Blending mystery, police procedural and sci-fi, Traveler is a thriller in the tradition of Daniel Suarez and Dean Koontz, with just a dash of Jim Butcher.
Police detective Trav Becker can travel between parallel realities. So can other versions of him. And one is systematically killing every Trav he can find.
Trav must fight to keep the very fabric of time itself from unwinding as he hunts the most dangerous quarry of all… himself.
He must hunt the most dangerous quarry of all… himself.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Specialization is for insects.
Ask someone how they know Dennis Green and you might get any one of the following: Writer, DJ, actor, MC, swimmer, teacher, reporter, tech geek, husband, or dad. So it’s little wonder his favorite expression is the above quote by Robert Heinlein’s spacefaring immortal, Lazarus Long.A popular radio personality in his native Iowa, Dennis’s adventures as a DJ were covered by newspapers from Anchorage to Los Angeles. He has also worked on the stage, TV, and independent film. He is one of the Midwest’s most popular MC’s, hosting dozens of events each year.
Dennis’s first novel, the sci-fi detective thriller, Traveler, ranked in the Top Ten in the 2014 Ben Franklin Independent Publishing awards, and has a 4.9 review average on Amazon.. Prisoner is the second volume of the Traveler Chronicles, and will be out in the summer of 2015. Trav Becker’s saga concludes in the final volume of the trilogy, Hunter, which is due in 2016.
Dennis’s writing has appeared in the anthology Sadistic Shorts, magazines including Grift and Romance and Beyond, as well as his own blog at denniswgreen.com. He also writes for and edits the triathlon news site heartofamericatri.com.
By day, he is the general manager of Iowa’s only jazz radio station, KCCK-FM. And if it’s 5:30 am, you can probably find him in the pool, working out with the Milky Way Masters swim club.
We started walking to Sam’s car and were crossing in front of a dumpster in the alley next to the building when I stopped.
“What?” asked Sam, looking at me curiously.
I held up a hand for silence.
I stared out into what would have seemed to Sam to be empty space.
But it wasn’t empty to me.
For the second time, another set of images super-imposed themselves on the scene in front me.
Sam was standing next to me, but I was now watching another Sam, and another Trav, moving just ahead of us.
If I concentrated on the sight before me, I could discern a number of other Travs and Sams ahead—or in some cases beside—and even behind us.
But like the last time I had seen this vision, those other figures were fainter and outlined in blue. Whether I was focusing on this particular pair because they were outlined in red, or if they were red because I was looking at them, I had no idea.
Even stranger was the inexplicable set of actions I watch Red Trav and Red Sam act out.
What the hell?
“What are you looking at?” asked the Sam beside me.
And that was when the shot rang out.
I instinctively went down to a crouch, pulling Sam with me, and pushed him backwards into an alley we had just begun to pass. I drew my weapon.
I had a sense the shot had come from across the street and maybe a little above us, but couldn’t be sure.
Only a part of my mind was focused on the shooting, however. The rest was still puzzling out the images which continued to overlay the reality in front of me.
Follow the red shift.
“Okay,” I sighed.
“Okay what?” demanded Sam.
“Just let me say in advance, I’m really sorry about this, Sam.”
“Sorry about what?”
I tucked the gun back into my pocket so I’d have both hands free. Then I grabbed Sam by the belt and neck, quickly lifting him off the ground, and with a thrust from my legs, tipped the little guy headfirst into the open dumpster.
The dumpster lid banged shut from the motion, just as it had when Red Trav had done the same thing to Red Sam.
“What the FUCK?” More swear words emanated from inside the garbage container, but I was already moving, following Red Trav.
This double, thankfully a little more animated than the one back in my closet, didn’t seem to be in the least concerned about getting shot. He hurried down the street about a half block, then stopped and turned to face the street.
I followed. As I got close, the image faded away. I turned, now facing the same direction and standing in the same position Red Trav had been.
And as if on cue, a black Volvo pulled up in front of me.
A tinted window rolled down in the back, and an arm stretched out.
The arm was attached to a hand, which held a gun.
“Get in,” commanded an accented voice.
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