Dear Ms. Testerman,
Chase Garrety only knows his name because it was coded on a
microchip found under his scalp. He remembers nothing before he stumbled across
the savage landscape of the planet Trucon and into the home of a troubled
orphan named Parker, who offers help with one hand and a fist with the other. A
battle of wills sets the boys against each other, but when an unknown enemy
attacks their planet, they must rely on each other to survive.
Traveling through space to find a man who can help them
both, Chase and Parker enter an alien underworld where their choices lead them
to the truth behind the Trucon attack. When Chase finally finds people who
recognize him, they try to kill him, and after he runs through a solid door, he
realizes that there may be more to his past than he could even guess. As the
boys uncover more secrets of interplanetary corruption and betrayal, Chase must
learn to use his strange ability to solve the puzzle of who--or what--he really
FULCRUM is a 70,000-word upper middle grade novel. I would
be happy to forward the complete manuscript at your request.
Thank you for your time.
The screaming was so loud it blocked out all thought. It
took a few moments before the boy realized the sound was coming from his own
parched mouth, and that it was not so much a scream as a hoarse squeak.
He dragged in a great whoop of air and sat up, eyes bugging
out, head jerking around like it was strung on wires. A wide yellow sky
stretched overhead, but the rest of world swam around him in a hot blur. Dread
fanned out in the pit of his stomach.
Something had gone terribly wrong.
He needed to get help. A black wave of pain crashed down
inside his skull as he lurched to his feet, sending exploding stars across his
vision. He staggered a few dizzy steps before dropping to his hands and knees,
and drew in a deep, slow breath. He had to get back up. He had to stop this
thing before it was too late.
A high-pitched noise rose and fell in the background.
Looking around, he located a grey blob--possibly a building. He slid a hand
across the scratchy ground toward it, then a knee, driven by the now-frantic,
undefined fear. He could still fix this. He had to.
Light pressure landed on his back. He turned his head.
Squinting, he made out the fuzzy outline of a face, the black gaping hole of a
mouth flapping open and closed.