Kimber Shook: When the Sun Blinked Series by David Harvey

When the Sun Blinked Series by David Harvey

Book 1 - Search for the Truth

Book 2 - The Soldiers

Book 3- The Lions

FIND and FOLLOW DAVID HARVEY:

The story behind the Books.

Personal background: Business implosion through events which occurred in a bordering country, and subsequent unravelling. Wanted to write it all down to use that as a cathartic self-release of the trauma it caused.

That then somehow morphed into a story, loosely following an idea germinated by the disappearance of: Malaysian Airline Flight MH 370 and a few subsequent random thoughts.

My thoughts, as I walked in the late afternoons around the mountain behind our suburb with our dogs became the outline which over many many miles of foot pounding became the story. In the story I became one of the characters in the Trilogy. My wife became a second character, as much a life-saver in the Book as in life.

There were never any notes jotted down to refer to. It was simply a case of, one evening I sat and started. In the back of my brain was the tiny little flame on the candle flickering away in the darkness casting some meagre light on an overall story line. Each day, I sat down after everything else was cleared and put words to my Word document, which grew and grew and eventually became 2 books and then because I was unable to let go of my characters, and their circumstances and 2 became three and I was hooked.

The 3 books create the story of my survivors, from initially surviving the catastrophic aircraft crash, to having to look for their own rescue when no-one comes to them after nearly 3 very long weeks.

In creating the environment of the crash, an exact (with liberties) replica of a real stretch of coast line I am very familiar with and have swum in the waters of, became the setting. I have tried to re-create the beach in the books, as they see it. The numerous coves and small bays, the very large boulders where they take refuge while they wait are all there and exist.

The coast line where they crashed (if you can imagine the picture,) has a beach line of some four to five hundred meters (yards – what the heck) in width. Beyond that are high mountains that parallel the coast. In their world, they have approximately 10 kilometers (miles) to the wetland I use extensively in Book 3 from their boulder shelter and they have another 10 kilometers they can use going down the beach. Going beyond that appears to be a waste of time.

There are two streams running down from the mountains, via a genuine waterfall and they drink from there while waiting to be rescued.

The mountains I refer to behind the large bay they crashed into are there in the book and for real. The very large rock that finally defeats the aeroplane that hits it is there too, larger than life.

To survive they are forced to break into the plane wreckage hold and retrieve whatever luggage and food, etc they can scavenge. The have to take cogniscence of the tide, which when out, allows them to walk to the wreck, when in is too deep and great white sharks lurk in the water. So the penguins in the book are real, the seals are real and there are real great white sharks – and others – in the bay. When 9 of them make the decision to cross the mountain range and look for the rescue that keeps NOT arriving, the topography on the other side is real, because I have walked around those mountains, seen the bizarrely sculpted rocks and seen the sights they see. (Well some of them anyway) There are others which form the core of the Book and to understand those, I would ask that you read the Trilogy and tell me what you think.

I am not going to post pictures although I have a mountain (urgh) of them because that would give my story away.

What the Book is NOT is a type of post-apolyptic story of survivors of a doomed world, fighting off sex-crazed bikers who now think they have taken over the world and and and etc. It may initially sound from the “A routine flight from New York to Cape Town experiences a massive Solar event that causes it to crash … etc.” In no way does that become any post EMP happening that wipes out power grids of nations etc.

What the Book IS is a story of survival against odds, a story that involves nature, wildlife, human frailties and strengths and love. It has sad moments and happy moments and is a story of hope and despair. It has unpleasant moments and good moments. But mostly, I guess it’s about a group of people – total strangers who are the survivors of the traumatic crash – coming together. It is about the unfortunately awful deaths of some and doing as the classic line goes – “When life gives you lemons – make lemonade.”

I am going to post the Book links as well as the Face Book Teaser that shows the Prologue – a page on the terrible scourge of poaching in Africa in general and South Africa in particular, because that has a deep link through the first and second books and is an important context and major part of the story line, involving 3 of the characters in different ways.

The Poaching situation in Africa in general and South Africa in particular.

The situation is dire. It is a brutal and deplorable war. Poachers are generally well armed and operate either as part of well-funded syndicates or as individuals who are tempted by the huge sums of money. Syndicates have been known to include members of National Parks themselves, law enforcement and local (provincial) governments. When they are apprehended and appear in court they inevitably receive bail and it becomes a revolving door as many poachers are repeat offenders. They money they can earn for each tusk or horn is far, far more than they could ever earn legitimately, so the risks are worth the reward.

The numbers of poachers or syndicate members actually serving jail sentences are lamentably few in the context of the overall slaughter.

The numbers of both rhino and elephant being slaughtered, often brutally, are way, way, in excess of the ability of National or Private parks to replenish the species. In many cases, females with young have been targeted and the calves either left for dead or maimed, and if they manage to survive, are left traumatized.

Not helping the situation at all are South Africa’s extremely porous borders. As a result, National Parks are looking for new and more innovative ways and methods that they can adapt to help curb the slaughter. Unless they can manage the situation, there will soon be no rhino or elephant left.

Day 1

The beginning – 08 October 2015

Had anyone been near the beach that morning, they would probably have been startled as masses of birds, in the thickly wooded and shrubby vegetation that covered the mountain range, on the surface of the ocean or on the beach itself, exploded skyward almost simultaneously.

Seals that had been resting on the numerous rocks that poked out of the sea leaped back into the water in panic. Penguins that had been strutting along the shore joined the seals in the water. The same shrub and forest that had disgorged the birds now bore witness to every animal on the mountain range running mindlessly away from where they were. It seemed to all happen together; a split second of action becoming pandemonium.

At the same time, a dark black cloud appeared about mid sky over the distant mountains and disgorged a large shiny object. This was followed by a gigantic clap of thunder that seemed to split the world and would have scared the living crap out of anyone in the vicinity. The large shiny object turned out to be a fast-moving aircraft, seemingly doing its best to turn a current flight path resembling a wobbly brick ejected from a cannon, into a somewhat more stable glide.

Roughly three kilometers from the beach, however, the aircraft was finally forced down by gravity onto the surface of the sea in a series of giant belly flops across the placid water; each time being pushed back into the air again and again, as though the sea was doing its best to help keep the plane alive.

By splash down four most of the massive wings had been ripped off the aircraft together with portions of the fuselage, leaving an unguided missile still skimming across the water shrouded by huge plumes of spray on either side. It now looked to all intents and purposes like a badly abused, monstrous cigar holder.

Some three hundred meters from the beach and by now significantly slower than when it started its splashdown touchdown race, the plane met a force far greater than itself as it slammed into the side of what just had to be the largest damned rock in the area. The impact crushed the cockpit. It also left half of first class sitting approximately mid-way down business class and leaving the rest of business class and front rows of economy class doing their best to merge with first class. Luckily, this was prevented by the sheer structural strength that still held what was left of the giant aircraft together.

As this happened two other things occurred in concert; the sides of the aircraft already weakened and gashed open when the wings were ripped away, now ejected more passengers, loose luggage and some of the cargo in the hold. Apparently not yet finished, the broken airliner then attempted to cartwheel itself, tail leading the charge out of the water, threatening to tip over onto its back.

Gravity proved stronger and after raising nearly its entire, but somewhat shortened length out of the shallow ocean, fought briefly by hanging in the air, before crashing back down

in a massive spray of water, living passengers, dead bodies, associated debris, and blood.

Lots of blood. But, like the zombie that would not die, the absolute grand finale of the dead aircraft was to lurch sideways and come to rest at an angle, supported by one stubby wing and the crushed nose of the aircraft at a lower height than the tail. This left the fuselage and passenger windows staring down into around three meters, or ten feet of water. The other side, the rock facing side, was now gazing out along most of its length, either directly onto the rock or facing the sky.

It could have been a stunning sight had anyone still on board been of an inquisitive nature. As it was, those who were conscious and could move had but one thought, which was to get out. Those who were unconscious or too badly injured would not have cared less about the sudden change in view anyway.

For a while, pandemonium reigned in the water. Those passengers who had been unceremoniously dumped out of the plane, seat and all and who were neither horribly injured nor absolutely panicked, managed to struggle out of their seat belts and attempt to swim and wade to the closest shore. Those passengers who were unconscious, too badly injured to do the same or too panicked to react, met their fate unable to comprehend what had just happened.

The final result left several distinct groups of passengers. There were those who had been miraculously spared, not many, though, who managed, somehow, to get off the plane. There were some who were also spared injury but for whatever reason were unable to get off. There were those on the plane who were either already dead or in the process of dying from their injuries and there were those already in the water who were either able to swim, drag or be dragged to the nearest shoreline. After that were the ones in the water, unable to do anything about it and about to die. And then there were the lucky dead.

Through the screams and absolute pandemonium both at the site of the wreck and in the shallow water near the beach and on the beach itself, the previously spooked birds returned, but this time heading for a curiosity frenzy and feeding bonanza. They were circling and investigating and looking to take a possible diet change seriously.

The sea between the distant slowly sinking aircraft wings and engines and the wreck jammed against the rock started to show the fins of numerous large sharks that had originally been engaged in their daily seal hunt ritual. When the mammoth impact of the aircraft meeting the sea had happened, their initial instinct had been to flee.

Now, driven by natural curiosity, opportunism and the smell of blood and gore they homed in on its source. The closer they approached, the more enticing the vibrations and tastes filtered into their senses. For any struggling survivors still in the water, it was past time to get the hell out.

That is what someone on the beach or nearby would have seen and heard. But the only witnesses were fish, seals, birds, and animals. Other than them, no human eyes or ears followed the death of what had once been such a triumph to technology, filled with the thoughts of those who had been about to land at Cape Town International airport.

Chapter 1

“There is no such thing as accident; it is fate misnamed”

Napoleon Bonaparte

The first thing Andy became aware of was being shaken by a heavy hand and what sounded like a woman’s voice telling him to wake up. Actually, more an insistent drone in his head competing against an incredible cacophony of other noises. The second thing he became aware of was the pain; it seemed to pretty much wrack his entire body. The third thing he noticed was that he was wet and seemed to be lying partially immersed in water which drained away, came back, drained away in some repetitive cycle.

This was not how he’d envisaged landing in Cape Town and therefore very strange.

He assumed that he’d fallen asleep as they were coming into land, as that was sitting vaguely in the background of his thought processes and the stewardess needed him to sit up and put his seat into the upright position. But that didn’t account for the noise or the pain; followed closely by the distant sounds that seemed to comprise a combination of moans, cries, shouts and go figure, the continuous sound of surf breaking on rocks and sand. The real cherry on top was the shrieks and cries of what sounded like hundreds of seagulls or other seabirds with some donkeys thrown in for good measure.

A take your pick audio buffet.

Trying to make some sense of it all, he attempted to sit up and seemed to smack his head straight into what felt like a piece of concrete rebar, causing shooting stars of agony to whirl around inside his head.

‘Slowly, slowly ... take it easy.’ – The words drifted around his ears. ‘You’re not in great shape, so rather relax and stay down ... but I do need you to open your eyes.’ Which he could manage, pretty much. Obviously, the way to go was not being repeatedly smacked by a concrete bar. There was already enough pain shooting through his head anyway. Rather, following what seemed like sound advice seemed more logical, and going back to sleep even better. Although the bit about him ‘not being in great shape’ needed some rework and delivered with a bit more finesse, he felt.

‘Don’t go to sleep,’ said the voice. ‘Stay with me … I need you awake so I can see if you’re alright before I try and get you up and walking.’

And what about what I need, thought Andy ... I was on a plane so how come all the noise and oh wow! ... what a shitter of a headache ... and how come I don’t hear the plane and Jesus, if I have had a stroke I will be seriously pissed off. So … if you’re listening to me and I know I only talk to you when I am in the crap, but just this once … well okay for the millionth or so time, I am so sorry for everything but don’t let me have had a stroke.

He tried to open his eyes again, but glaring sunlight and further pain greeted that effort as well. ‘Oops,’ he whispered, ‘what am I missing?’

He was rapidly giving up the thought of immediate sight, rather focusing on some sort of answer.

‘Well, I’d say we’re missing an aeroplane and we’re now somewhere on a beach. You were trying your best to drown yourself … don’t know if you remember that? Also, do you remember anything about the crash?’

‘What crash?’

‘Um … that would be the one that put us where we are now.’

He was silent for a few seconds as the pieces of the jigsaw attempted to find their way back to the puzzle.

‘Jesus.’

He blinked a few times, tried to open his eyes. The face leaning over him was blurry and he couldn’t initially make out what it was saying; only it seemed to be urgent and over the noises in the background, sounded female. The pain in his head and body made it difficult to focus and every time he was shaken some more it simply added to an increasingly unpleasant feeling. Eventually, he managed to stop the hand and open his eyes, but now the glare added to the grief, so he closed them again. But this too invoked another round of shaking and the voice now more insistent.

Opening his eyes fully this time, he blinked away some sand and gunge then looked. The face leaning over him looked both concerned and irritated at the same time, as though he’d fainted on the aisle of the aeroplane and was lying in her way.

It was an interesting face, sort of handsome but stern, no messing with her. She had her hair tied back, away from her face which appeared besmirched with traces of sand and blood. Her eyes appeared to just flash irritation. He could see her mouth moving, showing white even teeth, but could not make out the words. Just a sense that he was holding her up from something much more important.

‘Do you remember anything? I need you to talk and make some sense, but without moving and right now you keep moving but making no sense? I’m worried you might have a severe concussion or something.’

‘Well, I think I can remember something that included a lot of screaming and shouting but not much more.’ He tried to sit up again and open his eyes properly despite whatever ministering was happening to his head, and promptly smacked straight back into the same piece of cement that had brained him earlier – ‘Holy shit that’s sore.’

‘Well your head took a good smack when a chunk of the plane’s ceiling and storage locker fell on you, so I’m not surprised it’s sore. Just try and remember what you can, but stay still while I try and clean you up. Then we’ll see if you managed to keep any brains with you.’

‘Did anyone ever tell you that you have a great bedside manner,’ he whispered as his brain tried to figure out what the signals it was receiving were all about.

‘When you make it to your feet, if you can, then you’ll understand why I’m a bit stressed. So, excuse me for a lousy bedside manner but suck it up.’

‘Then at least tell me what happened … we were on a plane and suddenly now we’re not?’

I was born in Johannesburg, South Africa in 1951.

I spent my early years in Linbro Park, a suburb of Johannesburg, on a small holding of peach trees, asparagus and rhubarb, exploring the long disused next-door cemetery, avoiding snakes and grandpa's beady eyes. (And they were eyes that missed nothing).
From there the family relocated to a farm in Chingola, Northern Rhodesia (later Zambia).
Given the farm was carved out of virgin forest, it was back to avoiding snakes and other denizens of the thick bush - but all good learning curves.

From Zambia the family relocated to Rhodesia (later Zimbabwe) and from there I attended university in South Africa.

Somehow it seemed that all of my school years were spent at isolated boarding schools, buried deep in the bush in both Northern Rhodesia and Rhodesia, which may account for a lot of my quirks.

After the bush war, when Rhodesia became Zimbabwe, I emigrated back to South Africa where I now live in Cape Town.