Infected
Series
Book
One
by Andrea
Speed
a Gay mystery/urban fantasy
from DSP Publications
Gay Music in the Punk Scene
a special Guest post by author Andrea Speed
Music plays a huge part in Infected: Prey, and the entire
Infected universe. Roan shamelessly admits to being a punk rocker, and while
he’s gotten older, his tastes haven’t changed that much. In fact, they may have
gotten louder, in that he’s a huge noise rock fan.
But I think what some people don’t realize is there was
indeed a sub-set of the punk scene in the ‘80’s and ‘90’s known as queercore or
homocore, and its name is exactly what you think it is: music for and about
(and mostly by) gay people. I’m not going to give you a huge run down on it,
because that’s what Google and Wikipedia’s for, but I would like to highlight
Roan’s favorite band in this genre, which is name checked many times in the series,
Pansy Division.
They are a pop-punk outfit that flirted with fame – they
opened for a young, just hit it big Green Day in a national tour – but never
quite crossed over into the mainstream, which was a shame, as they have many
catchy songs. Okay, some are on the sexually explicit side, and I can’t see
them getting any radio play with those. But what’s holding the internet back
now? It’s time for a renaissance. To hopefully kick start it, here are some
Pansy Division songs that act as both a light-hearted soundtrack to Infected:
Prey (which, admittedly, isn’t too lighthearted), and some of Roan’s personal
favorites. (Most of these are generally SFW, but some words and subject matter
may be considered NSFW.)
- Manada http://youtu.be/peFVkDWTdgM - An ode to all of
- James Bondage http://youtu.be/nnmEkekJZ5w - All about B&D, it’s not really Roan’s scene, but it’s a cute song.
- Vicious Beauty http://youtu.be/cgTVLdXMa3M - A story about seeing a guy in a porno that you never expected to see. (Although this is the tame version of the video, consider it NSFW.)
- Expiration Date http://youtu.be/IBVQ0_OVJ2E - It’s really sad when a box of condoms lets you know how poor your love life’s been.
Roan would tell you that his favorite Pansy Division album
is Absurd Pop Song Romance, and would strongly encourage you to buy that album
if you like them. But there was also a neat Greatest Hits collection released,
and I, as the author, would encourage you to pick that up if you like them.
They paved the way for many artists, even if many people were unaware a road
was being paved. Also, they rocked, which was the most important thing of all.
In a world where a werecat virus
has changed society, Roan McKichan, a born infected and ex-cop, works as a
private detective trying to solve crimes involving other infecteds.
The murder of a former cop draws
Roan into an odd case where an unidentifiable species of cat appears to be
showing an unusual level of intelligence. He juggles that with trying to find a
missing teenage boy, who, unbeknownst to his parents, was “cat” obsessed. And
when someone is brutally murdering infecteds, Eli Winters, leader of the Church
of the Divine Transformation, hires Roan to find the killer before he closes in
on Eli.
Working the crimes will lead Roan
through a maze of hate, personal grudges, and mortal danger. With help from his
tiger-strain infected partner, Paris Lehane, he does his best to survive in a
world that hates and fears their kind… and occasionally worships them.
Excerpt:
HE was on his
third beer of the evening when he thought he heard a noise in the backyard.
Hank DeSilvo
scowled and looked out the window over the kitchen sink full of dirty dishes.
He could see nothing but darkness, and maybe a bit of reflected light from the
television. This was probably a bad time to remember the back porch light had
blown out two days ago, and he’d forgotten to replace it.
Not that it
mattered. The only light currently in the house was coming from the television,
and as long as he ignored it, he developed enough night vision to make out a
shape moving in the back garden. Or was it the wind moving a shrub? Kind of
hard to say.
He slammed his can
down with an annoyed grunt. It was probably the Hindles’ stupid ass dog again,
shitting all over the place and tearing through his garbage. He hated that
fucking thing, some ugly Rottweiler mix they insisted was a “friendly” dog, and
yet it always had a look in its flat, black eyes that was just this side of
rabid. They never leashed the damn thing either, and apparently his yard
destruction was “cute.” He was just about out of this fucking place and that
damn thing had to make a final appearance. And it was final all right; he was
going to make damn sure of that.
He went back to
the living room, glancing at the game as he walked past—it was a fucking damn
boring game anyway—and got his shotgun from the cabinet. It was illegal as all
hell, a sawed-off thirty ought six with the barrels cut so short you could have
stowed it under a jacket, but the barrels had been filed down expertly; it
wasn’t just the rough work of a desperate amateur but the sign of a pro. Which
was why, when they’d searched the drug mule’s truck and he’d found it wedged
under the front seat, he hid it in his trunk and didn’t report finding it. It
wouldn’t have added that much to the mule’s sentence; he already had enough
rock in his glove compartment to put him away for the rest of his pointless
life, especially if it was his “third strike” (and it was, no surprise there),
and he doubted the guy was so stupid that he’d actually ask why he wasn’t
charged with owning an illegally modified weapon. Yeah, he was dumb; you had to
be dumb if you were speeding and had a few thousand in rock in the car, as well
as being obviously stoned yourself. But asking after that was a special kind of
stupid, the kind only politicians and people on reality television ever seemed
to crest.
He cracked open
the gun and made sure he had some shells loaded in it before snapping it shut
again with a sharp flick of his wrist. Man that felt good. This was a real
man’s weapon, made him feel a foot taller and made of pure muscle, and he knew
why that meth fuckhead was carrying it around with him. A weapon like this was
a real god-killer; it made you feel invincible.
It was pure
overkill, of course. The Hindles’ dog was fairly big, and yet one shot from
this gun would rip it in half clean down the middle, as well as make a boom
loud enough to set off every car alarm on the block. But what the fuck did he
care? He was an ex-cop; he’d say the dog charged him, and on his property he
could shoot the fucking thing if he wanted. He’d swap out the sawed-off for his
Remington before they arrived. Ballistics wouldn’t match, but by the time they
proved that, he’d be long gone. Good-bye, shit-hole city; hello, tropical
paradise. It was just a shame that it took him this long to collect.
He stood at the
back door for a moment, cradling the shotgun gently, and let his eyes get
adjusted to the dark before going out onto the concrete patio. He had a mini
Maglite with him with a red lens over the bulb, so if there was something he
needed to see he could twist it on without losing his night vision. Not that he
needed to make a direct hit; even if he just winged the dog, he’d probably rip
half its face off, maybe a leg.
First step off the
patio his foot squelched in something; it felt too liquid to be shit, but the
smell that hit him was meaty, redolent of shit and offal and God knew what
else. Had that fucking dog already strewn his garbage about? Goddamn it.
Holding the
shotgun in one arm, he turned on the flashlight and looked down at what he’d
stepped in.
At first it looked
like a puddle, which didn’t make sense since it hadn’t rained in a week, and
the thought that it was dog piss was dismissed since it was dark, and dog piss
wasn’t usually black. Or was that red-black? Swinging the light outwards, he saw
greasy, ropey strands that couldn’t have come from his garbage can, and then a
big hunk of raw, bloody meat like a lamb shank… only it was too long and thin
to be a shank, too dark, and ended in a paw.
It was a
Rottweiler leg.
Someone—something—had
dismembered the Hindles’ psychotic dog and spread about a third of it all over
his backyard. He saw the leg, which was the biggest piece, an assortment of
internal organs, loops of intestines laid out like fallen party streamers, and
lots of blood. But where was the other two thirds of the dog?
The hair stood up
on the back of his neck, and he knew he had to get the fuck inside now. But as
he turned, shotgun at the ready and braced against his hip, he saw the flash of
white teeth in the dim moonlight, and his brain sent out the impulse to pull
the trigger.
He didn’t have
time to wonder why it never happened as the teeth ripped open his throat.
About
the Author:
In her spare time, she arms lemurs
in preparation for the upcoming war against the Mole Men. Viva la revolution!
Website: www.andreaspeed.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/andrea.speed.3
Facebook Page: https://www.facebook.com/Andreaspeedwriter
Twitter: @aspeed
Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/andreaspeed
Tour Giveaway
- 5 copies of Infected: Prey- ebook or paperback, winner’s choice (paperback open to US Shipping)
a Rafflecopter giveaway
looks interesting! Thanks for this
ReplyDeleteAdded to my tbr pile. Some of my author friends on Fb highly recommend this book. Thanks for the giveaway
ReplyDelete