“Car Trouble”
I like dialog. One might go so far as to say I’m a conversation junkie. I like verbal exchanges, word play, innuendos, double entendre and yes, even puns. I particularly like conversations where the two main characters get to know one another.
I did a few “first meetings” not long ago, and I decided to revisit that and post a few more. This is the first part of a novel called “Car Trouble” – as yet unfinished.
The disconcerting thing about this novel is that I had car trouble myself in the exact spot that Kent has car trouble in the first chapter. Only that didn’t inspire this tale, because that happened weeks after I started this story. In fact, I was driving home from a meeting planning to work on it when my tire blew.
My rescuer wasn’t a hunky male, he looked more like Rodney Dangerfield, but he was friendly & efficient, getting me back on the road safe and sound.
I hate driving in the rain. More than that, I hate having car trouble in the rain. I hate having car trouble along the interstate in the middle of the night in the driving rain. I mention this because that’s what’s happening to me. Middle of the night, interstate, driving rain, not driving because my new car died. It’s totally, completely, entirely dead!
Inconceivable! That’s the word that comes to mind. Inconceivable or not, it’s unavoidably true.
Whipping out my cell phone, I called the motor club. After an interminable amount of time, a cheerful sounding woman in North Dakota answered the phone. I know it was North Dakota because she had no idea where I was and I asked her. Silly me, I thought she was local.
“I’m very sorry, Mr. Mason. I need more specific directions so that the tow truck can come get you.”
“That’s the whole point, I don’t know specifically where I am. I can’t see the mile marker from here.”
“Can you step out of your vehicle and walk to the closest marker?”
“No. I am not getting out in the weather. You have no idea what it’s like out there. This is like Biblical, Noah’s Ark weather. I’m in a thunderstorm.”
“Oh,” she giggled. “Dry as a bone here. Send the rain up this way.”
“Where’s ‘this way’? I’ll gladly send it.”
“I’m in North Dakota, Mr. Mason.”
“Look,” I said quietly, trying to be patient. “When you contact the company and tell them that I’m just south of the bridge over Spruce Creek, they will know where I am. I’m outside Port Orange. The bridge is right behind me.”
“I really need the mile post….”
“Please! I’m trying really hard to be patient. I don’t mean to yell at you, you seem like a very nice lady. But I promise you, they’ll know. I can’t get out in this weather. I’ll get hit by a truck. I’m on the shoulder of I-95 South, people are going by at eighty. Please, Marsha, please.”
“Well,” she hemmed and hawed a moment. “It’s not exactly the rules, but I guess under these circumstances….”
“Thank you, Marsha. You’re a wonderful woman.”
“We’ll get someone there as soon as we can. If the weather is as bad as you say, it could be awhile.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I sighed. “Thanks.”
Glad that I had a good book with me, I leaned my seat back, pulled out a flashlight and started to read. Eventually, the rain and warm air in the car lulled me to sleep. I woke some time later to someone rapping on the car window. I sat up, rubbing my face. The rain had stopped, replaced by that muggy, post rain ick that makes your skin feel like it’s covered in regurgitated slime. Feeling about as fresh as three day old road kill, I opened my window a crack.
“You from the towing company?”
“Yup. Got any lights?”
“I’ll see. I don’t think so.” I tried my lights. I got a feeble beam.
“Okay. I’ll back up and hook you up. You need to get out.”
“One minute.” I grabbed my suitcase and box of books, stepping out onto the deserted highway. “Kind of creepy out.”
“Yup. Hop in the cab.”
“Can I help you?”
“Yeah, hop in the cab.”
I did as instructed, squeezing my suitcase behind the seat and my books at my feet. Finally, I heard the lift motor come to life and the bumper of my dead car appeared in the rear view mirror. A couple minutes later, my rescuer hopped in as the rain started up again.
“Timed that right,” my savior grinned. “Buckle up. We’ll have you in town shortly.”
I fumbled with the belt, struggling to find the latch. My companion leaned over, digging in between the seat and back, handing me the missing piece of the belt.
“That happens a lot. I think it was built to disappear.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled, still stunned to see that it was a woman who had picked me up. “Sorry, I just woke up. It’s been a long trip.”
“No problem. You from around here? I saw Volusia plates.”
“Yeah, Edgewater.”
“Not too far from home. Got someone who can come get you?”
“No. I’ll have to take a cab down.”
“Mr. Mason, it’s two in the morning. No cab will come for you this late.
“Shit.” I leaned against the window. “I just want to get home. It’s been a long trip.”
“Where have you been? That’s if you don’t mind my asking.”
“Mississippi, Louisiana and Alabama.”
“Ooh, exciting,” she sounded just the opposite.
“Not really,” I chuckled.
“Didn’t think so. Were you traveling for business or pleasure?”
“Who would go to Louisiana or Mississippi for pleasure?”
“Gator hunters or gamblers,” she said with finality as if she spoke the gospel truth.
“I was stalking pelicans for the Wildlife Federation.”
“Really?” She didn’t know whether to believe me or not.
“No, I’m an author. I did a tri-state book signing tour.”
Laughing, she took the New Smyrna exit, waiting for the light at the end of the ramp to turn green. We made the turn onto SR 44, heading east.
“I just had an idea,” she said. “I’d be happy to take you home.”
“Oh, I can’t ask you to do that. I could be a crazed killer. You could be a crazed killer.”
She giggled. “Honey, if you’re a crazed killer, I’m Jeffry Dahmer. Seriously, I’m not worried. I know martial arts and I’m armed.”
“See, I told you that you could be the killer. Actually, I’d like a ride. I really want to sleep in my own bed. I’ve been driving for sixteen hours.”
“Bummer! I’m Cadence, by the way. Cadence Jacoby.” She held out her hand.
“Kent Mason,” I introduced myself, taking her hand. I was appalled by her grip. Mine was weak in comparison, but then I was exhausted.
“We’ll get you squared away, Kent Mason. Come on in. Rosalie and Ernie will help you with the paperwork.” She stopped the truck, honking the horn.
Part two can be found at: http://writersanctuary.blogspot.com/2009/12/car-trouble-part-2.html
The Ignoble Demise of Cliff Brooks
NaNoWriMo is winding to a close. Some have finished, some struggle to complete their novels before midnight November 30th. One fun thing in a NaNo novel is to include the death of Cliff Brooks. It’s become a long standing challenge and a bit of a tradition. Therefore, I’ve quoted below the death of Cliff Brooks in each of my NaNo novels. Each is different – and one even made me cry.
From “Wall of Time” 2007 NaNo Novel
A scrawny man in a dirty black leather thong and studded dog collar answered the door. He had a name tattooed on is skinny chest: Cliff Brooks. Cliff escorted Wil into the lobby and told Eboneé she was wanted below. The whore took her time, making sure she was perfectly attired for her new playmate.
(Wil goes to her room pretending to be a customer & “persuades” her to contact her boyfriend who has accepted a contract on Wil.)
Eboneé reluctantly placed the call to Mozzimo. It wasn’t a clear visual, but he could see Wil holding her prisoner. Wil’s smile was lethal, wicked, cold with anger. He took this all very personally. The fact that the Council actually thought they could kill him offended his sensibilities in ways nothing else could. That they had tried to use his friend first, offended him as well. Now they were sending a cocky, arrogant, pervert after him. They were killing his ego, that was about all they had accomplished.
“I’ll be there soon, Ebby,” he told his prostitute girlfriend. “You just keep him happy til I get there.”
“Moz! He’s trying to kill me here!”
“Don’t be stupid, bitch. If he wanted you dead, you already would be. Play nice.” He cut off the transmission.
“Let’s get comfy, shall we?” Wil dragged her to the bed and cuffed her to it, arms and legs splayed indecorously across the dirty red coverlet.
“They’re gonna come asking for me if you don’t let me go soon.”
“Baby, they won’t ask for you for a week. I gave them so much money, I could keep you here as long as I wanted. No one cares. You’re meat.” He dressed quickly and sat on the only chair in the room, facing the door, waiting.
He knew Mozzimo was close. He was probably already in orbit. Moz was sloppy. He hadn’t paid attention to his screen angle. Wil had seen the navigation instruments behind him on the vid screen. He’d been less than five hectares away from Aolani Figure at least thirty minutes for approach, clearance and docking, he’d be through the door in less than an hour.
Eboneé was beginning to like the position she was in. She liked the man who threatened her, finding that she enjoyed getting the pain as well as giving it. If she could distract him, maybe Moz would have a chance and kill him. She could watch. She could really get off on that.
“Hey,” she put on her most coaxing, sultry voice. To Wil she sounded nasal and annoying.
“What?” He didn’t look at her. He could see her in his peripheral vision.
“Why waste your time and money? Come on over here, I’ll give you something to keep you occupied til Moz gets here.”
“No thanks.”
“Oh, come on. I’m all set up and ready for you. You’re so hot, you’re steaming. Take off your clothes and join me. I’ll make it worth your time.” She writhed on the bed and tried to look sexy. It was hard to look really slinky with her arms and legs spreadeagled, but she tried.
Wil laughed, not keeping the dark amusement from his face. “Save it for someone who gives a shit, Ebby.” He said her name in a mocking tone. “I don’t want what you have to offer. I like my women clean.”
“I’m clean!” She screeched.
“Sure you are.” He chuckled. It was a very spooky sound.
Eboneé was crying softly, waiting for Mozzimo to arrive. Wil sensed him before he heard Mozzimo in the hallway. Making no pretense of his arrival, he was coming in hot and fully loaded.
Yelling obscenities and banging on doors as he clumped down the hall, he was disturbing the entire establishment. Cliff came up behind him to find out what the trouble was. Without thinking, Mozzimo spun around and shot him right between the ‘f’ and the ‘B’. Cliff scrabbled at his chest, coughed once and died.
From “Deserted” 2008 NaNo Novel
In this novel, Cliff is head gaffer for a television show that’s being filmed on a desert island. The show is kind of like “Survivor” meets “Fantasy Island.” Three women & one man are “deserted” on the island. The women are given tasks to perform & the prize is a dream date with the man.
Thumping the door open, Jethro found several of the crew members sitting around having a cold beer, watching the scene at the campsite erupt in yet another argument. This time between Genvieve and Claire.
“Dear God, how did I let Barry talk me into this?” He put his head on the table, banging it gently several times.
A cold beer appeared as if by magic. He looked into the friendly face of Cliff Brooks.
“You look like a man who needs a beer and then needs to get laid.”
Jethro’s laugh sounded rather hysterical. “Oh, that would solve all my problems,” he remarked sarcastically. “Can you imagine how much worse it would get if I took one of them to bed?”
“I’ll take Brittaney off your hands any time,” he winked. “I bet we’d even find someone for Genvieve, then you’d have Claire all to yourself.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Dude, after last night, it is obvious as hell that you love that girl.”
“Guys, you need to see this,” one of the women said, pointing at the screen.
Genvieve had Claire by the hair and was screaming in her face. She had a knife in her hand and was threatening her with it.
“Oh, shit!” Beer forgotten, all the men were out of the trailer, pounding down the beach.
The woman followed in a dune buggy. She picked them up and drove to the campsite. Claire was fighting off Genvieve while Brittaney tried to take the knife from her. Wild eyed and screaming hysterically, Genvieve fought like a wildcat, trying to stab Claire.
“You bitch! You slut! Whore! You stole him from me! He was mine! Mine!”
“Stop it, Genvieve!” Brittaney screamed, making another grab for the knife.
“I’ll kill you and then he’ll be mine!” The knife descended, slowed slightly by Brittaney.
Genvieve still held Claire’s hair, but turned on Brittaney, knife wielded dangerously toward her. “I’ll get you too,” she threatened. “Don’t get in my way!”
She lunged at Brittaney, who jumped out of the way with a scream. Tripping over a piece of driftwood, she sprawled on the ground. Genvieve let go of Claire, turning on Brittaney.
“Genvieve, no!” Claire tried to stop her, but fell over the same branch which was partially buried in the sand.
Cliff dove from the dune buggy before it came to a complete stop. He hit Genvieve with a flying tackle, knocking her several feet from the others. Jethro took them to the safety of the dune buggy as Genvieve grappled with Cliff. For a moment it looked as if he were winning, but his hand slipped as he tried to block her blow. Sunlight flashed on the blade as it fell toward his body, plunging up to the hilt in his lower abdomen.
“No!” Brittaney screamed, tearing herself away from Jethro’s slack hands. She flung herself on the sand, cradling Cliff’s head on her lap, yanking off her T-shirt to staunch the flow of blood around the blade. “No! Cliff! No!”
The woman from the crew whipped out a walkie-talkie, calling desperately for help. Moments later, several of the men from the guard house came roaring up the beach in a Jeep. One carried a sophisticated first aid kit. He stabilized the knife, applying pressure to the wound. He worked feverishly several minutes as they waited for the launch to arrive. The boat raced toward the beach, slewing dangerously against the dock as the captain killed the motor and crewmen jumped off to secure it.
They brought a stretcher and carried him rapidly to the boat. Brittaney followed, strangely calm. She sat next to him, holding his hand as the boat took off. Two more security men took Genvieve into custody. She went calmly, not even protesting when they cuffed her.
Jethro and the others looked on in stunned silence. He couldn’t believe that Genvieve would so something so crazy over him. Or maybe it was the money. Either way, it was completely insane. Horrified, he flopped on the beach, holding head. It took him a couple of minutes to remember that Claire had been the object of the original attack. Standing slowly, he went to her side.
She was staring at the pool of Cliff’s blood on the sand. Pale and shaking, she wasn’t responding to the people around her. The security men were trying to get a statement, but she wouldn’t talk. Silent tears ran down her pale face. Jethro took her in his arms. She turned to him, face buried in his chest as she cried piteously.
“Shh, it’s okay now, it’s over.”
“No, it’s not okay. Cliff could die! And Brittaney, she really likes him. She told me he used to come visit her in the evenings after the rest of us were settled for the night. They were becoming really good friends.”
“Oh, Christ,” Jethro said quietly. “No wonder he said that.”
“Said what?” She was calmer now.
They walked to the gazebo and sat together in the shade. The woman with the dune buggy brought cold drinks for the three of them.
“He offered to take her off my hands so you and I could be together.” He smiled shyly.
“What a nice man,” she smiled.
The walkie-talkie crackled. The woman pulled it off her belt, speaking into it.
“Go ahead. This is Barbara.”
“This is Pablo,” the voice on the other end sounded tense. “We just go word from the captain. Cliff died. They tried to revive him at the hospital, but he’d lost too much blood. The constable is coming now for Miss Genvieve. Can you meet us at the house?”
From “The Ninja Tattoo” NaNo Novel 2009
Teague snuggled up with Vivica, dozing fitfully. He kept waking up, thinking he heard things outside, but determined it was the sounds of the storm.
Eventually, he fell into a deeper sleep, his dreams troubled and chaotic. The war dreams were back full of explosions and gunfire. He couldn’t wake up, even though he knew it was a nightmare. Calling out, he sat up in bed. Vivica sat beside him, hair tangled, face puffy with sleep.
“Cliff! Oh, my God!”
“Teague? Baby, what’s wrong?”
“Where’s Cliff? Did you see him?”
“Teague. There’s no one here but us. Tell me what’s wrong?”
She didn’t know if he was asleep or awake, hardly wanting to touch him for fear she’d set him off. He was obviously having a nightmare, but what it was about, she didn’t know.
“God!” He held his head, shaking all over. “It was so real! I swear, I thought I’d put that behind me.” He flopped down on his back, staring at the ceiling.
“Tell me about it,” she said calmly, quietly. “It helps to talk.”
She cuddled up close, putting her head on his chest. His body vibrated, his heart racing. His hands fluttered against her shoulder and hair, finally coming to rest.
“Start with who Cliff is.”
“Was,” he corrected softly. “My battle buddy and best friend since sixth grade.”
“Was he killed in the war?”
He nodded, biting his lip so he wouldn’t start to cry. Men didn’t cry, right? They were tough, cold, hard …. Despite his efforts, the tears rolled down the sides of his face, trickling into his ears. He didn’t acknowledge them, hardly noticing.
“I keep seeing it over and over in my mind. Every time I close my eyes ….”
“Tell me what happened. I’m a good listener.”
“It was horrible ….”
“Too horrible to share with me? Teague, I saw my brother kill a man with a baseball bat. Anything you tell me, I promise I can handle. I may be the one person you know who you can tell.”
His arms tightened around her and he kissed her forehead. She was right. As damaged as he was, so she was too. They healed one another, filling in the gaps and holes of their tattered souls. Swallowing a huge lump in his throat, he told her about Cliff.
“We were on patrol. Routine, really, we did them every day. Only you can’t let it get routine or people die.”
She nodded, not speaking. She listened to his heart slow, playing with the hair on his chest as he spoke more to himself than to her.
“He was joking, cutting up, talking about this new woman sargent, really hot and sexy, who had just been transferred in. Word was she was supposed to assigned to us as a journalist. He was trying to figure out the best way to ask her out. His girl back home had dumped him and he was hoping to get lucky. It was stupid, a dumb mistake ….”
A shuddering sigh made her head bounce. Vivica turned toward him, gazing at his face in the half-light of the room.
“Whose mistake? Yours?”
He shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose to purge the memory, shake the feelings, stop the tears that kept flowing.
“No. Cliff turned his back, just for a second ….”
“What happened?” She leaned up on her folded arms, staring into his face.
“It was just a kid. He couldn’t have been more than 12. Cliff was talking to him earlier, gave him a candy bar. He turned around, laughing and suddenly the boy shot him in the back of the head. His face exploded all over me.”
“Oh, Teague! Baby, how awful! I’m so sorry ….”
“I stayed by Cliff, calling for a medic, but he was already dead. The townspeople flocked around the kid, dragging him away. They took him to the mayor, who shot him on the spot. No trial, no explanation. He killed him, Viv. I found out later that was his boy. He killed his own son! For murdering a stranger.”
Gone But Not Forgotten – Conclusion
As the weeks passed, Matilda’s body healed, but her soul was hollow. She was released from the clinic to new quarters she was sharing with Jane.
“Commander Torry wants to see you in his office, Matilda,” Jane told her.
Curious, but barely interested, Matilda walked slowly over to the base commander’s office. Commander Fred Torry was a tall man and rather heavy set with steel gray hair and eyes. He stood when she entered, coming around to where she was standing, leaning heavily on her cane.
“Please sit down, Foreman DuLac. No sense keeping you on your feet. However, I wanted to tell you the news personally.”
“What news?”
He handed her a square black box hinged in gold. Inside was a medal. “For Valor and Duty,” was embossed on the edge. Inside were the insignia of a base superintendent, a substantial promotion for her.
“We are very proud of you, Superintendent DuLac.” He leaned forward and shook her hand, then helped her pin on her new insignia.
“Thank you, sir,” she said softly, hardly knowing what else to say.
Rising with care, she hobbled out of the office and back to her room. After digging around in her drawers, she put something small in her pocket and left again. Jane and Mike followed her to the pit which had once been the south end of the mine.
Security officers tried to stop her, but the determined look on her face quelled any protests. Jane and Mike caught up with her at the very edge of the pit.
Without a word, she took the box with her medal and flung it away from her. Watching it fall, she drew a small object from her jacket pocket, kissed it and threw it down as well. The meager, gray light of the weak sun, caught in the deep blue facets of her engagement ring as it turned over and over, falling in slow motion.
“I loved you, Bobby,” she whispered. “Goodbye.”
Without another word, or backward glance, she walked slowly back to her room, where she lay down and tried to forget.
“Indian Summer” excerpt
The following is from my historical novel, “Indian Summer” (available from Second Wind Publishing). Gabriella Deza, her sisters & younger brother, Marcos, are in St. Augustine, Florida waiting for their parents to come back from Jamaica. The weather is awful, a storm brewing out over the water. Suddenly, the sky darkens, hail falls and the sea turns angry & wrathful. Caught on the way home from church, many of the townspeople seek refuge in the Deza home.
Just as we were sorting ourselves out, there was more pounding at the door. I couldn’t imagine who would have braved such weather. Then Manual, drenched to the skin, hair clinging to his face, burst in!
“The ship!” He managed to gasp. “Your parents’ ship is foundering! They need all able bodied men to come to the wharf immediately. Hurry!”
He left to spread the word. I heard the church bell ringing, calling all men to give aid. The men in the room leapt to their feet. Ana rounded up the servants to help. They gathered stout ropes carrying them to the docks.
Marcos wanted to go help his Mamá, but I insisted he stay home. “A boy of five, though he’s big and strong, can’t go out in this weather! I forbid it. Go to your room, change into a dry nightshirt and get into bed at once.”
“I’m not a baby, Bella! I want to go help Mamá and Papa! I’m strong!”
“Marcos, you would simply get in the way. There is nothing you can do. If you won’t go voluntarily to your room, I shall take you there myself!”
He stuck out his tongue, crossed his arms and plopped on the floor, ready to have a temper tantrum for me. With that, I lifted him, kicking and screaming, into my arms, carried him up to his room and plopped him unceremoniously on the bed. I should have locked the door behind me, but I didn’t have the key. I went down to see to the preparations being made, grabbed my cloak and was ready to run out in the rain when I heard the front door slam.
“Marcos!” I screamed, for I knew it was he. “Marcos! Oh, God, why didn’t I lock his door!?” Dropping my cloak, I ran after him, calling his name.
The rain was so heavy, I soon lost track of him in the storm. I knew he’d be heading to the wharf, so I found my way there as best I could. Once I reached the shore I began to call him. My voice was drowned by the sound of the wind.
“Please,” I begged of the men that I knew. “Will you help me find my brother?”
But all were too busy to listen to a young lady who was too foolish to stay out of the storm. I could see Papa’s ship in the ocean heading toward the wharf, as the waves pounded it on all sides. It looked ready to break apart! I began to pray as I ran looking for my little brother.
“Oh Lord, protect them and help me find my brother!” I repeated over and over as I ran through the crowd, pushing my way in the press of men.
It was then I saw Marcos. He was trying to help deploy ropes. The men on the shore tied off stout hemp lines to the pier and were roping themselves in to wade out into the storm. They formed a life line should the ship break apart. Other men were standing and holding the ropes to bring in the others if they foundered in the waves. No one was watching my brother. They were all too busy with their appointed tasks.
I saw the approaching wave before he did, for he was not looking at the sea. He had turned briefly to implore the men once more to let him help, but none gave him their ear.
“Marcos!” I called, though he couldn’t possibly hear me. “Marcos, behind you!”
The wave moved faster than I could, with all my damp skirts around my legs. I knew I couldn’t reach him and he was going to die. Despite his faults, I realized I dearly loved my little brother. I didn’t want to lose him. I couldn’t even think what his death would do to Papa.
As I ran, I watched the wave build higher. It rose until I could hardly see the top. The ship rode the crest. The men on shore saw the swell approaching. They dropped the ropes, running inland as fast as they could in the wet sand. Several fell and were swept away by the waters. The ropes held them and they were able to pull themselves out of the waves.
Marcos was calling to them. “Where are you going? My mamá is on that ship!”
He hadn’t turned around, distracted by their flight. The ship loomed nearer and the wave grew. I couldn’t reach him through the wet sand and the press of men running against me.
“God, I beg you please save him! I swear I’ll be good to him all my days! Oh, Mother of God, protect him! I promised Papa!”
Lightning flashed across the sky illuminating the beach, lighting Marco’s face like a ghost! It was then he turned and saw the ship as the wave approached him. He froze.
“Marcos!” I screamed, “Marcos run!”
He heard my voice, but he was paralyzed with fear. I ran, screaming for him to move. There was no way he could escape. The water was too deep, its pull stronger than he. The darkness and rain enveloped him, obscuring my view. In the next flash of lightning, I saw the ship looming ever closer and screamed for all I was worth!
Suddenly, another figure appeared on the beach. A man, large and strong, was running toward my brother, a rope around his waist. He came upon Marcos just as the wave broke on the shore, grabbing him securely. He dropped to the ground, tucking the little head against his massive chest, holding my brother with an inhuman strength. He turned his body, taking the brunt of the wave on his back and powerful shoulders. Marcos grasped his
waist just before the wave’s surge covered them.
The ship swerved hard to starboard, hitting the corner of the pier not far away, shuddering to a halt. The water rushed around the ship, up the beach, over my brother and the man. I couldn’t see what happened next, for I had to retreat out of the wave’s reach. The greedy fingers of water clutched my dress, determined to drag me into the fray. Were it not for the aid of the men on shore, who held me fast, I would have been spirited away and surely drowned.
I babbled every prayer I knew, calling on God to help them. Little by little the waves receded and I could move closer, looking for them. I saw the rope tied to the pier, taut with weight, and began to pull. Men from the shore saw me and raced to my side. Together we hauled them in. I feared both were surely drowned. Finally, their sodden forms broke the surface of the waves. I rushed forward, but the men held me back, for the currents were wild and treacherous.
I couldn’t yet see the man’s face, as his back was to me. He clung to Marcos who was very white and still. I felt strong hands grasping me from behind. If it was a scene of death, then it was no fit place for a young lady. A man detached himself from the crowd, pushing his way up to them. I heard James’ clear baritone bite through the wind. “Clear off, you lot! Let me through!”
Wrenching away from the hands holding me, I followed James through the press of men. James got there as the men were lifting them to higher ground, cutting the rope around the man’s waist. His hair hung in black snake like tendrils across his face. I could see little of him or Marcos, but both were pale as death. I couldn’t tell whether or not they breathed. My prayers continued, ceaseless, intense.
“Turn them on their stomachs,” James ordered. “Quickly now, we may still have time! You there!” He yelled at some nearby men. “Get a couple barrels.” They worked without questioning his orders. The authority in James’ voice was unmistakable. Marcos and the man were laid over the sides of barrels. James took their heads, turning them gently to the side.
“Now look,” he said to one of the men. “Do as I do. You take him.” He pointed to the man. “I’ll take the boy.”
He placed his hands on Marcos back and pushed gradually, rolling him up over the side of the barrel as he went. He started slowly and then worked a little faster, but always in the same rhythm. The man copied his movements exactly.
We waited perhaps a minute, but it seemed like a lifetime. First the man and then Marcos gasped, choked and began to vomit up water; gallons of it! They were alive! I ran to James, thanking him, thanking God, and anyone else who would listen. I wanted to grab Marcos into my arms and hold him forever, but James held me gently back.
“Not yet, Miss Gabriella. He must expel the water or he’ll choke to death. Let him be until the retching stops and then you may gently roll him over.” He smiled proudly as I hugged him, kissed his wet cheek and thanked him again.
Our eyes on the two still figures before us, none of us noticed the wind had lessened, the rain and hail ceasing completely. All we could do was watch the scene before us play itself out. As the man stopped retching, strong hands slowly rolled him over. I was too busy helping my brother to notice right away. As I turned to see who it was had saved Marcos’ life, I looked into the dark, smoldering eyes of Manuel!
“You?” I gasped. “Thanks is not enough! Oh, bless you!”
“The Lone Wolf” – excerpt
The following is an excerpt from my novel, “The Lone Wolf”, due out later this year. A friend of mine asked for an excerpt, so I decided to post it here. ~ Dellani
CALL ME ROMANCE
(July 1, 3032)
Lights on the computer console flashed, catching her attention. The bridge was dark since only the bots were supposed to be at work. Matilda checked the instruments carefully.
“Rubee, lights,” she told the ship’s computer.
“Initiating. Welcome, Commander Dulac.”
The lights came up slowly allowing her eyes to adjust. There was a flicker of movement on one of her screens. Why was a mining unit on approach? Curious, she activated the Tri-D viewer, focusing on an incoming ship. None of the miners were due until 0800. Glancing at the chronometer, she saw it was only 0230.
“Mine Unit One, what is your status?”
Getting only static in reply, Matilda zoomed the viewer trying to get a visual on the pilot. The mining station’s automatic hails were being ignored. Long fingers flew over the keypad as she tried to figure out what the hell was going on.
“Mine Unit One, do you have an emergency?”
Nothing. Hitting her comlink, she beeped Marc Slatterly’s cabin. ”Captain!”
“Hmph?” She could picture him lying naked in the bed where she’d left him twenty minutes ago. “What? Matilda? Where the hell are you?” He hit the visual, rubbing his face to wake up.
“The bridge. We’ve got a problem. Get up here.”
“What?” Suddenly all business, he rose abruptly, searching for his pants.
“Unit One. Billy’s coming in hot and erratic. He’s not answering hails.”
“You know Guild protocol, Matilda.” He struggled into his pants, getting tangled as he tried to put his feet through.
She exhaled slowly, wiping her brow. She knew protocol as well as he, but in the ten years of Mining Guild service she’d never had to use regulation seventeen – destruction of a manned vessel. Until now….
“Maybe his comlink is borked.”
“Hail him a third time, then initiate protocol.”
“Are you coming?”
“On my way.” He didn’t bother to finish dressing. Grabbing his gun belt, he took off at top speed to the lift.
“Mine Unit One,” Matilda continued. “Slow your approach or I will enact Guild Regulation Seventeen. Do you copy?”
More static. She keyed in the coded sequence necessary to transfer the miner’s load to the cargo hold. Taking a deep breath, she tried once more.
“Mine Unit One, this is your final warning before I implement your self-destruct.” Tapping her comlink, she prayed Marc would answer.
“On my way, baby. I can go only so fast. Damn lift is slow.”
“Shit. I used the transporter.”
“There went my power. You know the drill, Commander.”
“Yes, sir.”
She lifted the clear Lucite lid over the red destruct button, hands shaking as she keyed in the final sequence.
“Mine Unit One, Billy? Can you hear me? Slow down!” Still no answer. “Don’t make me do this,” she whispered as her finger pressed the button.
The miner’s craft imploded, folding on itself like a deflated balloon. Biting her lip, blinking back tears, she turned away. Marc walked onto the bridge a second later, eyes glued to the screen. Taking her in his arms, he held her while she cried.
“You had to do it, Matilda. You had no choice. Look at his trajectory. He’d have come right through us.”
“I never had to do it before.” She wiped the tears fiercely away. And to a friend.
Marc checked the console, securing the destruct button without a word. Taking a life was never easy, but he’d grown used to it over time. Years as a Galactic Marine had hardened him. More as a Mining Guild officer had taken the sting out of senseless killing, but the first one was always the worst.
Taking her shoulders, he turned her to face him. “You did your job, Matilda. Sometimes that’s not easy.” Puzzled, he paused, looking around. “Why are you up?”
“Something didn’t feel right. I came up to check it out.” She shrugged, pressing against him as his arms held her.
“You’re like me. Your hunches are rarely wrong. I don’t know how I missed it.”
She smiled up at him, rabbit punching his ribs. “I wore your ass out.”
Chuckling, he had to agree. “How about we go back to bed and let me try to get even?”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “I need something to take my mind off….”
Marc slung an arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head. “I reckon I can distract you for an hour or two.” He chuckled, white teeth flashing through the confines of his dark red beard.
Back in his cabin, they wiled away the next hour. Afterward, though she was tired, she couldn’t go back to sleep. Something still felt wrong, like an instrument played off key. Now that there was nothing to occupy her mind, she focused on her misgivings. She wanted to wake Marc so she would have some distraction, but one look at his sleeping face told her that was unlikely. He didn’t sleep much, but when it did, it was deep.
Instead, Matilda rose and showered, dressing in a fresh uniform. She intended to go back to her own quarters after kissing him goodnight, but her feet took her to the cargo bay. As she approached, the creeping feeling on her skin grew worse, the hairs on her neck rising. Something wasn’t right, but she couldn’t determine what. Pulling herself away from the doors, she ran to the bridge, calling up the ship’s manifest.
There it was, plain as the nose on her face. There was a load of Trimagnite ore collected from the destroyed mine unit. In a panic, she buzzed Marc’s quarters.
“What the hell? Romance, where are you up to now?”
“Get dressed and get up here now! It’s urgent.”
“Again? Dammit, can’t I get some sleep?”
“Not if you want to live.”
Within five minutes, he joined her. She gave him a cup of joe to clear his befuddlement. Gulping it down, he made a face, but in a few seconds, he was clearheaded as she told him what she’d found, showing him the scan. Trimagnite had a very distinctive pattern.
“Damn! What was he thinking? He didn’t have the equipment or storage capability for this. Digging that shit without proper shielding is lethal!”
“So, what do we do? Trimagnite can make us all go nuts! Why didn’t he tell us?” Her voice held a note of panic.
“We both know the raw ore is not only toxic, it’s a very strong neuro-stimulant. I’m surprised he lived long enough to get it to the ship. I’m contacting Commandant Riley. We can’t carry this, we’re only minimally shielded. Even if we’d known ahead of time, we’re not prepared to transport it.”
His fingers flew over his keypad as he sat at the console, waiting impatiently to connect. Matilda stood nearby, hugging herself. Knowing it was Trimagnite didn’t make her feel any better, in fact she felt worse. Everyone in the galaxy knew the damaging effects of the semi-liquid ore; disorientation, hallucinations, madness and death. Once the process started, there was no halting it. They would die – horribly.
Lost in her thoughts, Matilda hadn’t realized Marc was talking to Commandant Riley. Instead of a uniform, he was dressed in a dull brown business suit, his hair neatly combed, looking a lot like a rat in the dim light of the control room.
“That’s what I said, sir. Trimagnite.”
“That’s impossible! I had no prior knowledge of the load, or I’d have sent a bot ship.”
“I sent a data file. You should be getting it in a moment. It shows the Guild Registry of the Trimagnite. Someone knew he had it. Commandant, I can’t expose my crew to this for more than twelve more hours. Otherwise we both know what could happen.”
“I don’t have any bot ships in the vicinity, but there is a Merchant Marine in the sector. He can be there in a couple of hours. He’s shielded and can transport to us. Dammit, Captain Slatterly, I had no idea. I’d never do this to you and your crew.”
“As long as we get it out of here, consider it forgotten. Who’s picking up?”
“The ship’s called the Loup Garou. It’s registered in Beta Quadrant. Guy’s a gypsy of sorts, works here and there, no set port of call. VanLipsig is the name. Wilhelm VanLipsig.”
There was a stunned silence. Marc said nothing, staring blankly at the screen.
“You’re sure that’s his name?” He asked distractedly.
Riley’s hands fluttered over his keypad as he verified the information. “Yes, says here Wilhelm VanLipsig. Goes by the handle Lone Wolf. Do you know this guy?”
Marc didn’t reply right away. “Yeah,” he said hesitantly. “At least I used to know a guy by that name, but he died awhile ago.” Suddenly, he was all business again. “Thank you, Commandant. We’ll be ready for VanLipsig. Slatterly out.” Marc sat at the console, not even remembering to disconnect.
Matilda broke the connection, looking at him carefully. “What’s up?”
He jumped at the sound of her voice as if she’d shouted. “Ghost from the past, baby.” He shook his head. “I was sure the bastard died….” He rubbed his eyes with his fists. “We can’t do anything more for now. Let’s go back and get some sleep. Rubee will wake us when the guy gets here.”
Rubee was the ship’s computer. She ran operations while they slept.
They went back to Marc’s quarters. Of course, once they lay down, he didn’t want to sleep. Instead of his usual style, Marc took her roughly with an intense focus as if trying to purge his memory of something highly unpleasant. He had never behaved like this before. Matilda would have been worried, but he urged such intense sensations from her body, she could hardly think.
Exhausted, they curled up together. Marc lay behind her, his arms around her protectively, as if by his presence alone, he could keep her from harm. They slept deeply and Rubee woke them a couple hours later when the Merchant Marine ship hailed them.
Once he was up and dressed, Marc was all business. He called her Commander Dulac and she followed suit by calling him Captain Slatterly. It seemed odd for him to be so professional when they had just been so intimate, but she knew something was bothering him.
As Matilda followed Marc to the docking bay where the ship was locking on, she noticed he was armed. The energy weapon he wore was hardly standard Guild issue. On the maximum setting, it could take down a man Marc’s size, putting a sizable hole in him.
“Expecting an army? You can kill a xar beast with one of those.”
“I wish I had something bigger. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. If I order you to fire, Commander, you fire. No questions. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
He opened the door to the docking bay. The other ship had attached and the airlock was pressurizing. As the door spiraled open, Matilda sensed a shudder pass through Marc. He raised his weapon, covering the entrance.
Slowly, with a casual air, a man entered the airlock. Nearly as tall as Marc, he was leaner of build. His curly, dark brown hair fell to his shoulders. He stood still while Rubee scanned his identification tag before releasing the force shield in front of him.
He wore a black eye patch over his left eye and a scar ran from his left temple to the corner of his lips. It was an old scar, worn and somewhat sunken. A slight stubble of beard shaded the lower half of his face, all but the scar line, which was a pale crescent in the dark. His uncovered eye glittered black and dangerous in his ruggedly handsome face. Holding his arms from his sides, he waited as Rubee scanned him for weapons. Finding none, she gave clearance for him to pass.
He stepped forward, lighting a dark, thin object. The pungent odor of a cheroot filled the confined space. Squinting past the smoke, he gazed into Marc’s eyes. Marc’s weapon remained pointed at the other man’s head, his calm expression strangely predatory.
Their visitor sized Matilda up with a glance, dismissing her as non-threatening. He puffed on his cheroot thoughtfully. A crooked grin cracked his face in half, the scar pulling his left lip up at an odd angle.
“Marc, it’s been a long time.” He held out his hand.
Marc remained aloof, not taking his eyes off the visitor, lowering his weapon or acknowledging the proffered hand.
“Kind of a cold reception, isn’t it?” His voice was rasping and low.
The smile was replaced by a slight frown, a hint of sadness in the obsidian eye. Then the same placid expression took its place. Nothing in Marc’s face betrayed what he was thinking or feeling.
Marc spoke calmly. “Commander Dulac, please show Colonel VanLipsig to the lounge.”
“Of course, sir.” Looking puzzled, she did as he asked, feeling his eyes on her.
Marc followed, covering the man from the rear. When they had seated themselves, Matilda ordered three cups of joe from the synthunit. Marc kept his weapon out on his knee with his hand resting upon it. The other fellow leaned back, seemingly unconcerned and at ease. Taking a sip of the joe, he grimaced, glancing down at his cup before matching his gaze with Marc’s.
“Marc, I know we parted under difficult circumstances, but is this really necessary? I’m here to do a job, nothing more.” He carefully kept his hands in plain view, moving slowly, talking with deliberate ease.
Marc looked at him blankly, his expression bland. “I thought you were dead, Wil.”
VanLipsig nodded slowly, thoughtfully. “You were sure you killed me.” His voice was flat, toneless, unemotional. He shrugged casually, tilting his head to the left. “I got better.” There was a flash of a chilling smile.
“The reports….”
“The reports of my death were greatly exaggerated,” VanLipsig quipped, dark eye glittering mischievously.
Marc’s fist dented the table with a furious blow. “Dammit, Wil! Can’t you just stay dead?”
VanLipsig threw back his head, laughing caustically. The laugh became a long, high pitched, chilling howl. Matilda felt a shiver run through her to the very bone. She did her best not to show it, but a subtle shift of her bearing betrayed her. His gaze penetrated her soul, laying it bare, finding it wanting.
Gone But Not Forgotten – Part 16
I haven’t felt much like posting all 3 sections, but am posting this section here for people to read. Next week, I will post the last 2 sections.
In the last episode, Matilda was leading her crew on a solo dive in the mine. Though her supervisor had said he would be with her, he surprised her at the last minute. Neither of them could have anticipated what happened next, an explosion in the mine.
The next ladder had fallen out of the wall and the safety ring wasn’t terribly secure, but their lines were not long enough to reach the ladder at the next intersection.
“Tie off, reverse numbers,” Matilda said automatically. Jane clicked on first.
“Wait!” Stella yelled. “I’m ten!”
“I’m ten now, you’re three. Shut up and wait your turn.”
Stella was in a panic and shoved Jane aside. Both women lost their footing and fell. The floor, already unstable, collapsed. Jane dangled from her rope, but Stella’s was not yet attached. Screaming, she flailed around trying to attach her line, but it fell out of her grasp. James lunged for her, forgetting he and Bobby were roped together. The floor could not take their combined weight and crumbled.
Stella fell, her face a mask of fear and panic. Her line snaked down behind her. She never made a sound. James and Bobby dangled by the line as the others scrambled to help them back up.
The safety ring groaned as they swung over the pit, bending in its concrete block. James hung still, watching where Stella had fallen, but Bobby, dangling beneath him, was desperately trying to take the hands of the others who had lain down to distribute their weight around the hole.
The two strongest men were on the edge of the hole as the rest of the team moved off down the other tunnel to reach the ladder. Matilda pulled up Jane and together they held the men’s belts.
“Call base,” Jane grunted.
“Base, this is 4-6-2.” No answer. “Base, this is 4-6-2, do you copy?” Static.
“4-6-2,” the speaker crackled loudly. “…position? Ladders collapsed… to ladder seven.”
“We are at ladder seven, Base. Floor is collapsing. One member down, two in trouble!”
“Say again, 4-6-2.”
She repeated herself more slowly.
“Cannot get to you, 4-6-2, you’re on your own.”
The floor was cracking where the two men were lying, trying to bring Bobby and James up. James still hung limply, but Bobby struggled to reach the men above.
“James! Help me!”
“She’s gone,” he stared wide eyed, unable to focus on anything else. His hand moved slowly toward the release button on his belt. “I’ve got to find her, help her.”
Bobby saw the direction of his hand. “James, no!”
He yelled, fighting to reach safety, pounding James with his fist in a desperate attempt to break his trance.
The floor gave more, causing the men at the lip of the hole to falter and slide back just as Bobby’s hand brushed the air where they had been. A look of anguish crossed his face as he looked up at Matilda one last time.
“I love you,” he whispered as James’ hand reached the release button, sending them both to oblivion.
“NO!” Matilda screamed, throwing herself toward the hole.
Both men and Jane had to drag her away as the floor continued to fall inward. The entire center of the room was gone and deep rumbling warned of further cave in.
NaNoWriMo is in Full Swing – Are You In?
The original idea came from something that actually happened to me. The character of Teague has my perspective & point of view in the incident that sparked this story. Of course, I’ve added to and embellished, but the basic thread here is real. I don’t know what the bikers were doing, if it was a strange and oddly convenient coincidence, but it’s something that stuck with me.
Teague McMurtry has recently left the Army. At 24, he’s seen more blood and death than most men his age. Quite by accident, he gets involved in something strange, mysterious and deadly. Is the beautiful Vivica really what she claims, the innocent sister of a psychotic mastermind? Or is she drawing him into something dangerous and deadly? An excerpt from “The Ninja Tattoo” is below.
Early morning sun set the sky on fire, glistening off the water, momentarily blinding him. He flipped down the visor then dug his sunglasses out of the glove compartment, sliding them up his nose with one hand. He’d chosen the scenic route to work just so he could enjoy the sunrise. It wasn’t often he got out this early. The river looked like molten silver shot with gold strands. The sky was a cheerful blend of rose, lavender, azure, peach and plum. The sun peeping over the horizon was tinged with red, indicating the start of another scorcher. Hot weather was not unusual in Florida, but wasn’t the norm for this late in the year.
Teague McMurtry waved to the few pedestrians out at this hour. He knew some of them slightly, since many of them were his neighbors. Working the odd hours he did, he rarely saw anyone. However, since moving a month ago to his small house on Riverside Drive, his neighbors had made a point of coming over to introduce themselves. It was by far the friendliest neighborhood he had ever lived in.
The road was empty as he drove south toward his job site in Oak Hill. He had an estimate to do down there and had to be in New Smyrna by 10:00, leaving him plenty of time in between. By the time he got to the police station in Edgewater, only a few blocks from his home, he had joined a convoy of sorts. In the lead was a bronze Ford pickup. Directly in front of Teague was a guy on a motorcycle. Behind him was another motorcycle, a red Jeep and, he thought, a third bike behind the Jeep. It seemed odd since the road had been so empty before. He couldn’t quite remember noticing when he came upon these others, but figured they all had the same idea, keeping out of school traffic on US-1.
The pickup was going the speed limit, which was a little frustrating. In fact, the driver went 25, then 20, 30 and 15. Teague wanted to lay on his horn, but didn’t want to startle the biker, so he kept his frustration to himself. The biker didn’t look any happier with the truck than he was. From time to time, he glanced behind him, trying to see around Teague’s white Dodge Ram. Apparently, the motorcycles were traveling together and somehow Teague had gotten in between them.
At the turnoff for 442, the guy ahead of Teague gestured with his left arm, motioning as if he were turning. Teague slowed, anticipating the right turn, but the biker sped up, his black and white Ninja, following the truck as it continued past the intersection. Instead, the red Jeep, followed by another biker, turned right and headed up 442. This left the truck, Teague and two bikers. It seemed strange to him and he began to wonder what was going on. His overactive imagination clicked into high gear and he started imagining scenarios.
“Maybe the guy in the truck is with them and he’s giving directions to the guy on the white Ninja?”
He thought that over, wondering how they were communicating. The guy ahead of him was probably about his age with short, sandy brown hair. He had on a T-shirt, baggies, skater shoes and sunglasses. He wasn’t wearing a helmet and he didn’t have a cellphone out. So that was probably not the case. The biker behind Teague was also on a Ninja, this one bright blue, He wore a white helmet with a dark visor. He was wearing clothing similar to the man ahead of him. What characterized them both was the fact they were heavily tattooed. What Teague had first taken as a tan or sunburn, on closer inspection, revealed itself to be elaborate tattoos on neck, arms and legs.
The road turned right, coming to a end at US-1. Stopping for the light, the man ahead of Teague leaned back on his bike, glancing at the guy behind him. He motioned to himself, indicating he was going right. Gesturing at the rider behind Teague, he pointed left. The other man nodded, giving the lead biker a thumbs up. The light changed and the fellow on the white Ninja followed the truck while the man on the blue one followed Teague. Feeling a bit paranoid, he moved over to the right lane, anticipating that the biker would go around him. It didn’t even occur to him that the other man would stay behind him, but he did. He didn’t ride Teague’s bumper, rather stayed at least two car lengths back, shadowing him. If Teague changed lanes, so did the biker.
The hairs on his neck stood at attention. Something was decidedly weird. This man’s behavior negated everything Teague had ever seen bikers do. They generally crowded until they could pass, then buzzed around the other vehicles way too fast, disappearing suddenly as they sped up. Approaching the subdivision near Oak Hill, Teague signaled his turn. The biker looked ready to follow, but continued down the highway. As Teague checked in at the security gate, the biker slowed, making a U turn, he continued back up US-1. Once he was cleared, Teague drove to the house whose yard he was landscaping. He tried to put the bikers out of his mind, but their odd behavior was so out of the ordinary, he couldn’t.
Gone But Not Forgotten – Part 15
They were scheduled to go deeper in the mines than they had ever been thus far and the entire team was apprehensive. Matilda was not supposed to be in charge, but was told by her trainer that she would lead the team in. He would provide back up in case of an emergency. Matilda tried very hard not to panic as she went through the sequence of regulations pertaining to deep drops.
All of them were issued safety lines. These were attached to titanium rings set in concrete blocks, anchored to the rock at the top of the shaft. Each miner was equipped with climbing gear and a comunit so even if they got lost, they could be tracked.
Parisium was too primitive a base to have elevators in the shafts. It was just as well, for the power went out regularly and the generators were not strong enough to raise a cage. The ladders were sturdy and firmly attached to the side of the shaft. The stone was very soft, so the walls had to be constantly hewn and the ladders re-secured.
Bobby went down first, Matilda followed and the rest of the team came down in pairs. At the bottom, they stood in a tight group, the lights on their helmets the only illumination. It was cold down here, far more than any of them had anticipated. An involuntary shiver took them all by surprise before the monitors on their stasuits clicked on the thermals.
“Oh, I have to contact base,” Matilda remembered suddenly.
Soon, she hoped, this would become automatic. New duties were always hard to get used to. A quick report of their position and condition of her miners and they were told to release their safety lines and tie off at the ring for the next level down.
Their lines could be released by a remote button on their belts. The ropes wound up automatically, but if the hooks fell on anyone from fifty feet above, it would be her responsibility.
“Stand back from the shaft and release by the numbers,” she ordered.
One by one, the miners released their lines. Each had been assigned a number from one to ten and they released in that order. When all of them were free, they reconnected in reverse order from ten to one.
Matilda, who was last to connect, was responsible for seeing each of them secured properly. If they weren’t, she had to instruct them to reconnect. Each rope was emblazoned with a team number and when she checked, Bobby’s line was twisted and kinked, impeding Jane’s rope.
“Numbers three and four, reconnect reverse numbers,” meaning Bobby first, then Jane.
“You could use our names, Number One,” Jane said haughtily.
“Give it a rest, Number Three. She’s doing it by the regs. Just disconnect and hook up again so we don’t stand here all day,” James fussed at her.
Sulkily, Jane disconnected her line, found an empty spot and reattached. Bobby was working the kinks out of his line when they felt a tremor. It was powerful enough for them to lose their footing. Bobby’s line was being stubborn, the latch would not release for him to connect to the loop.
“Three, Bobby, secure!” Matilda felt panic rising in her, but she fought it down. “Base, this is unit 4-6-2, experiencing tremors in sector four!”
Crackling static. “Hold position, 4-6-2. Area below is unstable.”
“Bobby, get your line,” James urged.
“It won’t release, I can’t get it!”
“We’ll double on mine,” James suggested. “They are rated for four hundred pounds. You don’t weigh over two hundred and neither do I.”
“Tilda?” They needed her decision, it was her job.
“Do it, James. Bobby, keep trying to hook up.”
A sharp nod and both young men worked furiously to secure James’ rope to Bobby as well. Another tremor shook them and several of the members fell to their knees. They heard debris fall down the ladder, blocking their ascent.
“Base, this is 4-6-2, the shaft is blocked. Do we continue down?” Static.
“Hold… Unstable… hold pos-….”
“We can’t stay here,” Matilda decided. “I don’t care what they say, we have to move.”
“You heard Base,” Jane objected. “They said hold.”
“They said something, but what? They could have said do not hold,” James argued.
“The ladder is blocked, the floor could give way any second. I’ll make this democratic. Hold or move?”
Another tremor shook them and part of the ladder fell loose from the wall. A unanimous “Move!” and the all tried to go in different directions at once.
“Stop!” Bobby bellowed. “What do we do, Tilda?”
“We’ve got to get to another ladder and hope we can get back up. These passages go in a grid. Next ladder is one click north. Follow by the numbers.”
“I don’t want to be last!” Stella wailed.
“Don’t be a baby,” Jane growled. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll go last and you come up by James.”
They traded spots. Matilda nodded a silent thank you. It was the first time Jane had shown any team spirit.
Part of the wall in the tunnel had collapsed, but it was passable. They struggled through in an organized manner. The next ladder was blocked too, but they re-secured their lines quickly and started down the next passage. Bobby’s line still refused to open, so he and James remained roped together.
Welcome Today’s Guest Blogger – Liena Ferror!
Liena has graciously consented to introduce us to her ‘friend’, Keara. Below is an interview she conducted with this fascinating character.
Who are you?
My name is Keara McCabe. I am the Queen of the Ghost Drakon, a once thought extinct race of dragon like creatures. My mother was full blooded ghost drakon that had the ability to disappear and reappear at the merest thought. She also breathed lightning. I also have these powers. I can’t transform into a full drakon like my mother but I can cover myself in scales, unfurl bat like wings and change my fingers into claws.
Where do you live?
I currently live on the property of Master Vampire Andres Kaden in South Central Pennsylvania. Andres was kind enough to give us one of his guesthouses on his grounds. I live there with my mate Gannon and adopted daughter, Josephine.
Do you have any special strengths?
I have lightning abilities. I can appear and disappear with a thought. Here on second, gone the next. That’s where the ghost drakon got their name. I can generate lightning bolts which will disintegrate flesh on contact. Though I don’t do it very often, I can breathe bolts as well. It leaves a nasty taste in my mouth when I do. I can grow wings which are large and bat like and fly. There is nothing like feeling the wind in my hair as I fly around invisibly through the night. It’s an incredible feeling. I also can also use fae magick but do so rarely.
Are you the hero of your own story?
Yes, I am the hero. With my special abilities, I come in pretty handy in a battle and helped my mate and the Alliance of warriors he belongs to on a couple of occasions.
What is your problem in the story?
My problem in my story is coming to grips with the fact I spent over thirty years of my life believing I was human to find out I’m a ghost drakon and fae hybrid. My powers appeared many years ago when I was a little girl on the evening my parents were killed. They reappeared a couple months back when my home was attacked by a group of lycans. I disappeared from plain sight and found my lightning abilities. That was one hell of a night, let me tell you.
Do you embrace conflict?
I used to try and avoid it and still do to a certain extent. My mate is the warrior in the family but I am always ready to lend the Alliance a hand should they need it. I am usually at home with my daughter, Josie.
How do you see yourself?
I see myself as a strong, independent woman with special powers that humans could only ever dream of. My powers alone set me apart from anyone in this world. I am a loving mate and mother as well.
How does the author see you?
Liena sees me as I described above. An independent woman with a large heart yet ready to battle in a moment’s notice if my family or the Alliance is threatened.
How do your enemies see you?
Honestly? They should see me as their worst enemy. I can disintegrate a renegade or enemy vampire or lycan with my lightning ability. Turn them to ash actually. My claws are razor sharp and can inflict mortal wounds with one swipe. Plus, I swing a mean sword as well.
Do you have any skills?
Besides my drakon and fae abilities, I am an experienced candle maker. I own my own candle shop called Light Your Way Candle Shop. My foster mother taught me how to make candles when I lived with them. I fell in love with the craft. I make them in every way, shape and form.
What makes you happy?
My mate Gannon makes me happy. He can be hard-headed but he is very loving and was instrumental in my coping with finding out I wasn’t human. I’m glad fate paired us. My daughter also makes me happy. Josie is eleven and a wonderful child. She is such a smart kid. She reminds me of a blonde haired Shirley Temple. So I would say my family makes me the happiest.
What in your past had the most profound effect on you?
The death of my parents at the hands of a thief. I was younger than Josie when it happened. I never had the opportunity to really get to know them. I was too concerned with being a kid. That’s what I regret the most, taking them for granted. With their death, I had no one to tell me about coming into my drakon powers. It was a shock to find out hands on like I did and learn of our history from the Drakon Archives.
A Tangled Web Cover Contest!
October 26, 2009 at 9:06 pm (Uncategorized) (cover contest, Dellani Oakes, make a comment to enter, Tangled Web, win a free copy)
I am still trying to choose a cover for my new book. Please vote for your favorite by leaving a comment. One lucky person will win a signed copy of “A Tangled Web”! Winner will be chosen at random. But you can’t enter if you don’t make a comment! Pictures are on my Blogger site. I couldn’t get satisfactory image results here.
http://writersanctuary.blogspot.com/2009/10/tangled-web-covers.html
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