It's a novella called Uncivil War: The Island. It's the first volume of a new series and it's available on Amazon right now. It's not like anything I've ever written before. In fact, it's not much like anything else I've ever read before. As you can probably guess from the title, it's about the next American Civil War—and what happens after that.
Here's an excerpt.
"My foot's wet."
"I know ."
"I'm really tired."
The boy rubbed the little girl's hair. "I know, buddy. I know."
"And I need to pee."
He sighed. "Oh, Buttercup. Really?"
"All right," the boy said, scouting for the best—which is to say, the safest—place. There were plenty of houses around but he really didn't want to go into any of them. He didn't know why, exactly—he couldn't see, hear, or even smell anything off—but he'd learned to trust his instincts. "Come on."
He led her between a pair of darkened houses. By now he didn't even need to remind her to try not to step on any dead leaves; it'd become second nature to them both.
They stopped in the small patch of trees behind the back yards of the houses. There were more darkened houses on the other side of the trees. "Okay," he said.
Her shoulders slumped. "Harry? Can you…?"
He shook his head. "Sorry, pal. You know the rule."
She stuck out her lip. "I hate the rule."
The boy called Harry smiled. He hated the rule too. There seems to be something deeply ingrained in humans that really wants privacy when it comes to bodily fluids. But that was another thing they'd learned: it's also when you're at your most vulnerable. Until they got to safety—if there even was such a thing anymore—there wasn't going to be any privacy for the two of them. Just one more thing they hadn't realized they had until it was gone. He turned around, not so much to give her what privacy he could, as to keep an eye out. She'd just finished—and she obviously hadn't been lying—when movement caught his eye. She felt him tense and went perfectly still herself.
"What?" she whispered.
He didn't answer. Neither of them moved for a moment. They heard something coming closer.
The girl relaxed first. "It's just a cat," she said. Her voice was high and squeaky, as always, but the relief made her sound bitter and his eyes stung a little. No seven-year-old should sound like that, he thought.Uncivil War is, like the nation in which it's set, a big story. Like all big stories, it's got a whole lot of smaller stories inside it. Initially, Uncivil War is going to move around the various regions of the country, telling those smaller stories—each of which, of course, is huge to the people the stories are about—which can be read in any order. Eventually, these short novels, novellas, short stories, flash fiction and vignettes will come together to form one very large tapestry.