You
might not have heard about this. When you do, you’ll likely be as
sick and angry as I am.
Apparently,
over the last month, authorities in Chechnya have been rounding up
gay men (and even those suspected of being gay) and confining them to
detention camps. The New York Times reports at least 100 arrests and
three deaths.
This
sounds like a scene from my dystopian gay romance Quarantine.
But that’s supposed to be speculative fiction...
A group
of authors is mobilizing to help raise money to help the victims, as
well as to expand awareness of this emergency situation. You can find
out more here:
Some of
us are donating money from our book sales to organizations helping
the victims of this purge. Some are offering items for auction. I’m
auctioning off two paperback copies of Quarantine. Seems
grimly appropriate. The auction will be held between May 5th
and May 12th. See the link above for details.
If
you’re an author, I hope you’ll consider adding your voice and
your work to this effort. If you’re a reader, please participate in
the auction. We’re expecting some great prizes to come on the
block. Of course you can always donate directly to the Russian LGBT
Network, the main organization helping to get gay men in Chechnya to
safety. For details, see Dale’s blog:
https://dalecameronlowry.com/help-save-lives-lgbt-chechens/
Whatever
you do, don’t be silent. Don’t let this injustice and inhumanity
stand.
Thank
you.
When
love is forbidden, the whole world's a prison.
Dylan
Moor will do anything for freedom. Seven years ago, a gay plague
spread to heterosexuals, killing millions and sparking brutal
anti-gay riots. The guardians rounded up men who tested positive for
the Homogene and imprisoned them in remote quarantine centres like
desolate Camp Malheur. Since then, Dylan has hacked the camp's
security systems and hoarded spare bits of electronics, seeking some
way to escape. He has concluded the human guards are the only
weakness in the facility's defences.
Camp
guard Rafe Cowell is H-Negative. He figures the lust he feels
watching prisoner 3218 masturbate on the surveillance cameras must be
due to his loneliness and isolation. When he finally meets the young
queer, he discovers that Dylan is brilliant, brave, sexy as hell—and
claims to be in love with Rafe. Despite his qualms, Rafe find he
can't resist the other man's charm. By the time Dylan asks for his
help in escaping, Rafe cares too much for Dylan to refuse.
Dylan's
plan goes awry and Rafe comes to his rescue. Soon they're both
fugitives, fleeing from militant survivalists, murderous androids,
homophobic ideologues and a powerful man who wants Dylan as his
sexual toy. Hiding in the plague-ravaged city of Sanfran, Dylan and
Rafe learn there's far more that their own safety at stake. Can they
help prevent the deaths of millions more people? And can Rafe trust
the love of a man who deliberately seduced him in order to escape
from quarantine?
Rainbow
Awards Honorable Mention – Best science fiction novel – 2012!
The
fact was, no one really knew who the Guardians were. At the height of
the Plague, thousands had been dying daily. The streets stank from
the smoke of burning bodies and torched buildings. Crazed mobs had
roamed the cities, looking for the ‘carriers’ they blamed for the
death of their loved ones. The fact that gays had been dying twice as
fast as straights hadn’t stopped them.
Then
the Robbies had marched in, a small army, with Tasers and tear gas.
At first, some people had screamed about an alien invasion. Within
hours, the messages began coming from ‘the Guardians of American
Greatness’, urging people to be calm, promising to contain the
scourge of the perverts. Gradually, the chaos had subsided.
Dylan
vividly remembered being dragged to the testing centre by a pair of
robots. They’d smashed in the door of the Castro District apartment
he’d shared with his lover. Miguel’s body had been sprawled on
their bed, his coffee-coloured skin riddled with the oozing sores
that were the Plague’s mark. Dylan had been crouched on the floor,
crying and rocking back and forth, while explosions shook the
building and sirens wailed.
He
hadn’t put up any fight. What would have been the use? Miguel was
dead. The world was in flames. He’d been seventeen.
But he
was ready to fight now. He’d do whatever was necessary to get out
of this hell. Dylan reached into the basin of the chemical toilet,
feeling around the inside rim. The slimy plastoceramic surface made
his skin crawl. Ammonia fumes burned his nostrils. He grinned as his
fingers found the item he sought. Detaching the object from the hook
he’d installed, he brought out an oblong about the size of a cig
pack.
He
unwrapped the protective plastic and switched on the controller. The
organic LCD screen glowed pale blue. He’d lifted it from a
discarded microwave oven. His fingers danced over the keyboard,
composing his message. The interface was crude but adequate for his
needs.
Closing
his eyes, he brought up an image of the brawny black guard who was
his target. What would work best? He didn’t know much about Rafe—he
hadn’t been able to hack the guy’s dossier. He could read boredom
and frustration in the man’s strong, regular features. He knew from
their first encounter that Rafe had a temper. Yet Dylan also sensed a
streak of decency. Most of the human guards at Malheur were supposed
to be convicts. Let the dregs take care of the pariahs seemed to be
the Guardians’ philosophy. Rafe hadn’t struck him as the criminal
type, though, despite his rough looks.
Clearly
Rafe was attracted to men, or at least to Dylan. But he probably
didn’t consider himself queer. Best not to be too explicit in the
message, then. It would be better to allow Rafe to deceive himself
about his motives.
Dylan
completed his task, scheduled the message, and pressed ‘Send’. If
all went well, the invitation would be delivered to Rafe on his
private channel tomorrow afternoon. Dylan returned the controller to
its hiding place, washed his hands, and returned to his bunk. It was
a bit after three a.m. Rafe would be working his shift in the control
room.
Dylan
pulled down his trousers. His cock was already hard from thinking
about Rafe. He stroked its length, lingering at the tip. Time for the
night’s show.
