[Complete] [84k] [Post Apocalyptic/Thriller] Bacteriophage]
[Blurb]
24 hours.
A desperate father cradles his daughter in blood soaked arms, staring down a racing clock. Cities burn behind him, generations laid to waste, ravaged by an unknown virus. The outback, feral and scorched, sprawls towards the horizon. Toward salvation.
23 hours.
Deep within the halls of a towering mountain compound, a lone survivor fills another syringe. Her lab coat covers a gnarled, pockmarked scar. Another failure lies on her table. Another soul lost.
22 hours.
The screams of the infected grow louder. Closer. He needs to run. Needs to fight, or die trying.
[Content Warning]
Present tense, extreme gore/violence, death, grief, torture, references to self harm/suicidal ideation, implied sexual content (consenting adults, NO rape/sexual coercion).
[Requested Feedback]
This is a late stage draft, so I’m looking for more overall plot and character feedback over line editing and prose.
Do the characters feel real? Are their motivations and actions consistent? Are they relatable?
Are there points where the pacing feels slow, or scenes redundant?
Any points where you were bored?
Do you feel invested in the characters and their struggles?
Are the science segments comprehensible?
Does the plot feel like it naturally progresses, and actions feel connected?
[Critique swap]
I am open to a possible swap around the same word count, though have to limit the number of concurrent manuscripts I’m reading. I prefer post apocalyptic/dystopian/thriller, and sci-fi. No romance (subplots are fine), no young adult, historical fiction, high-fantasty, or political pieces, please. I prefer character-driven stories that stay away from large group politics.
[Excerpt]
The Australian sun reigns from a cloudless sky. Mark barrels between gnarled trees and dense shrubs. His daughter wails from the carrier on his back, the oversized hiking bag slamming against his ribs. Red dust billows in a storm behind them, caught in air that doesn’t breathe and a heat that doesn’t break. Sweat stings his eyes. Dust clogs his lungs. He skids around a collapsed fence, boots skating in the dirt, and nearly topples them both.
The brush cracks behind him, branches snapping under foot, fabric tearing on barbed leaves. Wet, gurgling pants and clacking teeth follow him to the pavement. He doesn't dare look back.
A lone petrol station forms from the mirage ahead, front window smashed and parking lot vacant. A chance to hide. To put steel and space between them and the infected.
Twenty meters.
A shriek, hungry and feral, breaks the stifling heat.
Fifteen.
Footsteps charge after his own. Louder. Closer.
Five.
Per community guidelines, please DM for a sample/Google doc.
Cheers!
Felix