You need something dangerous done? Call Hunter . . . If you have the cash, she has the flash! ➱ Hunter Caine a Supernatural Thriller by JP Vile Book Sale & Giveaway
You need something dangerous done?
Call Hunter . . . If you have the cash, she has the flash!
Hunter Caine: The Tomb of Souls
Hunter Caine, Soldier of Fortune Book 3
by JP Vile
Genre: Supernatural Thriller
You need something dangerous done? Call Hunter . . . If you have the cash, she has the flash!
“I’m
Hunter Caine.
Treasure Hunter. Soldier of Fortune. Smuggler.
I’m
kind of a bad bitch, you might say.
I do what the chicken-shit
Corporation, or the Holier-than-thou Collective are afraid to
do.
What they don’t want to do.
And I do it anywhere.
When
stuff gets ugly, and things need doin’, I get it done.
I don’t
play favorites. Strictly Freelance.
But, I do it all.
And
more.
You want something done? Something dirty? Something
dangerous? Something distasteful?
Call Hunter. You got the cash. I
got the flash.”
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I’m Hunter Caine. I’m a soldier of fortune—some
might call me a mercenary—who does her level best not to get herself killed. I
take all kinds of jobs: treasure hunting, protectin’ folks, savin’ folks, even
some stone-cold killing if the target makes some sense. On this occasion, I was
doing a little bodyguarding for a group going about a treasure hunt. They were
museum types, looking to loot some native cave on Planet #4 to show it off to
rich folks back in Corporate Space.
We were looking for some damn thing called the
Soul Crystal. It was nothin’ but a planet #4 legend, some said. But my
employers were damn sure it wasn’t no such thing. Truth was, that others had
gone huntin’ for it, and lots of folks disappeared doing such. I was beginning
to reckon we were in for a similar fate. We’d been on the trail for days,
weaving in and out of mountain passes, and the stunted forests that covered the
planet, following some map they’d brought from their Archives back in
Chi-town on Earth.
It was late. I was bone tired and pissed off at
the never-ending trek we seemed to be on when I rolled up my blue-dreads on the
back of my head, crawled into my fart sack, and lay my noggin’ down on my
pistol rig. At that point, it was easy to divine why previous hunters had disappeared
without a trace.
Embarrassingly easy.
The fact is . . . it should have been obvious
when I signed up for the gig with that bunch o’ well-meanin’ museum folks weeks
ago, back in Perdition. Ignoring the fact that the Soul Crystal was probably
nothing more than myth, a sort of intergalactic fountain of youth that
attracted every treasure hunter in the Frontier, the imbecilic plan our
particular mission had undertaken was on display for anyone who wanted to see,
probably like every ill-conceived mission before it. It goes something like
this: when do-gooders, like these fools from the Chicago Museum of
Intergalactic Cultures decide to go skipping around the cluster on some damn
treasure hunting scheme, they invariably run afoul of the two cardinal rules of
grave robbing, those being, number one: be fast, and number two: don’t get
seen.
I suppose I shouldn’t be so ornery about the
whole thing. At least the idiots were predictable, and I, truth-be-told,
shoulda known better. This team of wannabe tomb defilers was determined to make
me crazy.
They made ineptitude their calling card.
For weeks, we’d spent our time making sure we
flushed those two rules so far down the damned shitter, we’d forgotten all
about them: the long-ass trip here, stocking up on supplies for days and days,
hiring porters and guides, the never-ending trek across the waste, the
interminable, mealy-mouthed bullshit dealt out by the irascible, if absolutely
steaming hot Curator, Doctor Polly fucking Evans.
I was fit to be tied.
By the time we left Rehvik’s Peak, the only
somewhat viable settlement on the backside of Planet #4, everyone on the
surface knew what we were doing and where we were going.
All that to say that when our perimeter siren
squealed a damned banshee’s warning into the silent desert night, I was on edge
and ready for a fight. That is if I hadn’t just fallen asleep and started a
rather appealing dream about redheads, strawberries, and just a smidgen-little
dose of White Scog.
Startled from my zees, I threw off my sleeping
cover, strapped my pistol rig on my hip, and grabbed my Sharps Particle
Carbine. I considered grabbing my protective vest, but there was no time. I
rushed outside the portable shelter into the darkness.
Well and good, finally—a little
excitement!
I was quite prepared to cause some trouble.
What is
something unique/quirky about you?
One unique aspect about me is my deep-rooted
obsession with cryptozoology and ghost hunting. I spend an inordinate amount of
time trying to discover how to track and locate Bigfoot and its goat-sucking
cousin, the Chupacabra. I also have a pretty extensive ghost-hunting kit and
all the tools I need to locate the hidden spirits among us.
Can you,
for those who don't know you already, tell something about yourself and how you
became an author?
I've always been
immersed in a world of stories and legends, from pulp fiction's golden age to
the haunting depths of Victorian gothic literature. My passion for the
fantastical, combined with a reverence for classic poets like Tennyson and
Coleridge, eventually led me to earn an MFA in Creative Writing. The worlds I'd
been consuming for years begged to spill out of me, and thus, my journey as an
author began. The 70s and 80s speculative fiction scene heavily influences my
long-form novels, and you'll often find threads of heroism, human frailties,
and triumphant redemption woven into my works.
Who is your
hero and why?
While I find
inspiration in many figures, if pressed, I would say my father is my hero. He
embodies the spirit of resilience and perseverance that I so deeply admire in
literature and life. His actions, self-sacrifice, challenges, failures, and
triumphs have taught me the essence of what it truly means to be heroic.
Which of
your stories can you imagine being made into a show?
I can easily imagine my
Hunter Caine stories being a series of monster-of-the-week-type pulp stories. I
think Hunter is a compelling, fun character who would appeal to a lot of
adventure and hero-loving audiences.
Who
designed your book covers?
I've had the privilege
of collaborating with various artists over the years, each bringing their
unique touch to my work. But for "Tomb of Souls," the fantastic cover
was designed by Roy Mauritsen, a talented artist whose vision perfectly
encapsulated the novel's essence.
Advice to
writers?
Embrace the madness of
the world around you. Every quirk, every weird thing you see, every failure,
every heroic act, no matter how small, holds the seed of a story. Never shy
away from your obsessions, no matter how peculiar they might seem. Dive deep
into what fascinates you and let it spill onto the page. Above all, write with
authenticity and passion, and remember that the journey itself, with all its
ups and downs, is as rewarding as any destination.
JP Vile is a devious introvert that scribes works of fiction for people that like action. Pulp fiction that is – the kind of fiction that gets your blood boiling and keeps you flipping pages like tomorrow may never come.
JP has been a soldier, a wrangler, a financial advisor, a professor and a professional eater of oatmeal cookies, all of which contribute to a well-rounded attachment to chaos. Most importantly, JP’s family is an eccentric group of lovable maniacs who all harbor an unhealthy commitment to raising their small dog, Shadow (who may or may not be a Martian infiltrator).
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Sounds like a super amazing read.
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