A short 100 word intro for a dieselpunk story I’m writing. This one isn’t part of the “Family of Earth” series, just pure, gritty diesel. Think pony express rider on a souped up 1930s Harley, dodging blizzards and outlaws through enemy territory, with a hypnotic jazz singer for a guide. The full story will be published in an SF anthology on Wattpad in a month or so. No titles yet, though something with ‘Transmission’ is intriguing me.
Ice cracked and riveted beneath Hugh’s studded treads, congealing in gray-white crust upon his thick gloves and face guard. He concentrated on the sirenic voice crooning through the earpiece in his helmet. Over a hundred miles form the nearest outpost, the music of late-night radio songstress Edie Waters were his only link to civilization, to sanity.
The transmission of his enhanced Harley-Davidson RL 45 growled as he shifted low. If Hell existed on Earth, it’d be the featureless white wasteland ahead. So far he’d been lucky–no fresh snow, no freebooters. He prayed.