About the book:

The post-apocalyptic world isn’t that bad. Sure, there are mutants. But, for the people of New Hope, daily life isn’t so much a struggle of finding food or medicine as it is trying to find a new shortstop for their kickball team. This makes it difficult for a post-apocalyptic warrior to find work.

Thankfully, an army full of killers is making its way to the peaceful town and plans to raze it to the ground. Only a fully trained post-apocalyptic-nomadic warrior can stop them. Two have offered their services. One is invited to help. The other is sent to roam the wasteland. Did the townspeople make the right decision? Will they be saved? Did they find a shortstop? What’s with all the bears?

Find out in the best-selling Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors, a fast-paced action and adventure novel set in a horrific future that doesn’t take itself too seriously.

In this scene:

As Logan prepares the town’s defenses he must meet with the town’s gadget man.


Logan had left the children pulling apart strands of cable. He had made a joke about tetanus that they didn’t understand, and went to find the town’s gadget man.

The mayor had not described him. No one had told him the man’s name. Regardless, Logan knew whom to look for. Whether he was tall or short, the man would be round and a little grizzled. The man in charge of keeping the town running would have a lame sense of humor and a personality that many tolerated only because he maintained the machinery and invented things that the people needed most: water pumps, steam engines, and more. If not for these vital skills, the gadget man of any post-apocalyptic town would be friendless and, more than likely, left in the wilderness.

Logan found Carl Parker chatting to several men. Each had one foot out of the conversation waiting for the short round man to take a breath so they could excuse themselves. They had been waiting for a while.

Carl was regaling them with a series of jokes about the difference between men and women when Logan interrupted.

“Are you the gadget man?”

Carl turned to Logan and smiled.

The crowd scattered, each tossing a weak excuse over the shoulder as they moved away. The men split. Each went a separate direction as if they were being pursued by an axe murderer or the forces of the undead and were trying to lose their hunters.

“Howdy, stranger. Do you know the difference between men and women?”

Logan did and the answer was, “Vaginas.”

“Well, yeah but that’s …”

“Are you the gadget man?”

Carl’s round face lit up, he stood a little taller, which wasn’t much because he was barely five foot five. “Around here they call me the Gadgeteer.”

Carl pulled a four-pound sledge from his belt and held it triumphantly above his head. His grease rag rippled like a cape from his back pocket.

“The Gadgeteer. Really?”

“No,” Carl sheathed the sledge, dug the oily rag out of his pocket and began to wipe his hands and forehead. Nothing was wiped away; the rag just added grease to his hands and forehead. “I’ve asked them to. They say the decision is stuck in committee. But, if you’re asking if I’m the one who keeps this town running, well, yes, that’s me. Mechanic, electrician, plumber, engineer, and umpire for the New Hope kickball league.”

Pivoting like a Weeble, he turned and began to walk across Town Square. Motioning with the oily rag, his tone changed from one of pride to one that was much more bitchy.

Logan followed.

“Yeah, I’m the gadget man, not that you’d know it if you looked in my shop. I don’t have two wrenches to turn together. And the people they send me …” Carl shook his head. “Everyone is sent in rotation, so just the time I’ve got them trained, they leave.”

They reached the open hood of a small blue and white pickup. Carl pulled a wrench from his tool belt and buried his head in the engine compartment.

“I tell you, that Murphy is a sonofabitch.”

“Which one was Murphy?”

Carl laughed loud and hard at Logan’s remark. It was an irritating laugh that sounded like it belonged in the front row of a laugh track. Still, the mechanic was genuine. The round man reached up and slapped Logan on the shoulder with an oil-covered hand.

“No, Murphy the lawyer.”

Logan’s confusion showed on his face.

“My friend, I’m talking about Murphy’s Law that says shit’s gonna happen.”

Logan nodded. This was the town’s gadget man. He took another greasy slap on the shoulder, and watched Carl dive back under the hood to tend to the pickup’s engine.

Metal clattered, tools clanged, but there was no end to the chatting. Carl continued the conversation with Logan, while simultaneously cursing the engine.

“So, now you know who I am … sonofabitch … stranger. And, I know who you are … little turd. You’re the … mother humper … man who’s gonna save New Hope … you bastard. The man with the Mustang.”

For a moment Logan considered closing the hood and walking away. But he needed this man’s help. “I’m going to do my best.”

“And, I’m guessing … little beggar … that you’re going to need something from me … filthy whore.”

“I can come back.”

Carl’s head popped out of the truck’s hood, somehow even dirtier. “Why?”

“You seem to be busy.”

“No, it’s all right. Keep talking. I’ve just got a nut stuck.”

Before Logan could continue, Carl reached out and slapped him again as he began to laugh.

“Sounds like a personal problem! Right?”

Logan could only nod and hope that the mechanic would stick his head back in the truck.

“I know, I know, TMI, TMI, too much information,” Carl laughed again and attacked the nut with more vigor. The truck shook, the laughter echoed in the compartment.

“You’re right,” Logan tried to talk over the laughing, swearing, and clanging. “I need your help reinforcing the gate.”

“Well, I only designed it to keep the animals out. We can … crap … always weld some more steel on it … rat bastard.

Put a few more inches between us … that’s what she said … and the bad guys, dammit.”

“I had another idea.”

“Oh yeah? What’s that … little bitch?”

Logan knocked on the hood, “I hope that was directed at your nuts.”

Carl emerged again, “Come again?”

“That comment.”

Carl didn’t look any brighter when he was confused. He replayed the conversation in his head and it dawned on him,“Oh, no no no, no, no. Yes, I was swearing at my nuts.”

Logan shook his head, knowing what to expect.

Carl slapped him on the arm—Logan thought he might be starting to bruise—and laughed louder than before. It took him a moment to catch his breath, and still, he chuckled.

“TMI! TMI! Huh? Ha-ha. What’s your idea?”

“I came across an old cement truck, maybe ten miles down the road. It had a hardened load in the back …”

Carl smiled and was about to speak. Logan hurried on before the mechanic could interrupt.

“A little plating and it would make solid gate … if you could get it running.”

“When you said hardened load, I was going to say …”

Logan held up his hand. Carl stopped. Logan smiled and said, “If we go right now, I’ll even call you Gadgeteer.”

Carl smiled, pulled the sledge from his belt and began tapping it in the palm of his hand. “Let’s go get her.”







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