Monday, August 6, 2018

The Chosen Ones by Margery Miller-Mondragon


The
Chosen Ones
by
Margery Miller-Mondragon

Genre:
Medical Thriller

New
Thriller has Sharp Medical/Political Edge

Readers
who love smart thrillers won’t want to miss The Chosen Ones –
Thy Will Be Done, written by author Margery Miller Mon-Dragon. 
Set in the high-intensity and politically diverse area of Washington,
D.C., this clever new release hits the mark for suspense, action and
social commentary – exploring the question of why we seem to be
failing to engage in reasonable advances in medicine for all
citizens. Within this book the reader will find themselves dealing
with modern medicine and the issues of genetic restructuring, donor
procurement, terminal illness and death and dying in our society.

The
Chosen Ones – Thy Will Be Done, is a riveting thriller about a
woman’s fight to uncover the genetic code to life itself and to
bring to the world The Book of Man. Mara McClurg has been
missing for five years. She leaves behind two daughters who have
grown into young women beneath a blanket of lies and secrecy. When
the US government discovers that a private sector research facility
(GenTech) has broken the genetic code, Mara is sent to recover the
book of man.

With
a shrewd cast of characters, and a plot that moves quickly, readers
will be engrossed while they absorb new knowledge and discover that
the series is not just fiction but lies on the edge of what every
human being can physically touch, his health and immortality.

Reviewers are calling
the book, “…intelligent and compelling.” The paperback and
ebook version are available on amazon.com and the audio book is
presently in production with a release date set for fall. The Chosen
Ones – Thy Will Be Done is the first in a series of four books with
They Walk Among Us, The Sword of Damocles and The River of
Destruction to follow.


Goodreads
*
Amazon

Excerpt:

Excerpt 1:


THE BEGINNING OR THE END

It was the thirteenth of December in the year 2000.  A day planned to gather in Washington. A day planned to ignite the flames of euthanasia and the aftermath of genetic restructuring.  Carol looked solemnly over Pennsylvania Avenue and sensed the restlessness around her. Blackness covered the masses, like the Sword of Damocles.   Carol had been warned about this time of sheer unrest and total chaos; a time when man would rise in the aftermath and barricade the wrongs of humanity.  “The Angel of Death” had spoken from beyond. Wherever she was, dead or alive, Mara still reigned. Carol admired, loved and hated her all at the same time.
Five years had passed since Mara’s disappearance, and in that time, Carol watched her uncanny prophecy come true.  The country was groveling for answers. They pleaded for cures that financially eluded them, and they begged for the gifts of genetic restructuring.  They wanted clear, scientific guidelines to follow, and they wanted to know that the benefits of the research would be available to everyone. In the end, and if cures were not within reach, they wanted the right to die with dignity.  It was indeed, obvious, that Mara’s fight lived on in the hearts of the American public. She lived it, breathed it and probably even died for it. Indeed, death and the right to die with dignity became her life.
Carol wrestled with her thoughts, as the angry protestors pushed vigorously against her. Back and forth, she thrashed inside the angry crowd.   Signs bobbed up and down above her. One after another, the messages were imbedded in her psyche.
“Cure us, or give us the right to die with dignity.”
“Only God can choose.”
“Your animals don’t suffer.   So, why does your mother?”
“Starve them to death.   It’s easier than making a decision.”
“HMOs survive on the suffering of others.”
“Even criminals get lethal injection.”
The slogans roared on and on in Carol’s mind, piercing her sharply.  The roar of the crowd filled her ears, and the closeness of shoulder-to-shoulder contact welled fear inside her.  What appeared to be a peaceful congregation was now becoming an angry mob. An uncanny retake of the sixties race riots.  Carol raised her hands to protect her face from the glass bottles being hurled into the crowd. Trapped within a wall of people, she feared no escape.  Unable to envision a way out, she screamed aloud. The sidewalk seemed a million miles from safety, a million miles from reach. Desperately she pushed and squeezed, hoping to fight her way to safety. But, the force around her prevailed.   The strength of the crowd intensified, and she was pushed to the ground like a rag doll. Carol struggled to regain her footing, but the movement of the crowd sent her plummeting to the pavement once again. Hiking boots and tennis shoes crushed her frail fingers.  Blood oozed from her knuckles.
“Help, help,” she cried.
A large, strong hand became visible.   Carol grabbed for it but couldn’t quite reach it.  Twice, she thrust her body forward attempting to connect with the hand of the Good Samaritan.  Then he pushed downward and grasped her hand. Quickly, Carol was pulled to her feet and encircled by a strong arm around her waist.  The mass of the man’s body pushed through the crowd, Carol’s frail, limp body in tow. He pushed to the curbside and then onward to the park benches.   He saved her from being trampled to death.
“You alright Miss?” said the kindly voice.
Carol gasped for her first breath and nodded, “Thank you.”  The gesture wasn’t remotely enough to express her gratitude.
“I’m Sergeant Mulchahey, US Marine Corp,” he said.  “Glad to help. Besides, a girl like you shouldn’t be out here all alone.”
Carol smiled and thanked him again.  Little did he know that in reality she had been alone for most of her life anyway.   Carol tried to stand, but she was trembling so badly that her legs dropped from beneath her.
“You’re bleeding, Missy,” said Mulchahey.  “Let me help you to your car.” His arms once again surrounded her; she felt safe and secure.
“My car is about a block from here, Sergeant.  I appreciate your help, but you really don’t ...”
“Nonsense,” replied the Sergeant. “You’re still shaking up a storm.   I doubt if you could make it on your own.”
She laughed aloud and smiled.  “You’re right,” replied Carol. “Thank you.”
Carol sat in the car for a while to recover her strength, but the tremors continued.  Her pants were torn at the knees. The scrapes seemed deep and needed cleaning. She reached for the glove compartment.  “Thank God for baby wipes,” she whispered. Carol gently cleaned the scratches on her face and hands and then attempted the knees.  That was a job for later. She rested her head on the steering wheel, looked at the rear view mirror and started the car. She couldn’t wait to go home.  Upset and still shaking, she fought through the maze of city traffic toward the serenity of suburban roads. As she drove along, a sense of calm began to blanket her.  It was then that she realized what a blessing it was to be safe and secure. Mara passed in and out of her thoughts. It had been sometime since Mara’s ghost had pierced her memory so deeply.   It was time to tell her daughters the truth about her, time for them to know why.















Marg
Miller-MonDragon is local to the Pahrump area. Before becoming an
author, her career spanned thirty years as a nurse and medical
educator. She has spent many years acknowledging the medical,
ethical and legal issues surrounding healthcare. One of her greatest
desires is to have her readers become invested in the dilemmas,
evaluate solutions and then have strong opinions on this subject that
will hopefully inspire change. She stated that she is looking
forward to writing this series for the readers and that it is her
greatest hope to inspire a culture where healthcare becomes a right
for all citizens.





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