Desolation Island [MultiFormat]
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eBook by Terry L. Vinson
eBook Category: Science Fiction/Suspense/Thriller
eBook Description: Framed for a murder he didn't commit, second-tier superhero Ben Thomason, known in the trades as 'Desolation Outlaw', is convicted and sentenced to life in prison at Eagle Island Detention Center, a top secret, billion dollar penitentiary that houses only the elite of super-villains and super- hero's gone bad. Following the initial incarceration phase, he greets both old allies and enemies alike amid an inexplicable feeling of dread that looms atop the desolate island location like a toxic black cloud. Set against a surreal backdrop filled with deadly mutants, vile alien entities and merciless madmen, the purest of all evils is slowly awakening just below the surface of the prison's stringently controlled environment; an ancient being whose raw power dwarfs those of all assigned inmates combined. As centuries-old mysteries unravel and shocking truths are unmasked, the imprisoned inhabitants and embittered staff of Eagle Isle are forced to ban together and pool their respective powers in order to survive the greatest threat of all, and from the most unlikely of sources. No man is an island, indeed, most notably a penal colony turned beachhead graveyard soon to be renamed 'Desolation Island'?
eBook Publisher: Double Dragon Publishing/Double Dragon eBooks, Published: DDP, 2006
Fictionwise Release Date: August 2006
12 Reader Ratings:
The shot glasses smacked the oak bar at precisely the same moment, the retort of which echoed like a shotgun blast within the deafening silence of the otherwise deserted structure.
"Nothin' like a Southern Comfort burn to ignite the soul, am I right, partner?" the larger of the two men asked, his grotesquely oversized hand cupping the shot glass like a child's marble, its contents completely hidden within his massive palm.
The smaller man grinned through a dark crimson cowl, his meticulously toned physique perfectly defined through maroon-shaded tights.
"I'm not the elbow bender I was in our day, Force. Whoops…sorry, I mean, Desolation Outlaw . I'm gonna have a hard time calling you anything but Force, Benjamin. Force of habit, you might say," he replied with a sly grin, reaching up to push the cowl from his face.
Bending forward, the larger man studied the other for a moment while leaning onto forearms as large as a normal man's thighs.
"Ya don't look too worse for wear,Condor. We've both added a few wrinkles, not to mention scars, over the past…. damn, how long has it been, Ray?"
"At least four years, Ben," the Crimson Condor replied, "Haven't laid eyes on your ugly mug since Baton Rouge back in two-thousand…one…or maybe two."
"Baton Rouge. Got'cha. . ," he agreed with a nod, reaching over to refill their shot glasses to the brim's edge,"…helluva brawl, as I recall. Lost a tooth to Slayer's left hook. Damn thing is probably still lodged in his knuckle. You broke an arm that day, didn't ya? Or was it a leg?"
"Right arm just below the elbow. Tried to glide beneath Stingray's electro-cane and never saw The Brute coming. Big bastard straight-armed me right through the wall of that bank building. I had migraines for six months afterwards. Closest I ever came to permanent retirement, Force…uh. . Ben."
Both men paused, then traded winks before downing the shots in twin blurs of frenzied motion. Again, the room filled with the thumping echo of glass against oak.
"I remember droppin' ya off at Doc Wilkes office that evenin', Ray. Grumpy old bastard. The government was payin' him quite a wad to bandage up hero-types. Never could figure out his rabid Doberman personality."
Wiping his mouth with a gloved hand, the Crimson Condor then laughed aloud, glaring at the mostly empty whiskey bottle as if it were a crystal ball.
"He was an ornery SOB, all right. I'll say this, he was an equal-opportunity jackass. Treated everybody like crap, from what I saw. Ben, you'll never guess who I spent some rehab time with at Doc Wilkes' place."
Shrugging his massive shoulders through a snug-fitting black muscle T-shirt, Ben then pushed away from the bar and stood, various popping noises filling the air as he stretched his colossal frame.
"Old Flag-Face himself, Captain A . The Red Skull's cronies had messed him up pretty good. Cracked ribs, concussion; the works."
Now standing behind the waist-high bar, Ben pulled a fresh bottle of Jim Beam Gold from a dust-coated cardboard box and blew a wad of cobwebs free from the cap.
"Hoo-boy, spendin' time with true royalty there, Ray. Livin' legend material. So what was Mister Patriot like up close an' personal? Real ego-maniacal a-hole, I'll bet…"
"Believe it not, Ben, the man was as down to earth as you could imagine. At least, for a guy who's done and seen the things he has through the years. Quiet and reserved, but a real professional in every sense. Least, that's the impression I got."
Copyright © 2006 Terry L. Vinson