Hammurabi Road is a dark redneck-noir novella of retribution, backwoods justice, and getting closer to a black bear than was ever dreamed possible. We start off with the eternal triangle - four men ride out in a pick-up truck; three in front and one duct-taped and bound in the back. It's a clear cut case of Northern Ontario railroad vengeance, served up as cold as a frozen hunting knife.
WHAT PEOPLE ARE SAYING ABOUT STEVE VERNON
"If Harlan Ellison, Richard Matheson and Robert Bloch had a three-way sex romp in a hot tub, and then a team of scientists came in and filtered out the water and mixed the leftover DNA into a test tube, the resulting genetic experiment would most likely grow up into Steve Vernon." - Bookgasm
"Steve Vernon is something of an anomaly in the world of horror literature. He's one of the freshest new voices in the genre although his career has spanned twenty years. Writing with a rare swagger and confidence, Steve Vernon can lead his readers through an entire gamut of emotions from outright fear and repulsion to pity and laughter." - Cemetery Dance
"Armed with a bizarre sense of humor, a huge amount of originality, a flair for taking risks and a strong grasp of characterization - Steve's got the chops for sure." - Dark Discoveries
"Steve Vernon was born to write. He's the real deal and we're lucky to have him." - Richard Chizmar
My Mom thinks I'm pretty cool, too.
One of my best-selling novellas. The reviews have all been pretty positive as well. Just take a look at some of them on Kindle or Goodreads.
HAMMURABI ROAD
The moon was a stone’s throw away from the Jack Pine Stretch and the lights of the town were nothing but a distant memory and the three of us were bunched together in the front seat of the pickup on account of the back seat being crammed full of Tyree. He was kicking up some, trying to shuck himself out of the duct tape, snare wire and rope we’d tangled him up in, but other than that he wasn’t making much of a sound. The gag helped some and fear of retribution did the rest.
“Moose are the worst,” I said.
“Worse than cows?” Donny asked.
The thing about Donny was he didn’t always care about hearing the answer. To him talking was a little like table tennis. The object of the game was to snap that ball right back at the other guy just as fast and as hard as you can. Donny had an incurable habit of asking questions because it pretty well guaranteed an answer. Words just felt good coming out of his mouth, I guess. I didn’t mind. Donny looked up to me and made no secret about it. I did my best to live up to his respect. Bert and Ernie couldn’t have done it any better.
“Worse than bears,” I said. “Usually a moose will just bounce, but man alive when they get their hooves tangled up in the tracks the engine will drag them a mile before letting go. You’ve got to hose their carcasses out of the locomotive’s wheel trucks. I’m telling you that nothing stinks like dead moose. Not even Irvin.”
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German
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Already translated.
Translated by Pedro Pablo Perez Aguero
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Italian
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Already translated.
Translated by Martina Benedetti
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Portuguese
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Already translated.
Translated by Nelson Santos
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Spanish
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Already translated.
Translated by Pedro Pablo Perez Aguero
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