Indie Book Promo is happy to welcome Tony Bertauski to the blog! He’s the author of several books, but is here today to talk about his latest, The Annihilation of Foreverland. If this book sound like something that you would be interested in reading, please find the buy links part way down the post and pick up a copy or two.

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When kids awake on an island, they’re told there was an accident. Before they can go home, they will visit Foreverland, an alternate reality that will heal their minds.

Reed dreams of a girl that tells him to resist Foreverland. He doesn’t remember her name, but knows he once loved her. He’ll have to endure great suffering and trust his dream. And trust he’s not insane.

Danny Boy, the new arrival, meets Reed’s dream girl inside Foreverland. She’s stuck in the fantasy land that no kid can resist. Where every heart’s desire is satisfied. Why should anyone care how Foreverland works?

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Bio:

Excerpt:

Click-click-click-click.

The walls inched closer. Reed gripped the bars of his shrinking cell.

His legs, shaking.

The cold seeped through his bare feet. The soles of his feet were numb, his ankles ached. He lifted his feet one at a time, alternating back and forth to keep the bitter chill from reaching his groin, but he couldn’t waste strength anymore. He let go of the bars to shake the numbness from his fingers.

He’d been standing for quite some time. Has it been hours? Occasionally he would sit to rest his aching legs, but soon the cell would be too narrow for that. He’d have to stand up. And when the top of his cage started moving down – and it would – he’d be forced to not-quite stand, not-quite sit.

He knew how things worked.

Although he couldn’t measure time in the near-blackout room, this round felt longer than previous ones. Perhaps it would never end. Maybe he’d have to stand until his knees crumbled under his dead weight. His frigid bones would shatter like frozen glass when he hit the ground. He’d fall like a boneless bag, his muscles liquefied in a soupy mix of lactic acid and calcium, his nerves firing randomly, his eyes bulging, teeth chattering—

Don’t think. No thoughts.

Reed learned that his suffering was only compounded by thoughts, that the false suffering of what he thought would happen would crush him before the true suffering did. He learned to be present with the burning, the cold, and the aches. The agony.

He couldn’t think. He had to be present, no matter what.

Sprinklers dripped from the ribs of the domed ceiling that met at the apex where an enormous ceiling fan still moved from the momentum of its last cycle. Eventually, the sprinklers would hiss another cloud and the fan would churn again and the damp air would sift through the bars and over Reed’s wet skin, heightening the aches in his joints like clamps. For now, there was just the drip of the sprinklers and the soft snoring of his cellmates.

Six individual cells were inside the building, three on each side of a concrete isle. Each one contained a boy about Reed’s age. They were all in their teens, the youngest being fourteen. Their cells were spacious; only Reed’s had gotten smaller. Despite the concrete, they all lay on the floor, completely unaware of the anguish inside the domed building.

They weren’t sleeping, though. Sleep is when you close your eyes and drift off to unconsciousness. No, they were somewhere else. The black strap around each of their heads took them away from the pain. They had a choice to stay awake like Reed, but they chose the lay down, strap on, and go wherever it took them. They didn’t care where.

In fact, they wanted to go.

To escape.

Reed couldn’t blame them. They were kids. They were scared and alone. Reed was all those things, too. But he didn’t have a strap around his head. He stayed in his flesh.

He took a deep breath, let it out slowly. Started counting, again.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9…10.

And then he did it again. Again.

And again.

He didn’t measure time with his breathing. He only breathed. His life was in his breath. It ebbed and flowed like the tides. It came and went like the lunar phases. When he could be here and now, the suffering was tolerable. He counted, and counted and counted.

Distracted, he looked up at the fan. The blades had come to a complete stop. The air was humid and stagnant and cold. Around the domed ceiling were circular skylights that stared down with unforgiving blackness, indifferent to suffering. Reed tried not to look with the hopes of seeing light pour through them, signaling an end. Regardless if it was day or night, the skylights were closed until the round of suffering was over, so looking, hoping and wishing for light was no help. It only slowed time when he did. And time had nearly stopped where he was at.

1, 2, 3—

A door opened at the far right; light knifed across the room, followed by a metallic snap and darkness again. Hard shoes clicked unevenly across the floor. Reed smelled the old man before he limped in front of his cell, a fragrance that smelled more like deodorant than cologne. Mr. Smith looked over his rectangular glasses.

“Reed, why do you resist?”

Reed met his gaze but didn’t reply. Mr. Smith wasn’t interested in a discussion. It was always a lecture. No point to prolong it.

“Don’t be afraid.” The dark covered his wrinkles and dyed-black hair, but it couldn’t hide his false tone. “I promise, you try it once, you’ll see. You don’t have to do it again if you don’t like it. We’re here to help, my boy. Here to help. You don’t have to go through this suffering.”

Did he forget they were the ones that put him in there? Did he forget they made the rules and called the shots and forced him to play? Reed knew he – himself – he had gone mad but IS EVERYONE CRAZY?

Reed let his thoughts play in his eyes. Mr. Smith crossed his arms, unmoved.

“We don’t want to hurt you, I promise. We’re just here to prepare you for a better life, that’s all. Just take the lucid gear, the pain will go away. I promise.”

He reached through the bars and batted the black strap hanging above Reed’s head. It turned like a seductive mobile. Reed turned his back on him. Mr. Smith sighed. A pencil scratched on a clipboard.

“Have it your way, Reed.” He said, before limp-shuffling along. “The Director wants to see you after this round is over.”

He listened to the incessant lead-scribbled notes and click-clack of shiny shoes. When Mr. Smith was gone, Reed was left with only the occasional drip of the dormant sprinklers. He began to breathe again, all the way to ten and over. And over. And over. No thoughts. Just 1, 2, 3… 1, 2, 3… 1, 2—

Click-click-click-click.

Reed locked his knees and leaned back as the cell walls moved closer. Soon the fan would turn again and the mist would drift down to bead on his shoulders. Reed couldn’t stop the thoughts from telling him what the near future would feel like. How bad it was going to get.

He looked up at the lucid gear dangling above his head. The needle.

He took a breath.

And began counting again

“Danny Boy!”

Danny’s aunt’s voice was muffled. She was calling from his bedroom with that thick Irish accent, obviously thought he was still in bed. Eventually, she’d come up to the attic where Danny was hunched over the keyboard, eyes on the screen. His mother had cleared a space out of the corner just for him, no one else, and even when the weather was too hot or too cold, Danny would sit up there all day.

“Danny Boy! Where are you, darling?”

He couldn’t be interrupted now. He’d been acting sick for two weeks and got behind in school work. His mother trusted he was getting the homework done but he’d spent all his time modding the computer to do exactly what he was doing now.

People are stupid.

They used easy passwords and repeated the same one over and over. Who thinks the word password is a password? Morons.

It wasn’t difficult to get past the school’s firewall. Danny broke the encrypted password – using a program he wrote, thank you very much. In two seconds, he’d be a second grade, straight-A student. Once again.

Thank you very much.

Wait. I’m 13, not 7.

“Danny Boy?” The steps creaked. “Are you up here all ready? It’s not even six o’clock in the morning, sonny boy.”

Danny’s fingers danced over the keys.

“Danny Boy… what are you doing?”

One more stroke and—

CRRUNNCH!

Danny fell out the chair. The sound was deafening, like a metal pole plunging through the roof, smashing wood and shingles. Dust swirled in the new light. The steps creaked again, but something had changed. There wasn’t insulation hanging from the ceiling anymore and there was a pile of boxes that wasn’t there before.

The house changed.

“What are you doing in the attic?” A man was on the top step holding a golf club.

Danny blinked but it wasn’t his aunt. And he wasn’t in front of a computer anymore. He was lying in a crib. He was a thirteen-year-old kid in a baby’s crib. In someone else’s house.

The man’s golf shoes sounded funny on the wood floor. He stopped short of the crib with his hands on his hips, the club teetering in his left hand. “Son, what in the hell are you doing? You think you’re still a baby?”

Danny didn’t move. Then the man smiled like a proud father.

“Well, if you want to do the baby thing again, let’s give it a try.”

He dropped the club and started tickling Danny’s ribs. His fingers hit the funny spot and Danny gave out a chuckle. The man was all smiles, making happy-daddy sounds as he tortured him with loving grabs. Danny tried to knock him away but the man was too strong. Danny was about to piss his pants he was laughing so hard.

“Come here, you.” The man snatched Danny up by the arms with a strong grip, but it wasn’t strong enough. Danny slipped out of his clutches. He heard the man gasp as Danny fell out of the rickety crib, thought he’d land on his feet but the drop was further then he expected. He crashed, all right; not on the floor, but on grass.

The sun was over him. The house was gone.

A crowd cheered. Danny was wearing a baseball uniform with a glove on his left hand. He’d never played baseball in his life, but there he was in center field with a cap pulled down just above his eyes.

Somewhere, an aluminum bat went ting.

The players on the infield turned around. The ball was high in the sky. The sun was in his eyes. He lifted the glove but couldn’t see it. He tried squinting, tried covering the sun with his right hand but it was blinding. And the ball was going to hit him smack in the face. But he couldn’t let the team down. He had to catch it. He had to—

And then he was swimming in the ocean. The waves crashed around him. There were other kids, too. Danny had never been to the beach, but there he was, swimming in water that churned at his waist—

And then he was coloring Easter eggs. There was a lady at the sink with an apron and some little girl across the table. He’d never seen her before—

Opening birthday presents and people were singing. People he’d never—

Playing Hide and Seek. He was hiding behind a bush with someone he’d—

Baking cookies—

School bus—

The scenes stacked on top each other until he couldn’t tell where one began and the next ended. It was all a blur. All a blur.

All a blur.

The throbbing.

That was the first thing Danny noticed before he cracked the seal of his sleep-crusted eyelashes. The head-splitting throb. His forehead felt like it had been punched with a dental tool.

“Don’t sit up just yet, young man.” A soft hand was on his arm. “Give it a few seconds.”

He did what the man said.

When he opened his eyes, the light seemed bright. It took a minute of rapid blinking to adjust. He was in a doctor’s office, on a patient’s table. The paper that covered the table was bunched up under him, crinkling when he moved. There was an old man sitting on a stool next to him. His face was plenty wrinkled and his hair as white as the coat he wore.

“I’m Mr. Jones.” The man broke out in grin worthy of a father looking at his newborn.

“Wa…” Danny’s tongue was gummy. “Water, please.”

“Sit up first, all right?”

When Danny was up, Mr. Jones passed him a paper cup and watched him chug it.

“More, please.”

“Let that settle for a moment, okay. There’s more when you’re ready.”

He wrapped a band around Danny’s arm and took his blood pressure. Then took his temperature and pulse. He did some scribbling on a clipboard, occasionally looking up and humming.

The room, now that Danny had a chance to focus, was less like a doctor’s office and more like a lab. There seemed to be large equipment attached to the wall that could be pulled out and centered on hinged arms. And behind him, the room went back another twenty feet with a treadmill and monitors and more machines.

“You go by Danny Boy?” the man asked.

“I’m sorry?”

“You were dreaming before you woke up and mumbled Danny Boy. I thought maybe that was what you preferred to be called. Danny Boy.”

“My aunt… she called me that…”

“Ah, yes. Aunts are special, aren’t they?” He grinned, again.

Danny reached for his head that felt so full of… stuff. But Mr. Jones caught him by the wrist. “Just relax a second, Danny Boy.”

“I was having this weird dream… like it was a bunch of dreams all crammed into one.”

“Dreams are like that.” Mr. Jones quickly looked at his clipboard.

“Where am I?”

“You’ve had an accident, but you’re okay now. Would you like some more water?”

“Yes, please.”

He downed a second paper cup and wadded it before handing it back.

“Um, Doctor…”

“You can call me Mr. Jones.”

“Mr. Jones, am I in a hospital?”

“You’re somewhere much better than a hospital, my boy. You’re in a special rehabilitation center that is unique for your condition. You’ll have the best care that money can buy while you’re here and you’ll get to do things no other kid on this planet has ever tried. You’ll also… ah, ah, ah… don’t touch.”

Danny reached for his forehead. There was a round band-aid the size of a Bull’s eye right in the middle where it hurt. He tried to remember an accident, anything that he would’ve been doing that would’ve knocked him on the head, but all the memories were gibberish. He couldn’t remember his home address or phone number. If his aunt hadn’t been calling for him, he wouldn’t remember his name.

“Is this why I’m here?” He tried to touch the bandage again.

“In some ways, yes.”

“Did I fall on an ice pick?”

“No.” Mr. Jones snorted. “You’ve been asleep for a long time while you’ve undergone treatment, so you may feel a bit woozy when you stand up. Be careful, all right? I want you to lean forward and let your toes touch the ground… good. Now stay just like that a second.” Mr. Jones spun on the stool and coasted to the computer behind him. “And don’t touch your forehead.”

Danny’s toes were tingly. Just the little weight that was on them, he could tell standing wasn’t going to go well. He left his forehead alone, reached for his stiff neck, instead. It was sore, too. And there was a knot between the vertebrae. It felt like a band had been inserted just under the skin about the width of a wedding ring that made it seem like one large neck bone. Mr. Jones had one bulging on his neck, too.

“What’s this?”

“That’s part of your treatment,” Mr. Jones said without looking. “It’s new technology meant to stay in touch with your nervous system. We’ll talk more about that later.”

“Okay,” was all Danny could think to say. He was thirteen. When an adult said something, he listened and that was that. But nothing was making sense, not the strange lab or Mr. Jones and his proud grin like everything was normal. His head was just so full.

“Where are my parents?”

Mr. Jones took several moments at the computer before he stood up with the clipboard over his stomach. “They want you to get better, Danny Boy. And that’s what you’re going to be… better.”

Smile.

“When will I see them?”

“Can you put all your weight forward?”

He held out his hand and Danny took it. His weight was a little wobbly, but he felt better on his feet than he thought he would.

“Where are we?” Danny asked.

“Take a step for me and I’ll tell you.”

He took one step, then two. They reached the door and Mr. Jones opened it without letting go. The hallway was long and white.

“We’re going that way.” He pointed to the left. At that end was a glass wall.

Danny dragged his feet the first couple of steps. He was already breathing a little hard. Mr. Jones was slightly hunched over next to him. Danny put his hand on the wall and traced it with his fingers. His knees were weak but Mr. Jones watched him with a smile like everything was just okie-dokie. His touch became lighter as Danny’s footsteps became more confident. When he let go, Danny still touched the wall but was walking closer to normal when they reached the end.

The glass wall was slightly curved like the building was a giant cylinder. They were a few stories above ground. A little ways away was the back of a horseshoe-shaped building. Beyond that was a large green field with people.

“You’re going to love it here, Danny Boy,” he whispered.

The field looked like a college campus lined with tropical trees and palms with giant white birds. Danny was smart but he wasn’t college-smart. Unless something happened to his brain. He reached for his forehead. Mr. Jones gently caught his arm before he could graze the band-aid with his fingertips.

“I’m going to be your Investor while you’re here. I’m invested in your future, Danny Boy. If you ever need anything or have any questions, I’m the one that will help, all right?”

Danny nodded.

Mr. Jones smacked a sticker on Danny’s shirt. Hello, I’m Danny Boy.

“I’ll be by your side the whole way, Danny Boy. That you can trust. We have a deal?”

They shook hands and watched the activity below. It looked like one big summer camp on a tropical island. Danny’s parents weren’t rich, they couldn’t afford something like this. At least he didn’t think so. He couldn’t remember them at the moment. But he wasn’t going to ask questions, even though Mr. Jones said he could.

“Let’s go down to the Yard,” Mr. Jones said, gesturing to the wide-open field, “and meet your fellow campers.”

By the time they reached the elevator and selected the ground floor, Danny had already forgotten about the doctor’s office and the dream and the confusion. He stared at the doors inside the elevator; the reflection of a red-headed kid with a slight body and freckles looked back. He looked like a stranger with a name tag stuck on his t-shirt.

“I’m Danny Boy,” he whispered.

They walked through the woods for ten minutes. The path was mulched and the trees thick above them with dangling vines and scrubby palms. Mr. Jones was sweating through his shirt and had to stop midway to catch his breath and wipe his face. He was all hunched over. Danny found a stick and Mr. Jones said thank you.

They came out of the trees at the back of the horseshoe-shaped building that had no windows. It was a huge blank wall tinted green with algae and one door right in the middle. They went inside.

Danny’s room was smack in the middle of the building. Unlike the back wall, this side of the building faced the Yard with plenty of windows. Danny could see clear to the other side. It was big enough to hold five or six football fields.

Mr. Jones sat on the bed wiping the sweat from the folds of his neck. He gave Danny a feeble smile and pointed to things. “There’s your sink and the bathroom is next to the closet. Your drawers already have clothes folded in them. The hamper chute is down the hall.” He took a few wheezy breaths. “You can get new sheets once a week.”

Danny opened the closet and thumbed through the shirts and pants that were all brand new and all pressed and ready to wear. All exactly his size. Mr. Jones attempted to stand but the mattress drew him back down. Danny offered a hand but he ignored it, doing sort of a side roll to one buttock before throwing himself onto his feet. He nodded with a pained grin.

“Out there, Danny Boy,” he said, sweeping his hand at the window, “that’s where most of the boys hang out in their spare time. The Yard is where you’ll find them.”

The Yard sounds like a prison.

The area near the dorm was criss-crossed with sidewalks forming an X with – from what Danny could tell – a giant sun dial in the middle. Tables were in between the sidewalks but the Yard beyond was grassy.

“But you’re not limited to the Yard. You can go wherever you want, I mean it. You’re free here, Danny Boy. Go climb a tree, hike the trails, fishing… whatever. Well, you can go anywhere,” he lifted a finger, “except where I live. None of the campers are allowed in the Investors’ quarters.”

“Where’s that?”

“We have accommodations back where we came from, only a little further. Besides that, the sky’s the limit, my boy.”

“Can I go home?”

Chuckle. “Not unless you’re a real good swimmer. We’re on an island, Danny Boy. It’s about five square miles or so, but there’s nothing but water as far as the eye can see. Even if you’re a good swimmer, I don’t recommend it. Sharks and ship-eating corral and the like will tear you up.”

He wanted to call them, but there wasn’t a phone in the room and Mr. Jones didn’t have one on his belt, either. There wasn’t even a clock. Besides, Danny was having a hard time remembering what his folks looked like and that disturbed him, so tried to forget it.

“Where are we?”

“Let’s just say we’re plenty isolated.” Mr. Jones shuffled closer to the window. “Now, this isn’t all recess, just so you know. You see over there on the left is the library where you’ll be taking classes, but don’t get nervous. They’re not like high school. You don’t get grades, they’re just fun classes to keep your brain active and strong. And next to the library is the gym to keep your body active and strong.” Mr. Jones flexed his biceps and said with his best Russian accent, “Strong like bull!”

He lifted Danny’s arm, smacked his bicep like he was trying to wake it up.

“Listen, Danny Boy. We just want you of sound body and mind when you’re ready to graduate. Only the best, only the best, my boy.”

The cafeteria, Mr. Jones said, was on the west wing of the dormitory. As long as Danny was here, everything was free. Games, food, classes, all of it paid for. By who, he didn’t say. He might have some limitations on food because, Mr. Jones said with a chuckle, “I don’t want you getting fat on me.”

“They’re all boys,” Danny Boy said.

“Pardon me?”

Danny pointed at the field. “This is a boys’ camp, right?”

“Well, it’s easier that way, Danny Boy. Girls can be a distraction and we want all your attention on improving your body and mind. But just between you and me,” Mr. Jones winked and nudged him with an elbow, “you’ll have plenty of chances to meet girls when you’re ready. Nothing wrong with that, if you ask me. Nothing wrong, indeed. By the way, see those boys down there?”

He pointed at a group sitting at one of the many picnic tables.

“That’s your group. You ready to go meet some of your fellow campers?”

Danny didn’t know what to say. Didn’t seem like he had much of a choice. Mr. Jones walked a little easier to the door this time. He stood a little taller and started to open the door.

“What’s that building over there?”

Mr. Jones answered without looking. “We’ll talk about that later.”

It was past the far end of the field buried in the trees. Its dome-shaped roof was just above the forest canopy. Sunlight reflected off the circular skylights.

“Come along, Danny Boy. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Danny followed him, reluctantly. He was thirteen years old. When an adult says there’s nothing to worry about, there’s usually plenty.