Sample of In a Time Before Novel

And now a sample of the 400 page novel

IN A TIME BEFORE

by CD Haun

Prologue: 1st Century AD

In a Dream

The crowd is screaming. I look around at the mob. Thousands of people fill the wooden structure. Unlike most of my dreams, I realize this is not reality. Yet here I am, seated in the section of the arena reserved for equestrians. I don't understand how I know this, but I do.

Someone who I seem to know is my friend pounds me on the back as he yells with the thousands around us. He points down at the arena where two victims, a young man and a young woman, are running toward the wall in front of us. They hold their hands up in supplication. As they run, they also scream. Their call repeated over and over is, “Dominus, Dominus, have mercy on us!” The person beside me laughs so loudly I can hardly hear the supplications from below.

I watch the two youths and smile, unsure of what is happening. Then, a movement behind them catches my attention, and I understand. Marching across the arena floor behind the couple is a gladiator. He wears an all-black costume that matches what must be an ancestry of deep African descent. The young man glances up at me, then turns and steps behind his woman to shield her from this bringer of death. Once again, the girl looks up at me with her arms extended, imploring me for mercy.

I realize I’m dreaming, but what I am experiencing is the most amazing and vibrant dream ever. It is so vivid; it feels real.

As the crowd roars my name, “Justus, Justus,” I stand regally and wave around the arena, acknowledging the recognition. Some senators in their front-row seats turn and nod at me. I gaze down at the panicked woman whose young man wants so much to protect her. Lowering my hand from waving, I extend it straight out, almost in a salute. Then, I spread my fingers like a flower opening to the sun.

Below me, the woman drops her arms and covers her face, overcome by my lack of mercy. The young man twists half around to look up at me. He gives the woman a quick hug from behind, then resumes his defensive stance, and the two wait for what approaches.

The gladiator stops within six feet of the couple. He glances up at me. Recognizing the signal I give, he acknowledges my decision with a nod and closes his visor. With a short wave of his gladius toward me, or perhaps toward the senators in front, he moves closer to the couple. The young lad raises his wooden sword, prepared to slash at the gladiator in a futile defensive attempt.

The crowd roars its approval, and I check my hand at the end of my extended arm. I continue to hold my fingers splayed open. Now, I am confused. Everyone who has ever watched a movie about Ancient Rome knows to signal life, you need to close your fist with your thumb pointing up. A thought crosses my mind: “Only in the movies.” In real Ancient Rome, the fingers splayed open meant death. But a single sign called for life, and that was the thumb encased inside your closed fist.

At that moment, I swear I tried to bring my thumb down and lock it within my fingers, but nothing happened. Although I demanded my thumb take this step and enclose itself with the thumb inside, my stretched-out hand will not move. I want life, but my hand wide open indicates I approve of death.

Standing on the arena's sand and holding his wooden sword awkwardly in front of him, the young man slashes at the oncoming gladiator. The gladiator lifts his gladius and, without effort, blocks the boy’s move. Even from my seat, I can hear the clash of metal against wood. The gladiator flicks his blade, and the wooden sword flies away. It lands ten feet from the trio, the point buried in the sand. Now defenseless - if a wooden sword can be considered a defense against a steel gladius - the young man turns and wraps his arms around his girl.

Giving the couple and the crowd one last moment, the gladiator lowers his head. Then, in little more than a heartbeat, he steps forward and thrusts his sword through the unprotected back of the woman's human shield. As the sword advances, the young man's body pushes against his girl. The gladiator continues his thrust, and his blade's point bursts out the front of the girl's chest.

Life ebbs from the couple. For a moment, they remain upright because of the gladiator's strength. The sword slips back, disappearing again into the torso of the woman. As it does, she slumps to the ground in a kneeling position. The gladiator continues to retract his sword, and the blade tip emerges from the man's back. Having also been released, the man follows his beloved to the ground. For a second, the two kneel as in a loving embrace before they topple to the arena sand.

Blood puddles out in front of the woman and behind her love. Life ebbs as hearts that loved cease to beat.

I stand transfixed, watching the couple who pleaded to me for life die before me. As they do, my arm remains extended with my fingers open. I sought to approve their entreaties and instead sent death. My friend once more pounds on my back. I almost fall over the balustrade as he does. When I turn to him, he says, “Quod erat miris. Ferme ceciderunt una via. Crongratulations in spectaculum vere bonum. Si tibi placet memores multitudinis offie currere.”

At first, I fail to understand the words he uses. Then something clicks in my mind, and what he said makes sick sense. “That was amazing. The way they fell almost together. Congratulations on a good spectacle. The crowd should remember you when you stand  for office.”

“Good spectacle...stand for office...What occurred confuses me. When I stuck out my hand, I meant for them to live, not die.

Chapter 1: 21st Century

I’m Going to Rome!

I woke up. My T-shirt, as well as my sheets, almost dripped with sweat. Sitting up, the clock on the nightstand showed it was four in the morning. I pulled off the tee and decided to take a shower. Glancing at the sweat-soaked sheets, I recognized the bed also needed changing.

What a dream. It was exciting, yet at the same time horrible. I headed for the hall bathroom, still shaky from what felt like a real experience.

Turning on the shower, I waited. The water quickly became hot, and I stepped inside the tub and pulled the curtain shut. The liquid nearly burned my skin, but I left the controls alone, wanting to sear out the feelings I encountered during the dream. How terrible. Yet, having finished a class on Ancient Roman archaeology during my last semester in school, perhaps not surprising.

***

Just over a month ago, I completed college in Oklahoma. I hadn’t wanted to stay for graduation and make the walk across the stage to receive a blank piece of paper from the school's president. However, my grandmother, Mamau Nora Coffey, was looking forward to the event, so I planned to attend.

My parents died in an auto accident shortly before my sixth birthday. I remembered that day. We had an ice storm, and my mother bundled me up to go out and play. Being young and not paying attention, I slipped on the sidewalk and fell hard. I cried and cried about my boo-boo as I ran back inside. That evening, Momma told me she and Daddy planned to go out for their weekly Parent's Night Out. While they were gone, my older brother would take care of me.

I begged them not to leave. I think I said something about how they would fall and have a boo-boo.

They left anyway. Later, Mamau Nora came to our house and put us to bed. The next day, we learned that Momma and Daddy died in an auto accident. All I could think of was that they didn't listen to me, and now they left me, as I thought, with my mean older brother.

A few days later, Mamau Nora, Daddy's mother, took my brother and me to her home. After that, she raised us in her New Alluwe, Oklahoma home.

***

My name is Justice Cory Coffey. Justice is a family name my father stuck me with because of some great somebody grandfather. A while back, I learned they used the ancient spelling Justus until a couple of generations ago. It made no sense to me that one kid in each generation suffered from this name. Who knew how long this had been going on because of an Italian ancestor whose story no one remembers?

I wanted to change the name. I even talked to one of those free online lawyers. He told me the cost would be maybe four or five hundred dollars. That was a lot of money for me, and I knew Mamau would be upset because if Papau were still alive, he would hate the idea. With Mamau gone and cash in the bank, I may decide to pay the cost and drop my antique family name.

Growing up, I was glad to be the second son. Because of this, Mamau Nora was willing to call me by my middle name, Cory. My brother could not escape from Caius Robert Coffey, another family tradition. Because my brother was the firstborn, and our father called him Caius, Mamau said that was his name, and he would like it.

Mamau did not understand kids. Yeah, she had raised my father, but going by how she treated Caius and me, I expect she pretty well left that task up to her husband and neighbors. Still, she always had a snack for us when we got home from school, which was nice.

Breakfast was at five in the morning to give us time to care for the chickens and two calves. At one time, Mamau and Papau had a dairy with at least a hundred milk cows. Now, all we did was raise a couple of calves. Once grown, we sold them to the McDonald's buyers to become Big Macs.

When my brother Caius graduated high school, there was no question about college. Mamau sent him off to “get that important parchment and make something of yourself,” was how she put it. As he started checking schools, Mamau informed him, “We aren’t going to waste money on a private college or out-of-state tuition.” So, Caius went to a state school in Tulsa, Oklahoma.

After my senior year of high school, I didn’t want to follow in my brother’s footsteps, so I chose a state school in Enid. Four years later, it was time for graduation and the walk of shame as a member of the lowest five percent of the class. Still, with the trek across the stage completed, I would be a graduate with no idea of a life’s career.

A month before this event, Mamau Nora had a stroke and died.

My profs understood my loss. They offered to give me my semester grade without the final exam. That was lucky since my books had gathered dust on their shelves most of the semester.

Because I now had no reason to remain at school, I packed up and returned to Mamau’s house.

As to final arrangements, Mamau always made it clear she wanted cremation and no funeral or memorial service. We opened the house one afternoon, and friends and neighbors dropped by with enough food to last for days. A few weeks later, Mamau arrived back home; at least her ashes did. She wanted the remains spread in the little pond at the property's back, where she had placed Papau's ashes over twenty years before. So, we did.

Mamau didn't believe in lawyers, or if you considered the question, much of the law. Because of this attitude, she never went to a lawyer to prepare a will. Still, she had one particular charity she and Papau supported for years. Growing up, we heard about this organization that did good work and helped people in Italy. As I understood, this charity runs an orphanage, daycare, and some other work I never understood. Papau was religious in his support, so that was where Mamau’s donation jar money went every month following his death.

Anyway, she told Caius and me that since she raised us and sent us off to college, she now felt we didn't need any of her money following her death. She told us to sell the farm, most likely to the neighbor already renting the land. If we wanted, we could keep the lot the house sat on, but once the rest sold, Mamau wanted the proceeds, plus the money in the bank, sent to her charity.

As for my brother and me, our parents had created a trust for our benefit.  When our parents died, Mamau sold their home. Also, our father had an insurance policy, so all the cash became part of the trust created for our benefit. The local banker, Mr.Ramsey Carrol, handled the investing of our funds. The trust our parents prepared stated that the income was to provide for our care while we grew up. Then, on our twenty-fifth birthday or after graduation from college, we would begin to receive a monthly income from our trust. I never paid much attention, but Caius said my share would provide a reasonable income in addition to whatever job I found.

I have always appreciated my parents' preparation for Caius and my care and support. However, I was unhappy about what I considered my inheritance from Mamau, going to some charity. I wanted to live a little, and those funds should be mine.

               One evening, after we dumped the ashes, Caius and I sat in the living room watching television. He brought up Mamau's wishes. After he did, I pointed out there was no will. Because Mamau died intestate or without a will, Oklahoma law said the remaining relatives split everything fifty-fifty. Since my brother and I are, we understand, the sole living relatives, I pointed out all the assets belong to us. Of course, Caius wanted us to honor our grandmother’s spoken wishes. Still, I have no interest in the folks at “The JC Association to Aid Those in Need.”

               I told my brother, “I don't care about that damn charity. For the last sixteen years, I have done little more than study. I deserve some fun.”

“But Mamau wanted her money to go to her charity,” Caius kept telling me.

“If that was the case, I guess she should have ignored her idea about lawyers and written a will.”

Anyway, you probably can guess how the rest of the evening progressed.

It took a while, but eventually, my brother gave in.

“Fine, I'll give you half the cash. When the farm sells, I'll deposit your share of the proceeds in your account.

“Good! I'll take a check now.”

Frowning at me, Caius got Mamau's checkbook and wrote me a check for $10,272.49, which was half the remaining cash.

***

The next morning, I drove into town and deposited my newfound wealth. I had one credit card with a $1,800 credit limit. Although I had income from the trust last semester, I maxed that piece of plastic at $1,817,00, so my first check was to clear that balance. After covering the credit card bill, I spoke with the banker and told him about my plan to visit Italy. “I need to buy a plane ticket and hotels and other expenses, so could you give me a credit increase on my card?”

The banker, Mr. Carrol, knew the check I deposited came from Mamau's account. He had been Mamau's banker and friend for years, so I added: “Mamau was from Italy, and I want to visit the places she and our family came from.”

As expected, the banker knew of Mamau's last verbal wishes. The whole town likely did. Each year, besides her donations, she held a month-long bake sale to raise funds for her charity.” Mr. Carrol brought this up. Then he mentioned that the next month, I could begin receiving my full share of the income from the trust account rather than just living expenses as before.

I lied and said Caius and I planned to take care of Mamau's wishes. The fool accepted my word and authorized a credit card limit increase. I thanked the old guy and prepared to leave with almost $8,500 in my bank account plus the new credit limit of $9,000.

As I stood, Mr. Carrol asked: “During your trip to Rome, are you planning to visit the charity your grandparents supported all these years?”

Nobody ever accused me of being dumb. I immediately said, “Oh, yes. That will be one of my first stops.”

“Good. I’m sure your Mamau would be pleased you are taking an interest in the work. As I expect you know, besides her yearly donations, she also raised considerable funds in the community.”

“Oh, I know. Mamau had me working every Christmas. I would help bake cookies and work the booth she ran at every farmer’s market in the county.”

“A wonderful woman. The bank is donating in her name.”

The Banker then thought about something and asked, “This Christmas, will you and your brother be carrying on her tradition?”

Well, damn, I thought to myself. We won't be doing that stupid booth if I have anything to say about it---and come to think, I don’t have to if I don’t want to. Instead, I responded, “My brother and I started discussing what to do the other night. We haven’t finalized our plans, but soon.”

“Cory, just remember. You must reserve your booth early to get into some of the fairs.”

“You can be certain we will get right to work on that.”

“Just let me know what the bank or I can do. Since this is your first year going it alone, we might be able to help arrange for volunteers and a cash donation to prime the pump.”

After that, I left the bank thinking what a sucker Mr. Carrol was. Then again, the old guy had done okay with the trust our parents created.

***

Back at the house, I went online, and with my new credit limit, I ordered my plane tickets. My schedule was for two days flying and six days in Rome. I considered paying for a business class seat for the leg across the Atlantic Ocean. After learning the cost for one, I changed my mind and decided sitting in the cattle car area wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe I could schmooze one of the stewardesses on board to upgrade me once in the air.

Then, I began reading Mamau’s tour book for sights to see while in Rome. That process didn’t last long. Trying to plan a trip was too much like studying, and I was through with that activity. I decided just to wing things when I arrived. I leaned back in my chair and thought of my last semester's classes.

I finished all my “required” courses by the start of that final term. Since the school insisted on a minimum number of hours for the degree, I signed up for a drama class, a beginner's tennis class, and an Intro to Archaeology class.

The first day the Archaeology class met, I learned the primary interest of the prof of this final class was the ruins in Italy. Because of this, he spent the whole semester discussing the history and ruins throughout the country. Even though I slept through many lectures, I became interested in Ancient Roman things. The gladiator games were something, but so was the idea of having people at my beck and call. No, I didn't want to bring slavery back; however, at the same time, I thought having several paid servants would be fun.

As the days passed, I expected my brother hoped I would change my mind and honor Mamau's wishes. After I showed him the plane ticket, he went to his room even before it was dark, while I stayed downstairs.

With nothing else to do, I sat at Mamau's desk. While she was alive, Caius and I were never allowed in her office area. It had been the farm's office while Papau was alive, but after his death, Mamau rented out the fields to our neighbor. That’s how the office became Mamau’s sacred area.

The office desk was an old roll-top unit, which Mamau said a great-great-something grandfather purchased. Since this original acquisition in the 1800s, it has served as the family's farm desk for at least four generations.

I opened a few cubby holes above the desk area and found stamps, paperclips, and nothing interesting. In one of the side pockets, there was an old Bible. Mamau had never been a religious person. She went with Papau to church on the important holidays but had very sporadic attendance. Because of that, it was a surprise to find this Bible stuffed in the desk pocket. I opened the book, and it became apparent why this book had a special place of importance. It belonged to Papau and contained notes in his handwriting throughout the volume.

The Bible also held a few folded pieces of paper and a letter. Some of these items surprised me. It turned out Mamau had saved report cards. I unfolded the documents and recognized our local school district's name at the top. When I opened the folder, I expected to find Caius's name. However, at the top of each card, teachers had written my name. I flipped through the rest of the Bible pages, looking for my brother's folders, but none were there.

Then I turned to the letter. Folded between the pages, which contained a highlighted 1 Corinthians 13:4-8, the letter was from Papau. He wrote it to Mamau on one of his trips east for business. I read through this message. It contained his schedule and comments about how much he missed her and loved their life together. It ended with how he had found a hat he thought she might like and was bringing it home. His love was evident in his words. I never knew him. However, from everything Mamau and others told me, he was a good man.

Then I found something I wish had not been there. It was a single notebook page Mamau left in the place of honor between the Old and New Testaments. I opened the document and started reading. It began in a way that Mamau never spoke or wrote:

“Dear Caius and Justice. When you find this, I will be dead. Although I didn't show much care and concern while you were growing up, please know I loved you deeply. Now that you both are grown men, I have no doubt you will be making your way in life. Papau and I will be proud of where you go and what you do. You can expect he will be looking down, watching you. Though I haven't been a good Christian and certainly not a willing Baptist, I hope to be looking down and not up at you.”

“As I have told you both, I would like my earthly property sold and the proceeds given to the JC Association to Help Those in Need. Since your Papau passed away, I have sent them small monthly checks. Before he died, Papau was the one who supported their program, so I picked up the work. Still, it meant a lot to your papau and actually to me as well. I hope the charity can make good use of our money and help those who have been treated so shitty in their lives.”

“Thank you both for honoring this last wish of your Papau and me. I look forward to seeing you in heaven, although I want that day not to be too soon.”

“Love, Mamau.”

I had to laugh because of the cuss word. Mamau didn't want Caius or me cussing, but she spiced up her language with an occasional unacceptable word.

No idea how long I held the letter. My eyes went out of focus as I thought back over the years this woman took care of us. I read and re-read the carefully written page several times. These were her last instructions, but I didn't want to hear them.

The next time I glanced out the window, the sun had set in the west. At last, I made my decision. I folded the document several times and held it in my hand until night had fallen, and only the moon and the stars would see my actions. Without hesitation, I shredded the page into tiny pieces before I carried the remains outside and pushed the scraps deep into the big trash bin.

The following day, Caius said he would drive me to the airport in Tulsa.

***

Two days later, I was ready to head out. On the drive, my brother talked about his disappointment that I didn't want to follow Mamau's wishes but said that was my choice. He told me he loved me. I bit my tongue, not to admit I’d found the note from Mamau. If I was honest, that was her last will and testament, and its contents bound me.

 Holding my silence, I climbed out of the truck, and two hours later, I was on the plane headed for Italy.

In New York, I changed to an international flight and sat awake most of the night. When we landed in London, I nearly had to run between terminals before boarding the final leg to Rome.

Not long after this last take-off, I fell asleep and dreamed again.

Chapter 2: 1st Century 79 AD

An Ancient Fire

Then I was awake, at least I thought so. I wobbled a bit, then glanced down. My feet were straddling clay roofing tiles. Other men were standing around me. Someone below called up, “Dominus.” I glanced down, and a man was halfway up on a ladder. He was holding a bucket filled with water. “Dominus, we've re-filled another.”

Not sure what to do, I reached down and accepted what he held. Then I heard an explosion. I turned to see the house across the street with fire bursting through its roof. As I continued to observe, the flames moved along the clay shingles like a crawling beast.

A finger of fire leaped the narrow alley and touched a tree in our courtyard. In seconds, the sapling had become engulfed in flames. When that happened, the tree acted as a torch, lighting what had previously been in the dark. Behind the blaze was a forest mural on the peristyle or garden wall. As I watched, the paint began to bubble from the heat.

 More sounds attracted my attention, and I looked up again. Past my roof, the entire horizon rolled with fire and smoke. The wind changed. The air around me momentarily cleared as a strong draft rushed past me, making it difficult to maintain my balance. I stood there, doing nothing, holding a half-full bucket of water and staring at the maelstrom that seemed to stretch across the city.

Another man on the roof called for my attention, “Dominus.”

I turned in his direction, and he shouted, “We perhaps better leave.” He pointed down the street and added, “The Vigilesare pulling back.”

 I swiveled my head and eyes to the direction he was indicating. Below us, the VigilesUrbani had begun backing down the street. These were the firefighters of this city. It was their job to protect my house. I dropped the bucket of precious water and scrambled across to the front. Standing on the edge, I tried to attract the attention of the uniformed men who, below me, now backed down the street as they passed my front door.

“You can’t leave,” I shouted at them. You can’t abandon my Domus. Bending down, I picked up a loose roofing tile and flung it at the retreating men. It struck just in front of one of those providing rear guard protection. He glanced up at me and raised his fist in my direction. His fingers were splayed open as if I were a combatant in the arena, and he confirmed my death. He yelled something at me, but the noise of the fire and screams of men and women fleeing drowned out his voice.

As the last Vigile backed beyond my front door, I shrieked at them, “You have to save my house! It’s your job!”

Someone gripped my arm and began pulling me back from the edge. Over the roar of the approaching fire, I heard the man shout, “Dominus, we must leave now.”

“You're right,” I responded, beaten by it all. Taking one last look down the street at the Vigiles, I despised those men who did not do their best to save what was mine.

Heading across the slippery tiles, I saw my men had deserted their posts and clamored off the roof. I could hear one voice screaming below. It called for those left to pick up packages and head to the front entrance. I stepped over to a second tree in the corner of the atrium and began to climb down. Hands below steadied me until I reached the ground.

A little old man ran over. “Master, we must leave.”

Had this man not been in a dream and not, I guess, from ancient Rome, I would have felt it necessary to be politically correct with my description. But I was here, and so was he, inhabiting my dream. Bald as a baseball, five feet tall at most, and I expected he weighed in at less than one hundred pounds. But he had the air of someone in charge.

He pulled on my arm, and I let myself be led out of the courtyard and down a hallway. On every wall, a mural filled the space. Some were beautiful, and others, well, they could grace a porn magazine. I thought, what a shame these paintings are about to be lost.

The old man continued to drag me along, chattering about how they had tried to save as much as possible. Smoke began to surround us. Ahead, several people were coughing. I felt the sting of the acid-laden air and rubbed my eyes.

We exited the house. A litter waited in front, and the little man urged me to sit inside. I followed his orders. Four burly men picked up the carry rods, lifted the chair off the ground, and began almost running down the street. There was a booming sound behind us. I turned to look over my shoulder. Flames erupted from the door we had just abandoned. Seconds later, the fire wrapped my house in a shroud of flames. Fingers of red, yellow, and black shot upward like gauzy wrapping paper that belonged in a department store gift-wrapped bag.

The old man who had organized our withdrawal called out, encouraging our entourage to hurry.

Since all I had to do was sit in my chair, I scanned the group. I couldn't count, but they seemed to be at least a dozen. One big man ran around the crowd, calling, “Melissa,” but there was no answer. He ran to my side and pleaded, “Dominus, Melissa is not with us. We must go back.”

I glanced at him and said, “If she's not with us, she's gone.”

“But Melissa's in there. My Melissa.”

Ignoring his pleas, the man stopped running and dropped to the ground, covering his face. Our group passed beyond him.

The old man ran over to me, “Dominus, Aiden is distraught. May we put him in your chair?”

Glancing back at this man named Aiden, who collapsed on the ground, I said. “If he won't walk, he can stay.”

I ordered the four men carrying me, “Ire!” which, as I said the word, I recognized meant “go on.”

Once again, looking back, I witnessed the old man run to this kneeling Aiden and try to lift him. Felix struggled and finally got the younger man on his feet. This little guy pulling at this massive human hulk of a fellow resembled an old comedy routine.

Yet all the big man wanted was to curl up in the middle of the street. Why? Because his Melissa missed the boat, so to speak. I was amazed that the old guy would try so hard since his life was in danger. The difference between their sizes suggested nothing would come of his attempt but two deaths. It surprised me as the little man succeeded in getting both of them moving. Although they were far behind, they continued to stumble along the street after our group.

A building we were passing burst into flame. I turned away from the men behind us as I joined in the screams of the people around me. Our group ran on. Flaming embers now dropped on us. One landed on a decorative box a young woman carried. For some reason, I knew it contained the death masks of my ancestors.

The box was old, and having a flaming ember touch its thin, dried boards was too much. It flickered, and a red glow formed. The woman blew on the spot, hoping to put it out with her breath. Instead, the warm air fed the fire, and the tiny flicker became all-consuming. As flames reached up toward her face, she dropped the box. It fell apart, and the fire grew from the pile of wood and wax figurines as if someone lit a candlewick.

Now, I saw we were not keeping pace with the advancing blaze. Houses on both sides became infernos. As we passed, the front doors burst open from the pressure of the fire inside. When that happened, flames shot out into the dusk. We came off our hill and continued into the area of insulae, where thousands of residents lived in these apartment buildings. The flames jumped the road ahead of us, and four and five-story buildings built like smokestacks seemed to burst into towering infernos.

 At that moment, it happened. One tall apartment building almost exploded as it lit up with the fire inside. Weaving in the intensity that now encased the structure, all four stories leaned toward the street and collapsed with a deafening roar.

The fallen building blocked the way forward. Flames began to lick at the buildings on the opposite side of the narrow street. The bearers set the litter down. My people moved closer to my canopy-covered chair as if that might protect them. The air became almost unbreathable. The decorative fringes on the litter began to smoke right before my eyes.

In the next second, smoke and fire filled the street and killed all of us. This was followed by screaming---which turned out to be my own, and then I woke.

I hope you have enjoyed this sample of IN A TIME BEFORE. The book is available as an e-book, paper back, hard cover and large print at Amazon