Dies the Fire: A Novel of the Change
S. M. Stirling
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The Change occurred when an electrical storm centered over the island of Nantucket produced a blinding white flash that rendered all electronic devices and fuels inoperable. What follows is the most terrible global catastrophe in the history of the human race-and a Dark Age more universal and complete than could possibly be imagined.
"Dies the Fire kept me reading till five in the morning so I could finish at one great gulp..."—New York Times bestselling author Harry Turtledove
echoed off the high stone walls of the courtyard. “Pretty soon, we’ll have Sheriff Woburn hanging from a hook!” There were half a dozen set in the walls now, between the towers and over the old church doors, taken from a slaughterhouse and mounted in the stone. All were occupied at present, but he’d clear one for Woburn, when they caught him. A wordless howl of hate went up at the sheriff’s name, hoarse and strong. I got a serious jones for Woburn, the Devil Dog chieftain thought. Worst I’ve
surprised pleasure as the tangy carne asada hit his palate, cooled with sour cream. “All right,” he said to the Bearkillers’ leader. “You’ve got a real slick operation here, Mr. Havel. Now, you were hinting that you could do something about the Devil Dogs.” “That depends,” he said. “They’ve got some sort of base, right? A hideout you can’t come at, or more likely they’ve forted up someplace you can’t take.” “They’re at St. Hilda’s,” Woburn said, respect in his voice. Havel’s ears perked up at
by, before I’m too far gone.” He touched the horns-and-moon symbol on his jack. “It’s enough to get you thinkin’ serious about this Goddess of hers, innit? Not that I’m not grateful to her and hers, mind.” A shake of the head. “She’s got the flux. Daft things happen around her.” “Flux?” Havel asked. “Chap I knew used the word—when I met him I was in the SAS and he was runnin’ a pub called The Treadmill. Did everything in his day, Foreign Legion an’ all, right tough old bastard. He thought some
older than Juniper, though that might be the dirt and desperation and not having eaten much the past week. Dennis surprised his friend by breaking into another language, fast-paced and with a nasal twang; she didn’t think it was Chinese, which she could at least recognize. Sally started in surprise, smiled hesitantly through her pain and replied haltingly in the same tongue. After a moment she relapsed into English: “But my parents came over in ’seventy-five, when I was very young,” she said.
blaze going in it, and a Coleman lantern on the mantelpiece over it. The thickset bandit was there, trying to stand and having difficulty with it. That was because Signe Larsson had him around the knees; he was wearing long johns with the front flap open, and she had on panties and a set of scratches and bruises. He was swinging his fists at her head and screaming curses as he tried to wrench free, but she ducked her face into the dirty gray fabric covering his legs and hung on like grim death.