Book Tour & Giveaway: TimeRipper by D.E. McCluskey @dammagedPro @RRBookTours1 #TimeRipper #RRBookTours #Scifi

Welcome to the book tour for time-travelling, sci-fi, TimeRipper by D.E. McCluskey! Read on for more details and a chance to win an amazing giveaway– A copy of the book AND a $20 or £20 Amazon gift card! 


Publication Date: February 25th, 2021

Genre: Time Travel/ Thriller/ Historical Fiction/ Sci-Fi

Publisher: Dammaged Productions

It is the year 2288, and Earth is reeling from the most horrific terrorist attack it has ever endured.The Quest, a pseudo-religious splinter group, have taken a stance against the Earth Alliance’s authority of the planet.It is down to Youssef Haseem, now the highest-ranking official left in the EA, to build a team to face the threat of total inhalation if he doesn’t stand down and bow to The Quest’s demands. Then the leaders of The Quest disappear, and a legend emerges in the year 1888. But just who is the mysterious stranger stalking and viciously killing women on the streets of Whitechapel, London?A mission is launched! A battle of wits against time itself. A fight to be played out in the present and the past, with the fate of humanity at stake.Legends can happen anytime…

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Orbital Platform One

YOUSSEF WAS SAT at his desk in his personal room, surrounded by ten large screens. Each represented an Earth Alliance main region: London, England; Paris, France; New York, USA; Kampala, Uganda; Rio, Brazil; Berlin, Germany; Sydney, Australia; Moscow, Russia; Toronto, Canada; Tehran, Iran.

He was alone, with the doors closed. The anguish within him lay so heavy that he was certain he could feel the physical weight of it crushing him, dragging him down below the surface of reality, of normalcy. He was staring with wide, vacant eyes, shaking his head. Each screen displayed fifty inches of static. His anguish derived from the fact that these were supposed to be ‘never fail’ screens, meaning they should supply, around-the-clock, twenty-four-hour, seven-days-a-week, three-hundred-and-sixty-five-days-a-year, connectivity. They should never display pure static, not with the fail-safes and redundancies in place to keep them live.

Fighting off the cold sweat he could feel creeping over his entire body, he leaned forward and pressed a button on his desk. The image of the woman, the same one who had greeted him on his arrival at the platform, appeared on a small screen. She was smiling. He knew it was a false smile, he could see the same anxiety that he was feeling within her expression. ‘Amanda, I’m going to need someone to find out what is happening at our main offices. I’m getting static on every channel. Surely this can’t be right!’

‘I’m on that right now. We’re not getting anything back from any communication relays so far.’

‘Have we managed to get any channels open between the other Orbital Platforms yet?’ he asked, the waver in his voice giving volume to the levels of despair he was feeling.

‘Only sketchy information is coming through, but we’ve had confirmation that at least seven of them are still functioning, up to now.’ She paused for a few moments, swallowing hard before continuing. ‘Sir, I’m still getting nothing from Earth Alliance headquarters.’

He bowed his head for a moment. He had an inkling about what had happened below but didn’t want to give it a voice, just yet. ‘Have we got any satellite coverage?’

‘Again, sketchy sir,’ Amanda replied. ‘I’ll pass over what we have onto your screen, hang on one moment.’

‘Thank you, Amanda,’ he whispered. Before long, an image winked to life on one of the large screens, thankfully replacing the static of what should have been Berlin with something more pleasant.

The image was of a city. The caption over the top of the picture identified it as Orleans, France. Nothing looked out of place. The populace was moving freely. The Slipstream was fluid, and there were vehicles in the air. Suddenly, the image began to glitch. It became fuzzy, as if the recording equipment was malfunctioning.

It soon became apparent that it wasn’t the equipment that was to blame for the picture quality.

The image began to shake, and Youssef watched, with interest, as the sky began to darken. Dirty, heavy, purple clouds rolled into view, undulating rapidly into the shot. Vicious thunderbolts began to form within the turbulent mass. Within seconds, the thunderbolts escaped the vicinity of the cloud and cascaded downwards, striking the city below. Explosions rocked the picture, and it looked like the power grid of the city had gone offline. The camera compensated for the loss of light by automatically brightening, thus allowing him to see what he needed to see.

He watched as the cloud fell from the sky, enveloping the city below.

It was difficult not to turn away as the cloud continued to roll. If this wasn’t so horrific, it would almost be funny, he thought. The cloud trundled across the city, leaving nothing in its wake. It was the only phrase he could think of to describe what he was witnessing. Nothing in its wake!

Nothing, except dust, sand, and desolation.

Something caught his eye. Quickly he pressed a button on his console and the video stream reversed. He watched again as the thunderbolts struck the ground, causing the explosions. In his head, he relived the moment on the Slipstream track when the explosions hit, the precursor of the purple cloud. He walked over to the screen just as the cloud dropped. He paused the playback. Holding his breath, he raised a hand to touch the image. ‘I know what it is…’ he whispered. His voice wavered as he spoke. He looked at his hand touching the screen and saw that it was shaking, violently. ‘They’re insane,’ he mumbled. ‘I don’t… I can’t believe what they’ve done!’

He turned on his heels and exited the room, disturbing Amanda, who was busy at her desk outside his office. He took a moment to notice her, to notice the level of concentration on her face: it was the same look everyone on the station had. It was the not knowing, the uncertainty for loved ones, and the life that may, or may not, have been taken away. He needed to help these people, but right now, he didn’t know how.

‘I need to brief everyone as soon as possible. Get whoever you can into the main conference room ASAP. This meeting is mandatory. I’m going to need feeds to any Orbital Platforms that we know are functioning, and any locations below we’ve managed to contact.’

‘I’m on it now, sir’ she replied, looking back at her display unit. ‘Sir,’ she continued, a ghost of a smile on her face, Youssef thought it looked proud. ‘I just wanted to inform you that we’ve been in touch with London. It looks like they’ve come through unscathed.’

He raised his head to the ceiling of the room and kissed his hands. ‘Thank Allah for that,’ he whispered before turning back. ‘Now get me that room.’

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About the Author

Author Photo

My name id David McCluskey, I am an author from Liverpool in the UK. I have written seven novels so far. TimeRipper is my latest. I started writing about 15 years ago, beginning with short horror stories for children that were written in rhyme. I enlisted the services of an artist and created my very first comic from them. Interesting Tymes is a great seller at comic conventions around the UK, as it offered something that a lot of comics these days don’t, something for the children to get their teeth into (so to speak).

I then began to create more comics, some for children, some for adults, before creating my own graphic novels. Doppelgänger is a dark psychological horror, Olf is a children’s graphic novel about Father Christmas and his reindeer, A Christmas Carol is a rewriting of the original tale, but in rhyme, and DeathDay Presents is an adult comedy based in Hell.

From there I moved on to writing novels. My debut novel The Twelve is still my best seller on Amazon.

I write under the name of D E McCluskey for my adult fiction, and I will be launching a children’s range of novels this year under the name Dave McCluskey (I don’t want children buying some of the other horror based stuff by accident).

I still live in Liverpool with my partner, Lauren, and our children, Grace and Sian. We have a sausage dog called Ted, who likes to leave little sausages around the house, just to remind us why he is a sausage dog.

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Giveaway: A copy of the book AND a $20 or £20 Amazon gift card! 

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Blog Tour Schedule

May 10th

Reads & Reels (Spotlight)

The Faerie Review (Spotlight)

Michelle Mengs Book Blog4 (Review)

Nesie’s Place (Spotlight)

May 11th

The Magic of Wor(l)ds (Interview)

Breakeven Books (Spotlight)

Carrie’s Book Reviews (Spotlight)

Didi Oviatt (Spotlight)

May 12th

Book Dragons Not Worms (Spotlight)

Rambling Mads (Spotlight)

@m_books.dogs (Review)

Phantom of the Library (Review)

May 13th

Books, Rambling and Tea (Spotlight)

I’m All About Books (Spotlight)

Sophril Reads (Spotlight)

Bonnie Reads and Writes (Review)

Jessica Belmont (Review)

Cocktails and Fairy Tales (Review)

May 14th

B is for Book Review (Spotlight)

@the.b00kreader (Review)

Sue’s Musings (Review)

Lily Shadowlyn (Review)



Book Tour Organized By:

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Book Release Blitz & Giveaway: Born in Salt by T. C. Weber @savethereefs @RRBookTours1 #RRBookTours #BorninSalt #Books

We’re thrilled to share this brand new Dystopian Thriller, Born in Salt by T.C. Weber with you all today! Read on for more details and a chance to win a digital copy of the book, in your format of choice!

PSSSST! It’s also available for review! Contact R&R Book Tours for more info!

BornInSalt_ebook_cover_FINALBorn in Salt

Publication Date: May 1st, 2021

Genre: Alternate History/ Dystopian

Fifty years after a coup replaced President Franklin D. Roosevelt with a fascist dictatorship, America is a land of hopelessness. Ben Adamson, a 19-year-old farm boy in southern Illinois, wants only to spend his time fishing and hunting. But when his dead brother demands justice for his suspicious fate in a colonial war, Ben and Rachel, his brother’s fiancée, are drawn into an underground revolutionary movement.

After staging a rally against the war, Ben and Rachel are arrested by the Internal Security Service, who have perfected the science of breaking people. Ben is given a choice: betray the rebels, including his best friend from childhood, or Rachel will be lobotomized.

Although traumatized and addicted to a powerful drug, Ben refuses to doom anyone he cares about. Can he find a third option? Can he free Rachel and strike back at the dictatorship, while dodging the suspicions of police and rebels alike?


The New Bethany Town Square was a small grassy space in front of the county courthouse. Main Street split into two here, running to either side of the square and the courthouse before recombining. To the south of the square, it ran past most of the stores. To the north, it passed the city and county police stations, then a stretch of newer buildings and houses.

The year after I was born, 1965, was the twentieth anniversary of retaking the Philippines from the Japanese, forcing them into an armistice. Every town got a statue. In New Bethany, the government erected a marble Marine in the middle of the town square, rifle held high in triumph. It wasn’t an ideal spot to call for an end to war, but it was the only public space in town.

Rachel lived only a few blocks from the square, but I insisted on picking her up. The police would have seen the flyers by now, and might want to arrest her before we even started.

I was late again. Rachel stood on her front porch, wearing her funeral dress and tapping a foot. She carried a paper shopping bag in one hand, and scowled at me.

“Sorry I’m late.” At Rachel’s insistence, I’d put on my suit, and it took me forever to get the damn tie right. “Are you sure you want to do this? Talking to people one on one is a lot safer.”

Her face tightened even more. “It’s a little late to back out now. Besides, God blesses the righteous and Jake will be with us.”

I led Rachel to the truck and opened the passenger door for her. “Let’s get it over with, then.”

I parked on Lincoln Street, just off Main, and we hopped out into chilly gloom. Dark clouds gathered in the west, threatening rain. I focused on the task—swung down the tailgate and pulled out the mike and amp I’d borrowed from Jesse, the band’s bassist. He’d kill me if they got wet.

The amp had a power inverter so you could run it off a car battery. Together they weighed at least a hundred pounds, so I’d strapped them to a stand-up dolly. No mike stand, but I had enough to carry as it was. I handed Rachel the black microphone case and cables and she slipped them in her bag.

A couple dozen people were in the square, wearing coats over Sunday suits or dresses, the women’s hats sprouting feathers of near-extinct birds. I recognized Alyce and maybe half the others.

Rachel’s face fell. “I was expecting a lot more.”

“Maybe they’re afraid,” I said. “Or it’s the weather.”

“Or they don’t care. The weather is fine.” She straightened. “We’re early. More will come.”

My stomach seized. Figures squatted or lay on rooftops around the square, pointing guns and cameras.

Atop the three-story law office building, a suited man held a long-lensed camera. Next to him, a man in black body armor braced a high-powered rifle on a tripod while another peered through binoculars. Opposite the courthouse, on the First Consolidated Bank roof, more of the same. On the east side of the square, city police aimed guns out the second-floor windows of the column-fronted City Hall.

The courthouse itself had a peaked roof. After the coup, the government had added a wooden bell tower on top, from which, I supposed, you could see the whole town. Beneath the purely decorative bell, half hidden by white columns, a dark-suited man stared at us through binoculars. A sheriff’s deputy pointed a rifle with a fancy scope.

I’d never seen anything like it. Security for visiting politicians, sure, but nothing like this.

The clock on the bottom of the tower read 12:18. We had twelve minutes to prep or escape.

“Do you see the snipers?” I whispered to Rachel.

“Yes.” Her voice quivered. “But we’re not doing anything wrong. They’re just trying to intimidate us.”

She was probably right. They wouldn’t actually shoot us. Or would they? We were easy targets, standing still in the open. They could take their time and go for a head shot.

Past the bank, I spotted Paul standing outside the New Bethany Diner, sipping soda or something from a jumbo-sized paper cup. No sign of the others. Not surprising, since the group hadn’t approved our rally. And it was better Sarah wasn’t here—that would just add to my worries.

Rachel hugged Alyce and other people she recognized, then reached in her bag and pulled out my brother’s portrait, the one that had been propped on his casket at the funeral. She leaned it against the base of the soldier statue.

Behind the picture glass, Jake smiled at me. I plugged the mike into the amp and clipped the amp to the car battery. I flipped a switch and the power light turned green. I tapped the mike, and the speaker thumped.

I wanted to hurry this up and waved Rachel over. I handed her the mike. “You’re on.” The battery would last at least an hour, but I doubted we would have that long.

Rachel examined her filigreed watch. “Let’s let the crowd grow.”

I glanced at mine. 12:30.

More people arrived. But half were cops—city police, county police, state police, and eight men wearing silver long-sleeved shirts, black pants, and matching ties. Their caps bore a perched eagle clutching a saber and whip. Internal Security.

New Bethany’s gray-haired police chief paced back and forth, carrying a megaphone. The Internal Security troops stared at us, long batons and compact submachine guns fastened to their belts.

My knees shook. “Rachel, I’ve got a bad feeling. Really bad. We should go, right now.”


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About Author

TW author photo

Ted Weber has pursued writing since childhood, and learned filmmaking and screenwriting in college, along with a little bit of physics. Trapped at home during the “Snowmageddon” of 2010, he transformed those interests into novel writing. His first published novel, a near-future cyberpunk thriller titled Sleep State Interrupt, was a finalist for the 2017 Compton Crook award for best first science fiction, fantasy, or horror novel. The two sequels, The Wrath of Leviathan and Zero-Day Rising, are also available. His latest release, Born in Salt, pits an Illinois farm boy against a ruthless fascist government that took power in a coup. Mr. Weber is a member of Poets & Writers and the Maryland Writers Association, and has run numerous writing workshops. By day, Mr. Weber works as an ecologist, and has had a number of scientific papers and book chapters published. He lives in Annapolis, Maryland with his wife Karen. He enjoys traveling and has visited all seven continents.

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