Damnation Alley Roger Zelazny The gull swooped by, seemed to hover a moment on unmoving wings. Hell Tanner flipped his. Quick download ebook Damnation Alley for PC - E-Library free. Download free "Damnation Alley" by Roger Zelazny EPUB, MOBI, PDF, TXT. Editorial Reviews. aracer.mobi Review. You've gotta love to hate the movie Damnation Damnation Alley - Kindle edition by Roger Zelazny. Download it.
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One of my favourite books as a kid was Roger Zelazny's Damnation Alley, a kind of post-apocalypse Wages Of Fear or Dirty Dozen, It wasn't until a few years ago that I finally read it in 2 sittings on PDF while looking after my. Download and Read Free Online Damnation Alley Roger Zelazny Damnation Alley by Roger Zelazny Free PDF d0wnl0ad, audio books, books to read, good. by Roger Zelazny. . other classic novels and nearly one hundred fifty short stories—including classics such as “Damnation Alley,” “The Doors of His Face.
Nothing else. The past, in this sense, is inevitable. A woman walked past. He did not look up in time to see her face, but the dusky blonde fall of her hair to her collar and the swell of her sure, sheer-netted legs below the black hem of her coat and above the matching click of her heels heigh-ho, stopped his breath behind his stomach and snared his eyes in the wizard-weft of her walking and her posture and some more, like a rhyme to the last of his thoughts.
He half-rose from the bench when the pink static struck his eyeballs, and the fountain became a volcano spouting rainbows. He gave himself up to it.
Let it keep him until he broke, until he was all used up and there was nothing left. He waited, there on the bench, watching the slivey toves be brillig, as the fountain sucked its waters back within itself, drawing them up in a great arc above the unmoving dolphins, and the boats raced backward over the pond, and the fence divested itself of stray scraps of paper, as the birds replaced the candy bar within the red wrapper, bit by crunchy bit.
He backed up the stairs to his apartment, his hangover growing worse again, undrank his coffee, unshowered, unswallowed his aspirins, and got into bed, feeling awful. A faintly remembered nightmare ran in reverse though his mind, giving it an undeserved happy ending.
He backed over to the bar and began spitting out his drinks, one by one into the same glass he had used the night before, and pouring them from the glass back into the bottles again. Separating the gin and vermouth was no trick at all. The liquids leapt into the air as he held the uncorked bottles above the bar.
He read the weather report and the headlines, folded the evening paper and placed it out in the hall. When he awakened the previous evening the drunkenness was high upon him again. Two of the bottles he refilled, recorked, resealed. He knew he would take them to the liquor store soon and get his money back. As he sat there that day, his mouth uncursing and undrinking and his eyes unreading, he knew that new cars were being shipped back to Detroit and disassembled, that corpses were awakening into their death-throes, and that priests the world over were saying black mass, unknowing.
He was wearing his black suit and undrinking drink after drink, while somewhere the men were scraping the clay back onto the shovels which would be used to undig the grave.
Then they went inside to sit awhile and stare at the closed casket. Then they left, until he was alone with the funeral director.
He backed home, undressed, uncombed his hair. The day collapsed around him into morning, and he returned to bed to unsleep another night. Twice, he exerted all of his will power in an attempt to interrupt the sequence of events. He failed. There were tears within his mind as he realized the past which lay less than twenty-four hours before him. The past stalked him that day as he unnegotiated the download of the casket, the vault, the accessories.
Then he headed home into the biggest hangover of all and slept until he was awakened to undrink drink after drink and then return to the morgue and come back in time to hang up the telephone on that call, that call which had come to break. Then re-formed, along with the car, and alive again, arisen? Even now backing home at terrible speed, to re-slam the door on their final argument?
To unscream at him and to be unscreamed at? All his grief and his love and his self-hate had brought him back this far, this near to the moment. Her eyes flashed like emeralds through the pink static, and she was lovely and alive again.
In his mind, he was dancing. Enjoyed this story? Consider supporting us via one of the following methods: Queers Destroy Science Fiction!
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He glanced at the clock and realized that its hands were moving backwards. The clock told him it was He turned the pages, from left to right, his eyes retracing their path back along the lines. He yawned in reverse: There was an impending taste of olive, and then everything was changed again. The second-hand was sweeping around his wrist-watch in the proper direction.
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But I think it's perfect: two great B-movie tastes that taste great together-bikers and mutants! Perhaps there was something in the air in , but that year also saw the release of Ray Harryhausen's underrated film The Valley of the Gwangi, which featured cowboys versus dinosaurs.
Because despite the inherent trashiness of both of these respective genres bikers, atomic mutants , there have been excellent films made about each of them, including Roger Corman's The Wild Angels and Them! In the hands of a good writer, no premise is stupid, and Damnation Alley lucked out by being written by an inkslinging wiz like Zelazny. The book starts with a motorcycle vs. Tanner's given a car fit for such a hostile environment: an uber-SUV, equipped with machine guns, flamethrowers and other deadly amenities.
Zelazny's anti-hero is the Last of the Hells Angels, in jail for murder, being offered a full pardon if he takes the job. A proto-Mad Max-type, who "once gouged out a man's eyes, just for fun," Hell Tanner is a mean son-of-a-bitch, but the best driver around: the only man who's made the mail-run to Alberqueque, he also claims to have been as far as the "Missus Hip.
Originally a novella, the author expanded Damnation Alley by adding interstitial quasi-Gothic scenes of Boston descending into death and madness. Zelazny has remarked that he really doesn't like these scenes; that he just added them to pad out the novella. While they might slow down the out-of-control action occasionally, I feel they add weight and a sense of urgency to Hell Tanner's mission.
Meanwhile, during his drive through the Alley, Tanner finds himself thinking more and more about Brady, the man who brought the message about the plague and the plea for the serum to Los Angeles.
The first man to cross Damnation Alley what the survivors call the wasteland between the coasts , Brady died from his injuries soon after arriving, and only left scattered, fevered descriptions of the horrors on the road. When Tanner is finally alone the other drivers having been killed or injured , the reminiscences grow spooky, with Tanner almost feeling challenged by Brady's ghost.