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Shunya -- EPUB

  • As humanity poisons itself with its technology, a down-and-out EMT is hostage to both love and a chilling bus ride that's out of this world.
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Other Details

Release Date:
September 21, 2017
Cover Artist:
Gwen Phifer

Product Description

Modern society is undergoing an evolutionary “quickening,” where humans are becoming electromagnetically hypersensitive to their own technology. Jarrod Denny Thurston, or "Denim" feels like "normal" never existed in the first place. Denim, a midwestern, PTSD-haunted man, has given up on love a long time ago. However, his midnight game changer comes when he loses his EMT job, wrecks his truck in a cryptic twist of events, and then stumbles onto a strange city bus to hitch a ride home.

As their seat-gripping transit unfolds, Denim and the other hostages become certain of two things: their driver isn't human, and where they're headed might be out of this world. Denim must find a way to transcend his inner demons to help save them all…including the quixotic, young scholar he never expects to fall in love with.


With laser focus, and Liz as watchdog, he spent the next several hours smashing each phone into tiny parts and feeding each one through the crack in the door. The bus engine had its own swooshing and gushing dance, and Denim had grabbed his opportunity amid the noise. Memorizing the mechanical beat in his head, he listened, waited for each loud noise to come back around, and then smashed down on the hard bits of plastic beneath him. Liz, who'd taken a little hiatus from guard duty to re-apply her makeup, came back around and sat down in the aisle near him. This time she carried the look of someone more willing to stir up trouble than to help subdue it.

"You married or hooked up in any serious way?" she asked.

"Would you mind keeping your focus on the driver and the rest of the bus, please?"

"Sorrreee. It was just an innocent question. Geesh."

"No, I'm not."

"Well, sandy boy, I take it back. I don't care anymore."

"Good. It wasn't any of your business anyway." He looked down at her feet, surprised that she still had on those ridiculous boots. A practical guy himself, he thought about what he'd seen the other "species" sacrifice in the name of "beauty."

Abandoned by his parents at a young age, and growing up with his elderly aunt at the helm, Denim never had siblings, but he could have used an older sister. His imaginary sister would be "Jane of the Jungle," sturdy and capable, but still in touch with her feminine side. She'd probably be a medic, like him -- or a police officer -- and she'd apply her lipstick only after her steel-toed boots were all polished and laced. He looked down the aisle to Liz's back, and thought of a giraffe balancing on its slinky legs. He watched as one of her heels buckled and she stumbled into the side of a seat. She may be cute, but a lot of good she's gonna do us in battle.

Before he could entertain another thought about Liz, the fuzzy bit of lighting from the overhead bulbs shut off. The interior went to burnt toast. Muffled voices stirred up again, as the collective glob of anxiety grew larger. "Don't nobody worry. We're all gonna get through this. Just breathe and wait it out, folks. Whatever happens, just breathe." Althea's voice was a radiant torch in a subterranean tunnel.

Keeshon, the youngest rider they had, whimpered and cried. "What's wrong, baby?" Denim heard Redell say to the child.

"Gram Poppa, I'm scared." It was too dark to tell, but the boy must have been quivering. "When we gonna go home?" he asked his Gramp. "I got to pee weelly, weelly bad."

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