that all the chapters you have been reading (and much more) are available for purchase on my Amazon site http://www.amazon.com/Warren-Hately/e/B00C87J798/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_pop_1.

As always, happy to get your feedback direct. If you enjoy what you read, please please consider leaving a review on Amazon and spreading the love through word of mouth. Zephyr is not so wildly successful yet that I am guaranteed to continue into the future, so encouragement is appreciated.

W


Jul 6 2014

Zephyr 15.10 “Into The Nightmare Realm”

THE DISORIENTATION ENDS a few seconds before my frustrated cursing as I, or should I say we drink in the crepuscular surrounds, some kind of ornamental Japanese garden so beautiful and picturesque I feel I might’ve stepped into a silk painting. Tiny birds flit lovingly between the bare branches of blossom trees, their petals adorning a wide, figure eight-shaped pond limned with smooth stones, a meditative garden beyond in three tastefully designed tiers, a grassy path unfolding like a green tongue between the contemplative stillness of the pond and the traditional Zen garden off to the side, darkening early evening sky back-lit by far-off thunder in heavy storm clouds, their occasional oscillation throwing the pagoda-style building atop the slope into bas relief.

I’m disconcerted and not quite sure how such a beautiful place convinces me we’ve plunged into the nightmare realm except to say my hairs remain prickling as I take in the peace and quiet, koi in spiralled lovemaking, movements rippling on the still water like someone has dropped in a stone, the air fragrant with nearby spruce trees as well as the blossom, a scent like from a distant orchard coming in with a hint of ocean breeze.

“No one deserves a hideaway this nice,” I say not exactly to myself.

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Jul 3 2014

Zephyr 15.9 “Out Of The Shadows”

I SCREAM LIKE a panicked housewife, no thought to my own dignity or even safety as I abandon the stalemate with Titan to warn Bellwether out of the crossfire.

The girl frowns, twisting about and going into a defensive pose like we drilled as Arsenal clarifies out of the shadows, a nightmare of sparkling appliances and coiled menace. There is a serpentine quality to the burly intruder far beyond what one might expect from a disgruntled man aged about sixty. As he moves, I realise there’s some manner of distortion rippling the air around him, aiding and abetting his advancement, throwing my barometric extra sensory perception into a buzzing alarm.

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