James regarded the man in the other cell. His beard was unkempt, his appearance disheveled and his body odor suggested he’d been here for some time. When they shook hands, he’d noticed the look of exhausted determination in his eyes. His hand was calloused, strong and firm. He’d met many types in his military career, and this man was definitely military.
The name Chris Fox meant nothing to James, though the man seemed to think it would. He knew who James was, and who his father was.
“So, how do you know my dad?” James said, still feeling more than a little intoxicated. The straight forward approach was usually the best. Continue reading
“Put down your weapons and get on your knees.”
The man motioned to them with the muzzle of his rifle. Lindsay didn’t understand. This was the army right? Weren’t they here to help them?
“We heard your radio thing! We need your help, mister… uh, soldier?” Lindsay said, the words sounding young and pathetic in her ears. She couldn’t see the man’s expression behind his mask. The gun didn’t waver.
“I said, put the damn weapons down or I will kill you.” Continue reading
James Fitzpatrick tried his best to sober up on the way to the briefing room, but the sheer amount of Jeremiah Weed in his system hung on like an AIM-120C inside of a 10 mile engagement. There was no way he was going to shake it. Not without some fancy moves anyway. Unfortunately his body had no moves to make.
Unless vomiting counted, a maneuver which he performed with gusto.
Leaning against the administration building’s wall with one hand, he wiped his mouth with the other and desperately wished for a glass of water. Lowering himself to his knees, he scooped up a handful of snow and shoved it into his mouth. A part of his brain screamed that this wasn’t a great idea, but the other part of his brain was very thirsty and punched the first part in the face. Continue reading
I meant to get Chapter 8 done way ahead of time.
For a while now I’ve had a good buffer of chapters in case I was really busy one week or simply couldn’t get it edited in time, but unfortunately that buffer ran out last week. I’d hoped to get more chapters done this past weekend but it just didn’t happen. I’m leaving tomorrow (Wednesday) for PAX East so it looks like Chapter 8 will have to wait a week. Sorry guys!
If anyone is going to PAX East, send me a message on Twitter or something. This will be my very first PAX, though not my first convention. For years now I’ve attended DragonCon in Atlanta pretty regularly. Lately, it’s become impossible to get a room for it. So this year my wife and I decided to go to something different. We’re both pretty big video game nerds so this seemed like a natural place for us to go. We just never did.
I’m heading up with a friend of mine from a previous job. He and I always talked about going but I never could find the time, or I was low on money, or I was getting married, etc etc. But this year! This is the year!
And it’s snowing. Well. I won’t let that stop me. Wish us luck!
If anyone is in the area and wants to say hi, once again use that twitter.
The metal door gave way with a sharp crack of splintering drywall and wood. The sounds of the dead grew louder as they pushed through, crawling over one another in their haste and hunger. The darkness didn’t impede them in the slightest, crashing through like a wave of unending destruction, fingers reaching, teeth gnashing.
Lindsay stared in horror. She’d never seen so many. They were endless, a sea of death. The smell hit her then, an overpowering stench that reminded her of rotting garbage and soured milk.
For all its horror, the Infected were known to her. The bodies that lay behind her, in the tunnel that led to safety, did not move or moan or grab. They lay still, rotting and bloated. The stink that came from them was sickly sweet. She tasted bile in the back of her throat. Continue reading
James listened to the whine of the A-10s start up from his bunk. His quarters was in the back of the complex, a windowless room made of concrete and painted a dull gray. He had only a single light, a small LED lamp on his nightstand, but it was enough to light the small, square room.
He lay, partially dressed in athletic shorts and a t-shirt, holding a picture up to the light. He’d kept it, squirreled away in a rucksack. It was bent and creased despite his best efforts. The top was partially torn but he’d done that. He’d wanted to tear her from his life but found he couldn’t.
Elena looked furious, standing in her grease-stained fatigues while James grinned widely in his flight suit and helmet. They’d both been wasting time while she checked over his landing strut. He’d said he’d popped the hydraulics on the landing as a joke. That face she’d made kept him laughing for a long time. Continue reading
They agreed to leave early that next morning.
Katie had spent the previous evening packing up various packets of paper that Lindsay didn’t understand. Some were lists of names, some were maps of places she didn’t recognize. When she asked, Katie just said her dad would want them.
The rest of their supplies were food, ammunition, first aid and other survival supplies. Lindsay didn’t know why they’d need all of that, since the radio station would only take a day to get to and then they’d be taken to a shelter or something. Katie insisted so Lindsay didn’t say anything. Continue reading