Havok Publishing

Lincoln Reed

The Ties that Bind

Judy Suarez velcroed her orthopedic sneakers and gripped her SIG Sauer. “Of all the days.”
A shotgun blast thundered. Dust cascaded from the bingo hall’s ceiling as the report rattled through my bones. I scrambled beneath the table, hands over my head, mouth dry, heart pummeling my ribcage like a boxer punching a slab of meat.

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Tombstone Terror

“Don’t be a fool, son.” The saloon’s bartender nodded toward the revolver holstered on my belt. “This town got a history. On the full moon—”
“I ain’t scared of no Wyatt Earp. No killer, frontier, quick-shooting lawmen are going to get me, no sir.” I downed my drink. “Pretty sure Johnny Ringo and his outlaws are six feet below, too.

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The Book of Madness

When I opened the Book of Madness, lightning streaked outside the mansion’s window.
Thunder bellowed.
My flashlight illuminated scribblings on the faded pages as I traced my finger along a paragraph, skimming with eyes squinted, mumbling the Latin translation of ancient text. I flipped a page, propping myself against the reading table.

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The Cupid Killer

Ten minutes to midnight, the arrow sliced through the window. Glass sprayed. An arrowhead thumped, piercing the wall an inch away from my right eye. I dropped to the floor, army crawled toward the shotgun on the coffee table, and pumped a round into the chamber.
With the weapon ready, I slunk toward

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Mutoscope Murder

Inspector Gustav Ackerson removed his bowler hat and knelt next to the corpse. A boy of fourteen years stared at the nickelodeon’s plaster ceiling with glazed eyes. According to the night guardsman, the poor lad had snuck into the theater after hours and had been discovered lying on the floor next to a mutoscope.

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The Bronze Serpent

Dr. Byron Stoneburner inserted the bronze snake into a satchel as German bullets whizzed overhead. He secured the latch on the bag and mumbled a prayer.
Courage. Or Jack’s dead.
A disheveled officer nudged his arm. “You’re serious?”
Byron tightened his helmet chinstrap and placed a muddy boot on the trench ladder.

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The Fire Bear

After they stole my boots, they tied a necklace of dynamite around my throat.
Georgie, an unkempt prospector who stank like a skunk in a manure pile, knelt into the stream and lifted my pan, surveying its sandy contents as dawn glimmered orange in the fuming mist of Yellowstone hot springs.

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Ghost of the Badlands

Theodore Roosevelt clicked the hammers back on his double-barreled shotgun. The mustache atop his upper lip crinkled in a defiant sneer. “Steady, Bill. The hunt’s underway, and we’re the hunted.”
A low moan echoed amongst the ominous hilltops, climbing into an ear-wrenching wail that rattled my bones. I lifted my rifle and

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From the Depths

I found the body at dawn.
The sailor was slumped against the wrecked stern in a bloody pulp. He clung to the humble fishing boat’s planking as the chilled waters of Lake Erie lapped the crumpled hull.
Poor soul.
Bart, my beagle, set his paws on the top rail of our small fishing vessel.

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The Mountain of Death

Liam entered the Mountain of Death at dusk.
He adjusted his headphones, checked the volume unit—or VU—dial on the mixer strapped to his belt, and reasserted his grip on a boom pole carrying a shotgun microphone. With his headlamp’s yellow beam piercing the darkness, he pointed the mic’s windscreen into…

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The Secret of Skeleton Lake

The red transport helicopter chased Rohan down the snowy peak. Staccato gunfire roared from the chopper, each bullet ripping snow in his wake.
Rohan’s skis shredded the slope with sharp maneuvers, zipping side to side, risking speeds faster than he ever had on the most advanced black diamond runs. The helicopter swerved

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The Divine Spark

Thomas snuck into the graveyard at midnight.
Carrying an oil lamp low in his left hand, he hoisted the shovel in his right and slinked among the tombstones until he located his prize—a mound of dirt, newly churned, resting at the foot of a humble marker. The lantern’s quivering flame danced across

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