ZOSMA IS A POWERFUL PRE-APOCALYPTIC SCIENCE FICTION STORY EXPLORING THEMES OF TRUTH, RESILIENCE, AND DIVERSITY
Zosma opens the series on Earth in 2052 A.D. as Allister Adams, a young superhuman, begins his search for the planet’s possible savior: Zosma Caster. Zosma is an intergalactic refugee and the vessel for an otherworldly energy source from the Andromeda Galaxy. The rogue organization C20 has been interested in Zosma’s power, but are its intentions entirely pure? Allister’s search for an alien becomes a search for truth as the walls, literally and figuratively, are closing in.
Zosma is the first in the series The Lost Children of Andromeda. Inspired by his personal journey of self-discovery, Jason Primrose has created a world in which even superhumans are challenged by the effects of greed, fear, and natural disasters. The apocalyptic tale explores the themes of reality vs. perception, human extinction and climate change, diversity of thought, and resilience.
Read an Excerpt-
Abandoned C20 HQ, Former Middle East
Baking in 150 degrees of cloudless daylight, the two rode atop a chariot of sand across the Iraqi desert. Obliterated in a dust storm called the Middle Beast, dilapidated skyscrapers and houses buried under mountainous sand dunes whizzed by. Crossing three time zones at hundreds of miles per hour had put them a day ahead of his intended ambush. They stopped moving, inviting silence to surround them.
Celine’s face lost its color. “I caused this,” she whispered.
A mushroom-shaped watchtower held a wicked smile of broken windows and was bent near the base, as if welcoming them with a butler’s bow.
If it were two months prior, the watchtower would have been patrolling the region for trespassers. If it were two months prior, Celine would be inside it, strapped to a device amplifying her sand manipulation powers beyond her control. It was that machine he’d walked by, in a rush to find C20’s leader before C20’s leader found him.
Her skin opened with a loud tear, as fissures split along her arm and torso. She hid them with a rapid turn of her body, and yet, in that brief moment’s time, Allister saw her skin had mutated to slate rock. The simplicity of his hand pressed softly against her back calmed her heaving. “No one had a chance.” She wrung her hands, eyes glued to the ground under their feet. “The U.N. blamed global warming. Any fool would know there was nothing natural about what happened.”
Pressure to relieve her of her obligation elbowed its way into his conscience. He shifted his weight. He wasn’t good at doing things alone. More often than not, he screwed them up. Plus, Celine was smarter and had better control over her powers.
“I thought this had passed,” she muttered, shying away from his caress.
PTSD at its finest. She’d almost died there, and he, mustering all the audacity and naïveté in the world, had asked her to come back on a hunch. The tightness in his chest wouldn’t leave, not until she did.
Allister pushed his hair away from his face and styled it in a bun on top of his head. “Allister Adams arrived,” Cynque announced next to his ear. “30.50° N, 47.78° E. Former capital of Iraq, Al Basra.” The inevitable, dreaded check-in. Decades ago, it was a choice, celebrated and rewarded on social platforms. Now, loca- tion services went right into Cynque’s data-collecting brain, the same brain the authorities used to track anyone Cynqued. The hourglass had been turned over.
“The infantry is lighter the farther you get from the dome,” Celine pointed out. “Do you know what you’re looking for?”
“Hey, we agreed no questions.”
“I doubt your government considers this laying low.”
“I didn’t pay for advice, I paid for cover.”
Flushed cheeks joined the scowl on her face. Her reserve raised to normal, her tone’s temperature lowered to cold. “I’ll get to it then,” she said, ahead of him, glaring at the disheveled base. She took several calming breaths, and frustrated wrinkles subsided from her forehead. “With humility, I call upon this fallen nation’s ashes. Rise up and cover the route of this spirit on his search for the lost.”
The tattered grey bandanna around his neck slid over his mouth and nose. Awe and envy befell him in secret. Peace, the kind Allister rarely achieved, had drowned her frustration. The door to her superhuman gifts wasn’t the devil’s fiery red, it was the sky’s placid blue. When speaking or, rather, manifesting her will, the Earth listened, like child to mother or vice versa. Such calm must’ve dwelled in her heart, a calm that contrasted what unfolded on the desert horizon. Two opposing sand armies raised from the east and west, rushed at them, thundering and torrential. With her arm’s thrust, the storm converged and charged forward, picking up anything and everything terrestrial in its path to aid its fury. Not wanting to miss the fun, wind joined the catastrophic distraction and kept the dust moving around after her hands returned to her sides.
“I trust you can find your way from here!” she shouted, yanking the techno-currency from her bosom and shoving it into his chest. “Stay away from my country, Allister Adams!”
It took him a second to look down, transfixed by what she’d conjured from her overactive imagination. When he did, she’d removed her hand, and he caught the chip inches from becoming a needle in a haystack. As he came back up to thank her or apologize or explain himself, her face and body dissolved, carried away by the storm as fine, ground rock.
About the Author
Jason Michael Primrose has been creating alternate worlds and characters since childhood. For nearly ten years, he has used his unique storytelling gift to impact the entertainment, fashion, and tech consumer product industries. His experience spans brand strategy, creative direction, retail merchandising, and influencer/celebrity partnerships.
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