The Unseen War

Read the opening

B y t h e t i m e anyone thought to name the wind, it had already learned how to listen. It came down from the hills in long, sighing breaths, sliding along the rusted spine of the abandoned rail line and through the hollow where the town had settled like a forgotten seed. Bridge’s Hollow was the kind of place that didn’t show up on maps unless you knew to look for it—two stoplights, one main street, a brick courthouse whose clock had been wrong for as long as anyone could remember.

The sample pages on this site continue the opening — and the full book is available in print.