Outland Exile (Book 1) (Old Men and Infidels)

Outland Exile (Book 1) (Old Men and Infidels)

by W. Clark Boutwell

ASIN: B07949RS75

Publisher iUniverse

Published in Science Fiction & Fantasy/Dystopian, Science Fiction & Fantasy/Military, Science Fiction & Fantasy/Fantasy, Literature & Fiction/Contemporary, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Literature & Fiction

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Book Description


America is dead and the Democratic Unity killed it. After catastrophic wars and the Meltdown, The Unity rules from its East Coast citadel, leaving the outlands to savages and its strangely altered plants. Providing free health care, employment, and ThiZ (the drug of any really civilized life), the Unity mandates retirement at forty before fatigue and error contaminate the culture.

"A powerful blend of post-apocalyptic fiction, science fiction and brass-knuckle social commentary ... Outland Exile ... is a towering tour de force of a novel ... Relentlessly visionary” - Blue Ink Reviews

Sample Chapter

Malila awoke, her ears ringing and too dazed to move. The air was redolent of wood smoke. She lay in a small campsite on her side in a lean-to crafted from still-green boughs woven onto saplings rooted into the ground. An ax and sheathed knife threaded onto a broad leather belt hung from a small branch near her head. Only when she moved to retrieve them did she comprehend she had been bound, her wrists tied behind her back and her legs tied at the ankles. A shiver coursed through her when she found she was naked as well. On hearing a faint scuffling behind her, Malila closed her eyes, calmed her breathing, and relaxed her body, sagging into the bonds. She felt the slight breeze of someone’s entrance and then heard nothing but the forest.

“You are awake, lass.” It wasn’t a question. “Open your eyes, or I start to take off toes.”

She detected an alien soft-burred accent. After a few seconds, a hand gripped her left foot by the instep. Her eyes shot open, startled, all pretense lost at the immediate threat.

A Sisi was crouching back on his heels, holding her foot, an odd short curved knife in his other hand, his face concealed in a grizzled beard, his skin burned muddy brown. Over his left cheek he wore a series of blue streaks, faded and indistinct. His hair grew out from under a knitted cap of uncertain design: abundant, lank, white, and to his shoulders. He filled the small space.

After a second to regard her, the old man dropped her foot and turned back to working a small piece of leather. “There you go, lass. Much better. Let’s have your name. I can’t be calling you ‘lass’ all the time, can I?”

Malila calmed herself, waiting until she was confident of her voice. Before she could answer, the old man looked up at her from under his thick eyebrows with such menace that she squeaked, “Chiu, Malila E., E11, S08, lieutenant … acting second lieutenant … serial number 59026169.”

The old man tilted his head back, his face split to show brilliant and sound teeth. He started a low vigorous laugh, stopping after he dabbed at his eyes with a square of rough fabric taken from his leather tunic.“You should see yourself, lass, trying to look official and all, lying bare-ass naked and trussed up like a prize sow.”

He wiped his eyes again, and his face sobered. “Let me tell you what you’ve told me, so far, Acting Second Lieutenant Chiu, Malila E.

“You are seventeen years old. You’ve been sent on this shit of an assignment because you messed up and they broke you down a rank or three. You have been given the chance to redeem yourself … if you don’t screw up, as you just did. You have been in the service for seven years, and you think you are hot stuff, which you ain’t, as we wouldna be having this here conversation otherwise.

“You have a small scar under your chin, another over your left shin, and one under your right tit, which I should remark is pretty enough, although personally I prefer a little more. The scars under your chin and on your leg are no doubt from training accidents. Your hair is too short for my taste. Your facial features are regular and rather pretty in an exotic way, lass, nice shade of blue in your eyes. Once upon a time, you broke your left forearm as a child from a fall on an outstretched hand, due to some fool game, I should think. You have never birthed a baby. You are sound in heart and limb, but I don’t know about your head yet. Your nutrition could be better, and you would do well to add a few pounds for aesthetic reasons. Have I missed anything, Lieutenant?” he said, again transfixing her with his pale eyes.


Excerpted from "Outland Exile (Book 1) (Old Men and Infidels)" by W. Clark Boutwell. Copyright © 2015 by W. Clark Boutwell. Excerpted by permission. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher. Excerpts are provided solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
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Author Profile

W. Clark Boutwell

W. Clark Boutwell

Born in Chicago, W. Clark Boutwell specializes in intensive care with newborn infants. He has practiced medicine on four continents, eight countries and 17 states. He lives in Pike Road, Alabama with his bride of 38 years, also a pediatrician. They have two grown children. Growing up outside Philadelphia, he started hiking solo at 10 years-old. Ever since he has traveled the backcountry of America with implausible tales, and friends to swear to them. Having seen the midnight sun on Beaufort Sound, the Southern Cross at Mukinge Hill, the sun set over Haleiwa Bay from a seat on Jameson’s porch and the moon rise over the Himalayas, he thinks writing is perhaps the greatest adventure.

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