Here’s the prologue from Firebreak, the first novel in the Firebreak series:–
The end began with sudden light in the darkness.
A silver craft accelerated through the atmosphere, glowing against the night sky as friction burned off years of accumulated dust. The craft’s sole occupant, Velwyn Theus, blacked out under the extreme g-forces. A bare minute later, the craft cleared the outer atmosphere and entered its preprogrammed orbit.
With a start, Theus blinked back into consciousness. Disorientation faded quickly as he remembered where he was. Dread filled his mind as he opened the heat shields covering the viewport. The planet below him rested serenely, a dark orb dotted with the twinkling lights of cities, linked by gossamer lattices of transportation networks.
He closed his eyes. Maybe, somehow, they had stopped it. He opened his eyes. The planet remain unchanged, sparkling merrily in the dark. He dared to hope. Luck? It wouldn’t be the first time it’s saved me. Perhaps…
A fierce white brilliance erupted on the eastern edge of the continent, disintegrating his hope. More white flashes sprouted seconds later, the stark visual signatures of thermonuclear explosions. Though his craft was shielded, the light seemed to burn through his optic nerve and sear his brain. A chain reaction of explosions spread like wildfire across the continent, blotting out the twinkling lights of civilization. Vast clouds of dust and debris rose, gray swirls revealed in the bursts of radiation.
In the light of the cataclysm, Theus glimpsed his reflection in the viewport. Aging eyes in a seamed face topped by gray-white hair stared back at him. “What have I done?”, he murmured. Tears welled in his eyes.
The surface of the planet convulsed, rocking Theus’ craft with gravitational shifts. He was thrown back into his chair, striking his head on the headrest. Blinking through the pain, he watched a jagged gash open on the eastern side of the continent. Vast plumes of orange-red magma geysered skyward from the crack, the beautiful color of apocalypse.
Eventually, the number of new flashes dropped off rapidly. Gray dust and smoke struggled with orange-red magma and flame for dominance of the planet’s color palette. Theus closed his eyes, a paroxysm of half-choked cries rippling through his body. Tears rolled down his cheeks, slender rivulets in the cracks of his aged skin. “Latania,” he cried, tenderly. “Latania!” he shouted, with raw anger. “Latania…” he moaned, as despair claimed him.