Carl Alves's Blog, page 43

7 Brains by Michael Louis Calvillo

7 Brains is the sort of chapbook that I would probably skip if it was written by another writer. The premise is a bit out there. Malcolm, the story’s protagonist, is tasked by his subconscious, which can take over his body, to eat seven brains of people who represent pure forms of emotion. Under Michael Louis Calvillo’s capable hands, a novella like this can work. The writing from a technical standpoint is very strong. The flow is excellent and the book is enjoyable to read. There were certain elements of it that I’m still not sure about and weren’t explained particularly well, especially the ending of the book, which left me a bit confused.

Probably, the strongest element of this story is the lead character. Despite the horrific things that Malcolm is doing, it is still easy to relate to him and root for him. He comes off as a real person, and that’s a skill that Calvillo has shown in other books of his that I have read. The story is short and moves at a quick pace. Although there were certain things that I didn’t like about 7 Brains, by and large this was a cool chapbook and one that I enjoyed reading.

Patient Zero by Jonathan Maberry

In Maberry’s first novel in the Joe Ledger series, Baltimore detective Joe Ledger is brought into a secretive government facility where he is being recruited to lead an X Files style covert government special forces that are designed to tackle things that are far beyond the ordinary. As a sort of test, he is put into the same room as a terrorist who he had just killed the previous week and is now alive again. In this novel, the zombies are not supernatural in nature, but have been fabricated in a laboratory by terrorists as a weapon to attack the United States and the western world. Joe winds up leading a special forces group of the Department of Military Services. The terrorists are in the process of weaponizing a new form of zombie that they call the Sword of the Faithful, which are very different than the mindless zombies that are typically seen. These ones can think and fight and have retained most of their humanity.

There are things that I really enjoyed about this novel, and things that I didn’t like about it. On the plus side, the concept itself is really neat. The story is set at a really strong pace and continues to move with few dead spots. The action is really strong. The fight scenes are well constructed. Joe Ledger and some of the side characters on the protagonist side are well-developed. On the negative side, the antagonists in this story were poorly constructed and not credible. There were certain elements of the story that lacked any kind of logic and believability, including some that reminded me of what I hated about the television show 24, where I would read something that was so outrageous that it would take me out of the flow of the story. Also, this story has my ultimate pet peeve in fiction literature: the evil pharmaceutical that creates an illness so that it can then sell the cure. I wanted to throw the book across the room in those scenes. It has become beyond cliché. In the end, my opinion of this novel is mixed. I hope that Maberry will tighten some of these things in future editions of this series.

The Story Behind the Story: Secret

My story Secret is part of a loose trilogy that I wrote featuring over the top and extreme reality television programs. After the first show, How Far Will You Go, flamed out after a couple of the contestants died, Brad Billington, the host of the show, is back with a new television program. After a careful selection process, contestants with deep, dark secrets and shady pasts are selected for the show. The concept is that the show would be performed elimination style with the winner getting a multi-million dollar prize and a role in a movie. Brad gives each contestant a topic of which they hold a secret that they would not want revealed. They either drop out of the show or allow the secret to be revealed. It starts off with mild secrets, which are of no big consequence and get progressively worse until they get the point of revealing horribly mortifying secrets. Then all hell breaks loose.
Like the others in the trilogy, this story was written in response to the ridiculous reality television shows that often populate the screen. They seem to have lost their steam recently, but back at the time I wrote this story, they were spiraling out of control. The host, Brad Billington, is a former college quarterback whose career ended prematurely due to injury. Brad has an all-out lust for fame and sees this as an opportunity to capture the glory that once eluded him. He has no morals or scruples and will seek to any low to achieve his goals. This is a bit of a departure from the usual horror and fantasy that I write, but it’s a pretty cool story that I think you will enjoy. You can read it at: http://www.carlalves.com/blog-post/se...

Secret by Carl Alves

This is a reprint of my story Secret, a story about an over the top, outrageous reality game show that was published nine years ago in the now defunct Scorched Wings magazine.

Secret
By Carl Alves


Brad Billington sat in the office of the vice-president of the television network.
Rudich shook his hand. “It’s good to see you again, Brad. I hope you’ve been well since we last spoke.”
Brad shrugged. “It’s been tough.”
“I heard you had been hitting the bottle hard,” Rudich said.
“I’ve got it under control,” Brad lied. Sober for the first time in a week, he found himself craving a drink.
“It’s been difficult for all of us after How Far Will You Go flamed out,” Rudich said. “But I think you handled the situation professionally. You’ve been a good soldier, taking responsibility for what went wrong. I just want to let you know that all of us here at the network appreciate your efforts. That’s what being a team player is all about. We haven’t forgotten you.”
Brad nodded. “Thank you.”
“Because of that I want to see you back on television again.”
Brad’s eyes lit up. It was as if he were lifted from a deep slumber. “We’re going to do another season of How Far Will You Go?”
Rudich shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
Less than a year ago, Brad had been the host of the most successful reality game show in the history of television. How Far Will You Go dazzled the network executives and its sponsors with eye-popping ratings. For a five week period it was the highest rated television program. Brad, a former quarterback at USC was tall, athletic, good looking, and a natural celebrity. His career burnt in flames when two contestants died in the last week of the show after undergoing two deranged challenges.
Brad’s shoulders slumped. “But the people couldn’t get enough…”
Rudich put up his hand. “We created television history with How Far Will You Go, but that chapter’s over. The liability and bad press are too prohibitive to run it again. I have something else in mind, and you’re the ideal host. It’s a new reality game show called Secret.”
Brad’s enthusiasm grew as Rudich made his pitch.


“Welcome America, this is your host Brad Billington, and tonight we begin a journey into the darkest reaches of a man’s soul as we reveal the most private moments of these seven individuals who will bare their lives for your viewing pleasure. Don’t worry, this bare exposure of their lives comes with a considerable reward. The final contestant standing at the end of this journey will win two million dollars and a role in the upcoming Mutant City III movie, coming to theaters next summer. For a prize that big, you better believe that they will be revealing secrets a little bigger than cheating on a high school test.”
Brad supressed a smile. He couldn’t believe they were actually making Mutant City III. The first two were the worst movies he had ever seen.
Nearly two years since the finale of How Far Will You Go, much of the country had forgotten about Brad’s troubles. Now that he was back on the air, he felt revitalized.
Brad introduced the contestants. Each one had done shady if not despicable things in the past. The rigorous screening process for the contestants took nine months. When they narrowed the field down to a reasonable number of applicants, the producers of the show hired private investigators to uncover unsavory information about their past. After reviewing the information, they selected seven contestants.
The television and studio audiences viewed a three minute bio on each contestant as Brad introduced them.
“So, Andy Wallace, you’re a prominent trial attorney back in the Philadelphia area, what would make you agree to be on this show?” Brad asked.
The attorney’s eyes narrowed. “One word: money.”
Next he spoke to Desiree Turnman, a dance instructor from Virginia. Desiree wanted to break into Broadway and thought that Secret would give her good exposure.
Brad had a wide smile as he approached Sal Morrello. “I have to say, Sal, you’re the most unsavory competitor on this show. You’re a pimp from Detroit. In your bio, you told America you were a lock to win because you don’t care what they reveal about you.”
“It’s all good, dog,” Sal said. “Just show me the dough.”
Halfway through the program, they were ready to start the first round of the competition. Brad took center stage. “The way this show will work is simple. Each contestant will have one secret revealed about them. We will give them a topic. They will then let us know if they want us to reveal their secret. If they do not want it revealed, then they are eliminated. They have a red button at the podium. At any time during the challenge, they can press it and we will stop revealing the secret. If they press the red button, they are eliminated. When the secret is revealed in its entirety, they will advance to the next round. Are there any questions?”
Andrea Bennett, the gym teacher from Indiana, raised her hand. “What if we did something, you know, kind of illegal?”
“Well, Andrea, you’re just going to have to determine whether or not it’s worth uncovering your illegal activity for the chance of winning the grand prize.” Brad could tell she was going to be fun to have on the show. Andrea was not very bright and they had uncovered countless scandals in her past.
The first round started with mild secrets, and every contestant survived.
After coming back from a commercial break, Brad Billington said, “As we begin the second round of the competition, I would like to inform everyone that as each round goes by, the severity and intrigue of the secrets will increase. So if you were fascinated by what has been revealed thus far, well ya ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”
The third contestant in the second round was Sal Morrello. “Sal, we’ve learned a little about your life, but I’m curious, how did you get into pimping?” asked Brad.
“You call it pimping, but I’m a salesman. I provide a service that men require and are willin’ to pay a fair price for. I ain’t no different than a nine to five, shirt and tie guy. To answer your question, I took over my Uncle Leo’s business after he was incarcerated.”
“I’m sure you made him proud. Well Sal, your topic is ‘ways of making money’.”
“I’ve made cash in more ways than you can imagine. Go ahead.”
“In 1994, for a period of three months, you posed as a blind man and panhandled money at a street corner.”
The audience jeered.
“Hey what’s wrong with that?” Sal said.
“That’s repulsive,” said Jamie Duncan, a nurse from Florida and a contestant on the show.
“Hey, he who don’t have sin can cast the first stone. What’s the matter, honey, you ain’t never done nothin’ shady for money? You know, you gotta nice set of legs. I can fetch a nice price for you.”
“You’re so disgusting,” Jamie said.
The first episode of Secret ended at the conclusion of the second round.
“Don’t forget to tune in next Tuesday. We’re going to unveil secrets about prostitution, thievery and all sorts of fun stuff. Until then this is Brad Billington saying goodbye, and remember the terrible things you do may some day be revealed.”


Brad Billington did not share his colleagues’ enthusiasm when he learned about Secret’s overnight ratings. It was the number one show on its time slot, but that was not good enough.
He called for a meeting with the producers of the show and yelled at them for a half hour. Secret was going to be the biggest show on television. It was just a matter of convincing the public. After three hours, they agreed to his suggestion of leaking scandalous information about the contestants through the Internet.


Brad’s idea worked to perfection. The second episode had tremendous buzz. Now, he had to deliver the kind of show that would keep the audience coming back for more.
The third round started off with Andrea Bennett.
“So, Andrea, what do your students think about your participation on the show?”
“Oh, they love it,” the gym teacher said. “The kids have been real supportive.”
“I doubt your school’s administration will share that opinion after tonight.”
“Uh-oh,” Andrea said. “Did I do something bad?”
“We’ll find out. Are you ready for your secret?”
Andrea nodded.
“The category is ‘real body parts’.”
“I’m going for it, Brad.”
“I’m sure you are. Over the last five years you have had breast enhancement surgery, liposuction, and collagen treatments for your lips.”
Andrea laughed. “There’s hardly anything real on me.”
After several others advanced to the next round, Chris Aiken, an accountant from Michagen stepped to the podium.
“The category is ‘things you keep at your desk’,” said Brad.
“Uh, man.” Chris paused a while before taking a deep breath and agreeing.
“We have a special guest that will reveal Chris’ next secret. Please welcome Rufus Norris, a janitor at your company.” A short, black balding man entered the stage. “It’s nice to have you here tonight, Rufus. So tell us what you know about our friend Chris.”
“That dude has the biggest stack of porno mags at his desk. Man, it ain’t like nothin’ I ever seen. You pull open his drawer and he got at least thirty of them. And I ain’t just talkin’ about Playboy and Penthouse. I’m talkin hardcore stuff. Man, this dude’s into some weird shit.”
Chris glared at the janitor. “You son of a bitch. I can get you fired.”
“I don’t know, Chris,” Brad said. “I would be worried about my own job if I were you.”
Chris stormed off the podium.
The audience was raucous as the next round started. Desiree Turnman was at the podium.
“Now, Desiree, I’m sure most people watching think you’re a normal person, but appearances can be deceiving.”
Desiree smiled at the camera.
“As we all know, you’re a dance instructor. In your bio, you told us that you aspire to be a Broadway dancer. The topic of your secret is ‘former occupations’.”
Desiree covered her eyes. When she removed her hand, she was near tears. “But my daughter’s watching.”
“You can buy your daughter a lot of nice things with two million dollars. And a role in Mutant City III could help your career.”
The audience cheered wildly when Desiree agreed to go for it.
“For your secret we have a former employer of yours. Please welcome Steve Mancuso.”
Mancuso was overweight and poorly dressed. He had a comb over and a week’s worth of stubble on his face.
“Mr. Mancuso, you’re the owner of Cleopatra’s, a gentleman’s club in New Jersey.”
“Yeah, and Des used to be one of my best dancers. She used to do private shows, one on ones, all kinds of stuff.”
“I think we have some footage,” Brad said.
The producers rolled an extremely edited tape of Desiree stripping at the club.
“Desiree, I would never have guessed.”
“Hey, you still do that kind of work?” Sal Morrello called out from the rear of the stage.
“Shut up, you filthy bastard!” Desiree started crying and walked off the stage.
When they returned from a commercial break, Brad addressed the audience. “It appears that Desiree Turnman has walked off of the set and has not returned. As a result, she has been disqualified from the competition. Apparently those skeletons in the closet were a little too much. So we are now down to six.”
“Too bad, that woman had nice juggs,” Sal Morrello said.
Doug Fraser started the next round. “The topic is ‘things you did for money’.”
Doug sighed. “This is tough. I don’t know, man. I don’t want to get arrested, you know.”
Brad shrugged. “That’s certainly understandable.”
“But if I win, I’d be friggin rich, you know. All right, go ahead. I’ll just cross my fingers.”
“Well, I don’t think you’ll be arrested, but let me tell you, this is pretty rough. Last July you were paid three hundred dollars to sleep with a sixty-eight year old woman.”
“Shew. That ain’t so bad.”
The audience greeted Doug with a chorus of boos.
“Hey, you know, older women have needs too.”
The camera panned to Doug’s mother, who gasped in obvious horror.
Doug scanned the monitor. “Sorry, Ma.”
The final contestant was Chris Aiken. “This is the last secret of the evening,” Brad said. “And believe me, we saved a good one for last. The topic is ‘United Contractors’.”
Aiken’s face turned white. His eyes shifted nervously around the studio. The audience chanted for him to go for it.
“We have one minute left in tonight’s show. So we need to know your decision now.”
“I can’t do it,” said Chris.
“That’s too bad. I’m sure the audience would have loved to hear this one. Anyway, you are out of the competition and we have to go. See you next week.”
As the camera stopped rolling, Brad smirked, knowing Chris would have been arrested if he had revealed that Chris embezzled over one hundred thousand dollars from United Contractors Corp.


At the production meeting, the champagne corks were popping. The ratings had skyrocketed, making it the third most watched program that week. Once again, Brad was on top.
At the beginning of the third episode, the competitors had become less friendly and talkative except for Sal Morrello. Much to Chris Aiken’s chagrin, an investigation had been launched by his firm regarding his handling of the United Contractors job.
Midway through the fifth round, Andrea Bennett stood on the podium.
“The administrators at your school aren’t too happy. They suspended you without pay.”
Andrea shrugged. “Yeah, they didn’t like hearing that I passed out at a rave party.”
“You’re a wild one.”
Andrea giggled. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Well Andrea, your next topic is ‘trading places’.”
Andrea’s brow furrowed. “I wonder what that could be. Well, let’s find out.”
“Four years ago, you and your sister Beth concocted a scheme to swap boyfriends.”
“Did she tell you that? I can’t believe her.”
“So how did it work out for you?”
“Pretty good. Steve and I wound up being engaged for a couple months.”
At the end of that round, Andy was on the hot seat. The raucous audience shouted derivisive chants at the lawyer.
“So, Andy, I understand that your wife isn’t too happy after we revealed that you slept with your best friend’s fiancee a week before their wedding.
The trial attorney snarled, but said nothing. “Well, it doesn’t look like things are going to get any better for you. Your topic is, ‘things you do at funerals’.”
The camera panned to his wife Sybil, whose face tightened.
“Hey, whatever happened was before I got married,” Andy said.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Will you allow us to reveal your secret so that you can advance to the next round?”
After thinking for a minute, Andy responded, “Sure, but I got my hand on this red button.”
Brad paused to create a dramatic effect. “In the past you have gone to funerals of people you didn’t know for the sole purpose of trying to hook up with the grieving widow.”
The audience booed wildly.
Brad put his hands up. “Hey, I don’t make this stuff up.”
Andy’s face was red. “You guys have crossed the line. You’ll be lucky if I don’t sue you.”
“We crossed the line? You’re the one who’s trying to hook up with recent widows.”
During the break, Andy Wallace got into a shouting match with a production assistant. The atmosphere inside of the studio was like a rock concert, and Brad encouraged them to get louder.
After the break the first contestant was Sal Morrello. “Compared to that lawyer, I don’t look so bad. What a creep.”
“So, Sal, how has your life changed in the past couple weeks?”
“All kinds of people who never wanted nothing to do with me all of a sudden want to talk to me. I’ve become respectable. Go figure.”
“I’m glad to see that you’re enjoying your new fame. You’re the perfect contestant for this show since your lifestyle presents so much good material. Your topic is ‘offspring’.”
“Shoo.” Sal said.
“Over the past seven years, you have fathered four children out of wedlock.”
Their was a murmer from the audience.
“Hey that ain’t nothing. Those basketball players have more illegitimate kids than I do and nobody makes a big fuss over them. I take care of them…when I have to.” Sal bickered with members of the audience as he left the podium.
The tension mounted as Brad revealed each secret. With ten minutes left in the show, Andrea Bennett was at the podium and her topic was ‘viruses.’ She cringed at the mention of this category, but agreed to have the secret revealed.
“As a sophomore in college you contracted…”
A loud buzz sounded throughout the studio as Andrea became the first competitor to use the red button, not allowing Brad to reveal that in college she had contracted HPV and herpes. Two years ago she had to have surgery to remove part of her cervix as a result of her HPV.
“Oh, sorry Andrea, but you know what that means. You are out of the competition.”
The gym teacher giggled. “That’s too bad. I just wanted to let everyone know that I had a lot of fun and I’ll miss you guys. Good luck.”
That ended the third episode of Secret.
On the following day, network executive Geoff Rudich called Brad Billington into his office. Brad was sure his boss would break out another bottle of Dom Perignon.
When he entered, Rudich frowned. “It seems that we may have a problem.”
Brad’s face tightened. “What could possibly be wrong?”
“The ratings are terrific, and I want to keep this thing going for as long as possible. Secret is a success, and you have the magic touch. But there might be a problem with the pimp.”
“Sal?”
“The Detroit Police Department is investigating him. They don’t like the fact that someone operating illegally in their city has become famous. They may indict him.”
“Shit!” Brad slammed his fist on Rudich’s desk. “That can’t happen yet. We have to hold them off, at least for a few weeks.”
“We’re doing our best. The network lawyers are talking to the DA in Detroit, and we’re seeing if we can delay them, but I’m not sure it’s going to happen.”
“We can’t let this happen. Not now.”
Brad left the meeting determined not to let anything impede the success of his show.


Brad opened up the next episode by saying, “We are down to crunch time, folks. We have Doug Fraser, the taxi driver; Jamie Duncan, the nurse; Andy Wallace, the lawyer; and Sal Morrello from Detroit. All of them are gunning for the grand prize.”
After interviewing each of the four, Andy Wallace was the first up. His wife Sybil was notably absent. His topic was ‘child support.’
“Five years ago you paid your mistress, Dina Pilson, one hundred fifty thousand dollars to move to another state. Ms. Pilson was pregnant at the time. Since then, you have made annual under the table payments of fifty thousand dollars to Ms. Pilson. And before you try to deny it, we have copies of the funds transfers.”
Andy glared at Brad.
“Say hello to Ms. Pilson and your daughter Gina.”
On a live satellite feed, his mistress and four-year-old daughter were in their living room.
Andy charged at Brad and had to be restrained by several security guards.
Next, Jamie Duncan was on the hot seat. “Jamie, your secrets have been tame thus far. And that has made you the favorite to win this competition with the betting public. But this is crunch time and we’re going to turn up the heat.”
“Oh God,” muttered Jamie.
“Your topic is ‘children’.” The camera panned to her eight year old daughter sitting in the stands with her husband.
Jamie sighed, her face pale. She rested her head on her right hand, and looked at her smiling husband. Her hand hovered over the red button.
“Between the years 1988 and 1990, you had two abortions,” Brad said.
Tears formed in Jamie’s eyes as she left the podium. The camera showed a stunned look on her husband’s face.
The contestants were visibly on edge with the exception of Sal Morrello, who seemed to be having the time of his life.
Andy Wallace’s next topic was college applications.
“You guys better be careful here,” the lawyer warned.
“I’m sure we will,” said Brad. “On your application to law school, you claimed that you were an African-American. When the admissions board questioned it, you said that your Great-great-great-great grandmother was a slave and that if they did not allow this to stand, you would sue the university. As a result, you were admitted to law school. For the record, that last statement is speculatory. However, our research revealed that you have no such ancestor.”
“It’s true and I can prove it,” Andy said.
“You’re more than welcome to. If you survive to next week, you can prove us wrong.”
Andy glared at him. Brad almost expected the lawyer to charge at him again.
Doug Fraser followed him. His topic was ‘things you do at church.’
“On several occasions you had entered an open confessional booth…” Brad stopped when a loud buzz indicated that Doug Fraser had hit the red button to end his secret.
“I don’t think Ma’s heart could take that one,” said Doug.
“Probably not.”
Doug’s mother would not want to know that her son entered the confessional booth in a Catholic Church on several occasions and pretended to be a priest while listening to the confessions of parishioners.
“We’re down to three. Join us after the break to find out who will survive and be the ultimate winner.”
Brad hoped that none of the other contestants would be eliminated on this episode so the season could be prolonged.
With ten minutes left, Sal Morrello was on the hot seat. The topic was “pets.”
“Ooh.” Brad pursed his lips. “This is going to upset some people. Last year you poisoned your girlfriend’s French Poodle.”
The audience booed lustfully.
“How could you?”
Sal shook his head. “The little bastard would never stop barking. Night and day, it kept barking. Hey, any of you’s would’ve done the same thing if you were in my shoes.”
Andy had a devious grin when he stepped to the podium. His topic was “ex-girlfriends”.
“I’m going to turn the tables on you, Brad. I found out that while you were at USC, you were being investigated for aledgedly raping a co-ed during the week leading up to the Rose Bowl. The athletic director hushed the girl by offering her a scholarship, so they never brought charges against you, and you were able to play in the Rose Bowl.”
Brad Billington was stunned speechless. A producer screamed in his earpiece.
Brad gritted his teeth. “You had dated a fourteen year old girl and got her pregnant. Upon finding out about her pregnancy, you threatened to kill her if she did not get an abortion.”
Andy jumped from the podium. A security guard restrained him before he could reach Brad. “You son of a bitch! You can’t prove any of that.”
“You’re right,” Brad said. “We can’t prove it because she killed herself six months ago. Her sister and best friend gave us a testimonial, and we found a suicide note sent to her rabbi.”
Security carried an irate Andy Wallace off the stage. As a result of this outburst, they only had enough time for one last secret.
Jamie Duncan stood at the podium visibly shaken. Her topic was ‘hospital mishaps.’
“Four years ago, you failed to give Robert Price his heart medication, and he died. Later, you falsified his records by writing on his chart that you gave him his heart medication.”
Jamie sobbed as the show ended.


Brad could not believe it. The conclusion of Secret was mired in tragedy.
Two days after the most recent episode, the Detroit Police Department indicted Sal Morrello on drug possession charges. He had five pounds of cocaine and was arrested for intent to distribute. Sal claimed he was holding the drugs for a friend. Brad cursed himself. He should have insisted that the pimp stay in Los Angeles until the show ended.
Three days later, Brad received a phone call early in the morning. Jamie Duncan had committed suicide that night. The authorities lauched a criminal investigation into her involvement in the accidental death of Robert Price, and it was more than she could handle.
That meant there was only one contestant left, that loathsome slug Andy Wallace. Regardless, the show had to continue. But now there would be no buildup for the final episode. Unless—unless Jamie’s death and Sal’s arrest could generate enough intrigue to attract additional viewers. Brad got right to work on exploiting those angles.


“This is Brad Billington. Tonight we were supposed to have three contestants, but due to circumstances beyond our control, we are down to one. This past week, Sal was unjustly incarcerated. We did our best to get him out of jail, but the man has conspired against him.
“Another finalist, Jamie Duncan, took her life two days ago. We are all saddened by this loss. If only she could have hung in there, I am sure the two million dollars could have been a consolation as she faced criminal charges. That brings us to Andy Wallace.”
Andy stood at the podium with a winnng smile.
“Andy you will become the first winner of Secret, but just to make things interesting, you will have one last secret revealed.”
Andy scowled. “What? That’s a bunch of crap. I’m the only one left, so I win. Now give me my damn money. I’ll sue you.”
“Relax there, Andy. Being a prominent attorney, you should have read the clause in your contract stipulating that we can do this. So what will it be, Andy?”
“Reveal the God damn secret.”
“Don’t you want to know the topic?”
Andy shook his head.
“Very well. Five years ago, you bribed Judge Craig Berman to rule in your favor in an insurance fraud case.”
“Ha, I don’t even care. I won. You can kiss my ass. All of you.”
Streamers and confetti came down from the ceiling as Andy raised his hands triumphantly. The first four contestants eliminated walked onto the stage to congratulate him on his victory.
During this celebratory confusion, a figure wearing a bonnet and sunglasses emerged from an entrance to the studio. The woman walked up the aisle leading to the stage. It was too late before anybody noticed that Sybil Wallace, Andy’s wife, drew a .22 caliber pistol from her coat. She shot Andy three times in the chest before a guard tackled her to the floor.

A week later, Brad Billington presented the check for two million dollars and the contract for a role in Mutant City III to Doug Fraser. Despite all the turmoil, Brad Billington was content as he handed over the check. This was the future of television. After the camera’s went off a sick grin entered his face as he thought of a new idea, something that had never been done before on television and would send the ratings through the roof.

The End

Movie Review: The Maze Runner

The Maze Runner starts off strong. Thomas, the movie’s protagonist is brought up into an elevator and thrust into an enclosed area surrounded by tall walls. The only possible way out is a maze that goes beyond the enclosed walls. The maze opens up for only a brief duration during the day, where the community’s runners explore it. Once the wall closes at night, vicious mechanical spider/scorpion creatures lurk inside of the maze.
The movie gets off to a good start. The concept is interesting where this group of boys (and eventually one girl) have to create a self-sufficient community where they grow their own food and make their own rules and try to survive with the dangers beyond the maze. The concept of the maze and the exploration of it is really neat. The differentiation of the characters was also well done. The movie promises a big payoff if they can get past the maze.
Where the movie unravels is with its overall concept. Everything about why the boys are inside of this walled area on their own, away from society makes absolutely no sense. There is a complete and utter lack of logic behind it. The explanation of the why the walls and maze exist is so poorly conceived that I would rather there be no explanation at all. In the end, this isn’t a bad movie, but also not one that I would highly recommend.

10 Questions with Lori Michelle

1. Was there an overall theme for the stories you selected for the Bleed anthology?

Yes. Each of the stories had to be allegorical with the monster representing cancer. Some of them slightly deviated from this, like having a loss of being in control, but all the stories still fit the cancer-monster theme.

2. Who is your favorite writer?

In person? Max Booth III. Who I grew up reading, V.C. Andrews. I know, B-rated cult crap, but I loved reading anything she wrote. I am also a huge fan of Sidney Sheldon, Elmore Leonard, Carl Hiaasen, Mary Higgins Clark, Sue Grafton, and Christopher Moore.

3. Can you explain the personal nature of what the Bleed anthology meant to you in light of your son’s illness?

I wanted people to understand just how hard it is to deal with cancer. And as a mom of an afflicted child, it makes it harder. You don’t want your child to be sick, and you would do anything you possible could to take that pain away from them. But you can’t, and there is nothing you can do for them except be strong. Too many children have one form of cancer or another. And though the success rate for survival is high, it leaves them with anything but a “normal” life. After fighting the beast for three and a half years, my son suffers from ADHD and developmental issues because of the chemotherapy. The cancer is gone, but it has left a path of destruction. Plus, he will always have to vigilant in watching out for signs of cancer. The chances of him getting another form of cancer later in life are something like two or three times greater than an average human. Yep, cancer sucks for anyone at any age, but for a child, it alters the course of everything.

4. What advice do you have for beginning writers?

Write every day. Write often. Learn from your mistakes. Don’t be afraid to ask. And don’t think you are above the editing sword. None of us are above that!

5. What author were you most excited about to work with in one of your editing projects?

There ended up being a billion authors (ok I am teasing) in Bleed. Joe McKinney is always great to work with, and Bentley Little was very nice and very sarcastic. Tim Waggoner, Benjamin Kane Ethridge, Jason V Brock, James Dorr, Mort Castle, Peter Dudar, Pete Giglio, are all fantastic. Jonathan Maberry was also very supportive of Bleed. I was lucky enough that everyone, and I mean EVERY SINGLE AUTHOR in Bleed was so encouraging and so generous with their time and work. I wish I could name them all, but we would run out of space on your blog!
Since I also run Dark Moon Digest and Dark Eclipse, I am lucky enough to work with great authors every day, both new and seasoned.

6. How do you use social media to promote your projects?

I suck. Ok, I am not horrible, but I do use FaceBook to try and promote. Mostly, I attempt to not shove my books down people’s throats, but I do try to mention them here and there. FB is funny, you have to draw that delicate line between reminding people of your work, and reminding them that you are also human. I think the best thing we can do on social media is make friendships and connections. The promoting will naturally flow from there without being forced. I am still trying to figure out Twitter.

7. What is your favorite short story that you have ever read?

Ever in my whole life, “The Moving Finger,” by the great master, Stephen King. More recently, every time I read Tracie McBride’s story “With Paper Armour and Wooden Sword,” in Bleed, I cry, so there must be something to that too.

8. Which person do you most admire?

I know I should say something like my mother, or father (who I do love and admire dearly), but more often than not lately, I realize we are all a little screwy, and I admire anyone who simply makes it through the day. I tend to admire different things about different people. I admire Max Booth III’s brilliance and creativity, I admire Jessica McHugh’s outgoingness, I admire George Cotronis’s graphic ability, I admire Lindsey Beth Goddard’s tenacity, I admire my daughter’s musical ability and I admire my son’s resilience...everyone has something that is admirable. But we also have to remember to admire ourselves too.

9. What has been your most enjoyable experience as an editor?

When someone I don’t know emails me or finds me on FaceBook, or even at conventions to tell me how much they like Dark Moon Digest and Dark Eclipse. I know then that I actually did something right. Also, giving that newbie author their very first publication credit is a feeling like none other. You know how excited that author is, and you know that YOU made their dream come true.

10. If you could invite five people to a dinner party (alive or dead, real or fictional) who would you invite?

Oh goodness, you had to throw fictional in there did ya? Let’s see, Stephen King, V.C. Andrews, Morgana LeFay, George Balanchine, and Jesus. Not for religious reasons, I just would like to meet the man to see how he was. I have this weird feeling that his presence would be calming.

Well dangit, at first I couldn’t think of anyone, but now I want to invite more people. Can we have stuffed jalapenos?

Bleed edited by Lori Michelle

Bleed is a well composed and nicely put together anthology. There was a good flow of stories from big-name, veteran writers and newer writers. I also appreciated the charitable aspects of this anthology and its underlying theme, including some of the essays regarding coping with illness and cancer. Like any anthology, some of the stories were better than others, but I thought the overall quality was quite strong. I especially liked “King Rat” by James Dorr. That story had a way of sticking with me well after I read it. Other stories that stood out were “Rad-Wat-Shod” by Jason V. Brock and “I Know This World” by John Palisano. That’s not to slight some of the other authors and stories since there was a lot of quality here in this anthology. If you like short fiction and if you like horror, this is an anthology that you will like.

The Story Behind the Story: Pounds Off

My story Pounds Off is the second story I ever had published in the now defunct Scorched Wings magazine. I really enjoy taking a normal situation and making it as extreme as I possibly can in my stories. Pounds Off is an example of this where my protagonist, Wayne, is fed up with being overweight. His wife is losing interest in him, and he feels compelled to make a change in his life, which leads him to joining Pounds Off, sort of like a deranged version of Weight Watchers.

How deranged you ask? Wayne is required to hit weekly weight loss limits. When he doesn’t he has to endure severe punishments such as being held in a jail cell where he is deprived of food and drink, having to go on a tread mill that sends electric jolts into him when he goes below a certain speed, having armed guards monitor his actions, and having his children abducted. Each time Wayne failed to meet his target, I wanted the consequences to be elevated to the point where the reader would feel trepidation as to what would happen to him next. Looking back at the story, there are some flaws from a technical standpoint, and I can see how my writing has progressed, but I still found this story enjoyable to reread and I hope you will as well. Here is the link to the story: Pounds Off

Pounds Off by Carl Alves

This is my story Pounds Off that initially appeared in Scorched Wings magazine nearly a decade ago.

Pounds Off

Wayne Helms looked at himself in the mirror and was disgusted with what he saw. He was eighty, no ninety pounds overweight. He had been fat for most of his life. He remembered a period between ages ten and twelve when he was lean, but that ended after he stopped getting taller. He wanted to do something about his weight problem, but he never had the will power to follow a diet. He tried working out—once. It was not for him. And because of that, his waistline continued to expand.
In high school Wayne dated infrequently. He occasionally found someone who would go out with him, and therefore there was no incentive for him to lose weight. In college, he put on more pounds as a result of late night snacking. It was not uncommon for him and his roommates to go on a midnight pizza run.
In his senior year of college, he met the woman who would later become his wife. Sally was a pleasant enough looking woman with no distinguishing features. She was, however, considerably slimmer than Wayne. Sally exercised regularly and frequently dieted. She hoped that at some point this would rub off on her husband, but it never did. Even after their two children were born, she managed to maintain her figure.
During the ten years of their marriage, Sally made occasional comments about her husband no longer being able to fit into his old pants. Sometimes she suggested that it would be a good idea for Wayne to join a gym, or that they convert their basement into a workout area. But these suggestions did not sink into Wayne’s head. He never seriously thought about reducing his waistline, until one evening when Wayne came on to his wife. He made numerous attempts to be amorous, but she continually rejected him. When he asked her what was wrong, she told him that she still loved him, but was no longer attracted to him.
Those words crushed him. He finally became serious about shedding some pounds. He tried numerous diet plans, but after fifteen months he was still at his original weight. He had occasional success, losing a few pounds here and there, but he invariably put them back on. He tried all of the major weight-loss programs, the Atkins diet, and numerous crash diets, but they did not work for one reason: he lacked will power. After not having sex with his wife for over six months, Wayne was desperate.
One day he heard an advertisement on the Howard Stern radio show and knew that it was for him. Pounds Off. It was such an inviting name. They absolutely guaranteed that you would lose your desired weight if you followed their program or you would get a full refund. They offered a hands-on approach with constant supervision. “If you are frustrated with other diet programs, then it’s time you call us and take those pounds off.” Wayne scrambled to find a pen and paper. He wrote down the phone number.
Wayne called the number after devouring an Italian hoagie during his lunch break. The receptionist asked when he would like to make an appointment to meet a weight-loss consultant. The sooner the better, she urged. Wayne had almost an hour after he was finished work and before he was supposed to take his oldest son for a dental appointment. The receptionist told him that would be enough time. It was set.
He had some difficulty concentrating during the afternoon. He constantly thought about the promises made by Pounds Off. He was confident that this program would work. He would lose the weight and then his wife would once again be attracted to him.
Wayne worked as a computer analyst at an insurance company. He had very little physical activity at work, mostly just sitting in front of the computer all day long. In addition to the healthy lunch that Sally packed for him, he snacked frequently at work. Sometimes he would snack on a bag of chips, a large bag not a snack pack. Other times he would eat a hoagie or a cheesesteak or an order of hot wings. It occurred to him that this unhealthy eating would have to come to a halt once he joined Pounds Off.
As he drove to the Pounds Off campus using the directions that the receptionist provided, he was excited about how much better his relationship with Sally would be after he lost the weight. But he also felt trepidation. Would he really be able to go through with this? His will was weak; there was no doubt in his mind about that. But he was running out of options. If it were not for the kids, he wondered if Sally would have left him by now.
Wayne pulled into the parking lot. The building looked almost too cheerful with its bright blue and green colors. But Wayne had gone this far and he was not about to turn back now.
He walked into the building unsure of himself. Once inside he saw numerous smiling faces and physically fit people. He was immediately greeted by a cheery young woman wearing a denim shirt and short skirt. “Hi. I am Michelle Billick. You must by Wayne Helms.” She extended her hand.
Reluctantly he shook it. “How do you know my name?” he asked.
Not phased by the question, Michelle replied, “I could tell by your voice. We spoke earlier.”
“Oh,” said Wayne.
“Welcome to Pounds Off,” said Michelle. “Let me tell you, Mr. Helms, you are making the best decision of your life by going on the Pounds Off plan.”
Wayne stepped back and put his right hand up. “Hey, I haven’t signed up for anything, yet.”
“You will,” said Michelle, maintaining her beaming smile. “After you hear what we have to offer, I am sure you will join. We are like a family here. I was once a customer just like you.” Michelle reached into her purse and pulled out a picture. “This is what I looked like before Pounds Off.” She showed him a picture of what she looked like seventy-five pounds ago.
“Hmm,” said Wayne. “That’s pretty impressive.”
“And we can do the same for you,” said Michelle. “Now if you follow me, I will introduce you to one of our lifestyle consultants.”
Wayne followed her looking around the suite in wonder. It was lavishly decorated. Numerous paintings and sculptures adorned the hallways. All were bright and full of life. Breakout rooms lined the hallway. Each had a desk, a table, and a physician’s weight scale. Some rooms had tread mills linked to monitoring equipment. They passed by a large room with glass windows. Inside people were working out in an impressive looking gym. It contained treadmills, rowing machines, exercise bikes, stair climbers and a variety of weight lifting equipment.
He followed Michelle past the gym through a long hallway and then turned right. There were more breakout rooms lining the hall. She led Wayne to one at the far end of the building. Inside was a man wearing a pin stripe shirt and a red tie.
“Mr. Helms, this is your lifestyle coordinator Tom Baxter.”
“Hello, Mr. Helms,” said Baxter. “I am glad that you will be joining the Pounds Off family.”
“Wow, you guys are awfully presumptuous,” said Wayne.
“Not presumptuous,” said Baxter. “Just confident. You see, at Pounds Off we can do what others can not do. We deliver results, guaranteed. Knowing that, why would you not want to join?”
Wayne’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. He had no reply.
“Let us commence,” said Tom. Michelle Billick said goodbye to Wayne. He smiled as she walked away, imagining what was underneath her short skirt. As if reading his mind, Tom Baxter said, “That is what Pounds Off is capable of doing. Now Wayne, I would like you to remove your shoes and step on the scale.” Wayne did as he was told. He was almost shocked when the scale read two hundred sixty five pounds.
He scratched his head. “Damn. I didn’t think I was that heavy.” Baxter next measured Wayne’s height. It was five feet, nine inches.
“What would you say is your ideal weight, Mr. Helms?”
Wayne stepped off of the scale, looking down at the floor. He shook his head dejectedly and shrugged. “I don’t know. What would you say?”
“I would suggest one hundred seventy pounds. Now that number could vary depending upon how much muscle mass you obtain.”
“Muscle mass?” Wayne laughed. “I don’t think I have any.”
“Perhaps not now,” said Baxter assuringly. “But under our plan you will, if you so desire.”
“You think so?” asked Wayne
“Sure. Many of our clients start off with physiques similar to yours, but wind up with a well-chiseled frame.”
“Yeah, I think I would like that.”
“Then, that is the type of plan we will gear you towards,” said Baxter. “I need to know what your diet consists of. Take me through what you would eat during a typical day.”
Wayne did not see the point of lying if he was going to make this plan work. So he told Tom that he normally started off with coffee and donuts unless he could coax his wife into making him bacon and scrambled eggs. Wayne told him how he would eat the sandwich that his wife packed, but also frequently ate cheesesteaks, hamburgers or pizza in addition to the sandwich. Wayne could see Baxter frown. Dinner was often a substantial meal. His wife was a good cook and he often had seconds. Finally Wayne said that it was common for him to eat a candy bar or a bag of chips during the course of the day. Cheetos were his favorites.
“Well, Mr. Helms, that will have to change. We have a strict diet regimen that you will have to follow religiously. The diet consists of very lean foods and there is absolutely no snacking permitted. “
Wayne grimaced as if he were being whipped. This was worse than he thought. It was going to be difficult for him to give up some of the fatty, greasy foods that he craved. How much was that worth to him?
“We will start you off on a diet plan on your next visit. An important component of the plan is frequent exercise. In order to enroll you have to maintain a regimented exercise program. Do you currently own exercise equipment such as a treadmill or an exercise bike?”
“No,” replied Wayne.
“Are you currently a member of a gym?”
“No.”
“We have several options for individuals in your situation,” said Baxter in a businesslike tone. “You must either own your own equipment or have a membership at a gym. We sell equipment at wholesale cost. We also have our own gym at this facility, which you probably noticed on the way over here.”
“Yes, I saw it,” said Wayne. “It looked pretty impressive. But look, I really don’t like working out that much.”
“You’ll learn to like it. Many members of the Pounds Off family have similar feelings when they first start, but exercise becomes a part of their life blood. I think many of your attitudes will change after you join. Follow me. I will give you a tour.”
Wayne followed Tom Baxter. He saw people sweating profusely on the elliptical trainers and grunting with effort as they pumped iron. He wondered if this could be him. He could not picture it, but Baxter seemed so confident. His wife would be impressed if they could get him to work out, something that she was never able to do.
When they returned to the breakout room, Wayne looked at his watch. He would have to leave soon, but did not want to leave until he made a decision. As if he could sense Wayne’s consternation, Baxter produced a series of documents.
“This is the contract that we make all of our customers sign when they join,” said Baxter. “I will be right up front with you. Our program is probably the most expensive in the market. But we offer what no other company can offer and that is absolutely guaranteed results. We charge forty dollars for each pound that you drop. There is also a four hundred dollar, one time administrative fee. But we offer a very hands on approach that no one else can match. If you would like to join our gym, the cost is forty dollars a month. Most participants go for this option because besides our state of the art equipment, they also enjoy the camaraderie of working out in our facility. We view ourselves at Pounds Off as a family and emotional support is part of what will get you to your weight loss goals. I’m not going to lie to you, the process is not easy. But we only produce satisfied customers. We have meetings twice a week. One is a group session where you can share your experiences with the others. And the other is one on one with me. At this meeting, you will be weighed and your progress evaluated.”
“Wow, that is kind of steep,” said Wayne.
“I’ll give you a few minutes to think about it.” Tom Baxter left the room.
Wayne skimmed the contract. Forty dollars per pound was a lot of money, but if they could do what they claimed then it would be worth it. Even the new wardrobe that he would have to buy would be worth it. He wanted to be close to his wife again. He wanted to be able to play with his children for more than a couple of minutes before getting tired. It did not take him long to decide.
Almost as if reading his thoughts, Baxter walked back into the room and said, “So Mr. Helms have you made your decision?”
“Yes,” replied Wayne. “I’m going for it.”
“This is perhaps the best decision that you have ever made.” Baxter produced a pen and Wayne signed the documents in the appropriate locations. He left feeling better about himself than he had in quite some time.

“Can you believe this?” asked Wayne.
Sally Helms smiled and kissed her husband on the cheek as he showed her old pants that were now too big. After one month, Wayne dropped twenty five pounds. His waist line dropped from a forty one inch to a thirty nine.
“This Pounds Off things is awesome,” said Wayne. “I can’t believe how much weight I have already lost. I’m ahead of schedule, you know.”
“I know,” said Sally matching her husband’s enthusiasm. “I really had my doubts when you first started. I thought that this was going to be like all of the other diets that you have tried in the past. It was frustrating to see you lose a couple pounds and then put it right back on. But I think I’m starting to believe in this one.”
“And the Pounds Off people are great. They have been nothing but supportive.”
Sally hugged her husband and kissed him. “I have an idea, Wayne. Why don’t we go shop for some new clothes?”
“New clothes, hmm? Do you think that might be too soon? I wouldn’t want to jinx this.”
“You have to be confident. It will work this time,” said Sally.
Wayne gave in. “I could probably use a few pairs of pants for work. Maybe I will buy some jeans as well.”
Wayne and Sally went to the mall that afternoon. He bought a pair of Tommy Hilfiger pants that he would not have been able to fit into since he was in college. He was getting compliments at work. He felt better about himself, but he knew that he was still overweight and had a long road to travel before reaching his ideal weight.
***

Three weeks after Wayne’s jubilant trip to the mall with his wife, he nervously went to work. The entire day he was on edge. Today he was going to be officially weighed at Pounds Off. They were adamant that weight targets had to be met at each weigh-in. And he was sure that he was not going to meet this one.
The first month was fairly easy for him. He had a great deal of excess weight to lose and was energized by the people at Pounds Off. He joined the Pounds Off gym and actually worked out regularly. He wanted to quit working out initially. The first time he was on a stair climber, he had to stop after five minutes. He felt like he was going to die. Tom Baxter walked into the gym, sat Wayne down and gave him a pep talk. Wayne did another fifteen minutes on the stair climber with Baxter at his side giving him occasional words of encouragement.
With his wife’s help he was able to stick to his diet. Even his kids thought that it was neat that their dad was losing weight.
But the second month proved to be considerably more difficult. His old lack of will power problem began to creep up on him. He was so hungry all of the time and began to eat snacks at work. He would make an excuse to leave the house so he could pass by the nearest convenience store and grab a candy bar or a bag of Combos. In the past three weeks he lost two pounds. He lied to his wife about the progress or lack thereof that he was making, while she continued to encourage him.
Throughout the weigh-in day, Wayne frequently snapped at his co-workers. Normally he joked around at work, but today his tension was apparent to everybody around him. His department’s secretary asked if something was bothering him, but he rudely blew her off.
He considered not showing up at Pounds Off weigh-in. He did not want to disappoint Tom and the others. What were they going to do, yell at him? He was the one who was paying for the program. He could understand that they would be annoyed since he was paying by the pound which meant that there profit would be less. But they were the ones who guaranteed results and right now it was not happening.
When he arrived at the facility, he was greeted by Michelle the receptionist. She told him to wait until Baxter was ready to meet with him. Wayne’s stomach was undergoing a revolution while he waited.
He smiled nervously when Baxter greeted him. “How are you doing Wayne?”
“Uh, I’ve been better. I think I’m feeling a little ill.” He was hoping that feigning illness would be enough to get him out of going on the scale.
“Sorry to hear that. Maybe you should rest when you go home.” Baxter flipped Wayne’s chart. “Okay, Wayne, after week seven your targeted weight is two hundred thirty two pounds. So far you have met all of your targets. Please step on the scale.” He was actually starting to feel sick over the dread that he was feeling. “Is there a problem?”
“Um, no,” said Wayne. He took off his shoes and was about to step on the scale when it occurred to him that if he took off his shirt and socks, he would weigh even less. He was not sure that this would be enough to make weight, but felt it was worth a try.
Wayne stepped on the scale. Tom set the balance moving the fifty pound weight block four times so that it was set to two hundred. He then moved the smaller weight. Wayne’s heart raced as it moved up the scale, fifteen, twenty, twenty five, thirty and still going. He gulped when he saw it hit thirty five before finally settling at thirty six and a half.
“Step down,” said Baxter. His voice was icy. “Mr. Helms, I can not express to you how disappointed I am. Four and a half pounds over. Very disappointing. As per the terms of your contract, we will have to take measures.”
“Huh? What are you talking about?”
“In the contract it clearly states that Pounds Off will take measures to help you lose weight if you do not hit your targets. It is further delineated in the Pounds Off manual.”
Wayne was left speechless as Baxter picked up the phone and dialed a number. He did not remember reading anything like this in the contract. Then again he did not read the contract very carefully.
In less than a minute, two very large men entered the room. Wayne was immediately frightened. They looked like two mafia enforcers. “Can you please escort Mr. Helms to the containment facility?”
“Yes, sir,” said the man with the black hair. Each grabbed one of Wayne’s arms and dragged him out of the room.
“Containment facility?” he shrieked. “Let me go.”
Baxter walked behind Wayne and his escorts. One of the men opened a door which led down a long, narrow hallway. Halfway down, they opened another door. Wayne looked in horror at a suite that contained nine feet by twelve feet cells. It looked like a prison.
One of his captors opened up the doors to one of the cells while the other held his right arm.
“What are you guys doing?” Wayne asked helplessly.
They rudely shoved him into the cell and locked the door. The two large men left the containment facility leaving Tom Baxter behind. “You will be kept inside of this faculty until you meet your designated weight,” said Baxter in a measured voice. “During this time you will be given water and a minimal of provisions. Mr. Helms, we take these weigh-ins very seriously and hope that you will to. Hopefully this will serve as a lesson as you continue on the program.”
Wayne grabbed the iron bars and yelled, “You can’t keep me here. This isn’t a jail and I didn’t break any law. You people are crazy, that’s it.”
Baxter smiled politely. “I assure you that we are not crazy. And the actions that we are taking are completely within our rights.”
“But I have a wife and kids,” Wayne protested. “When I don’t show up they’re going to worry their heads off.”
“We will contact your wife and explain the situation. I am sure she will understand.”
“What about my work?” questioned Wayne. “I need to go to work.”
“If you are not prepared to leave by tomorrow, then we will contact them as well. We deal with a variety of employers and they are usually quite understanding.”
Wayne shook his head. “This is nuts.”
“Mr. Helms, it is time to get serious about your diet. If you will not do so on your own, then we will help you. Now, I must be leaving. Good day.”
Wayne was alone. He shouted for help, but there was no one else in the containment facility to hear his call. He had no television or radio or anything else to divert his attention. Wayne wondered how he got stuck in this trap. He should have read the contract’s fine print.
Fifteen minutes after Baxter left, he heard a voice coming from speakers located throughout the containment facility. It was a soothing female voice. He was glad to have this voice keep him company. But when he heard what the voice was saying, he changed his mind. The woman’s voice started naming foods, both brand names and generic items. And for each food item she stated the amount of calories, fat and cholesterol that it had.
The voice went on for hours. It began to drive him crazy. There was no way for him to tune out the voice that was droning from up above.
Some time later on Tom Baxter entered the containment facility. Wayne drank four glasses of water from the water cooler in his cell, but still had not eaten anything. It was well past the time that he would have eaten dinner under normal circumstances and he was famished.
“We have contacted your wife to inform her of the situation,” said Baxter.
“What did Sally say?”
“She seemed somewhat distraught, but I am sure she will understand,” Tom replied. “If you will, please step on the metal platform at the far left corner of your unit.”
“What’s that?” asked Wayne.
“It is a scale.”
Wayne stepped on the platform and Baxter read the digital readout at the front of the cell. “Two hundred and thirty four. You are still two pounds over.”
“That’s not bad,” said Wayne. “Now let me the hell out of here.”
“I am afraid that I can not do that yet until you have reached your target. Good day, Mr. Helms.”
Wayne looked in despair as Baxter walked away. He could not believe that they were leaving him here. He looked at his watch. It was now nine thirty. He was hungry and he wanted to leave and see his family.
Shortly after Baxter left, he heard the same female voice giving off the fat content of various food.
Three hours later an unnamed guard walked into his cell and brought him a granola bar. “Can you bring me something else?” Wayne pleaded with the guard. “Can you get me a sandwich or a slice of pizza.”
“Sorry, sir, these are the rules.”
The guard left and Wayne greedily ate the granola bar as his stomach growled for more food. He couldn’t ever remember being this hungry.
He slept fitfully on the cot located in his cell. It was difficult to ignore the protests from his stomach. At three in the morning, he opened his left eye to see a woman with short brown hair and glasses standing outside.
“Good morning, Mr. Helms,” she said.
He grunted something incomprehensible.
“If you are feeling up to it, I would like to ask you to step onto the platform.”
Groggily, Wayne rose from the cot. “I wasn’t sleeping well anyway.” Wayne stepped on the metal scale. His shoulders slumped and his eyes closed. The woman’s voice woke him up.
“It appears that you have reached your target and you are free to go.”
“Really? That’s great. Thank God.”
She opened the door and he left the facility as quickly as possible. Fifteen minutes later, he was never so happy to be home.

“Why are you still going through with this?” asked Sally as Wayne stepped off of the scale in their bathroom. He did this frequently during the course of a day.
Wayne shrugged. “I didn’t like being put in that jail cell either, but I am getting results. You have to admit that.”
“Yeah, but at what cost?” asked Sally.
Wayne had been following the diet and exercise program closely since spending the night in the Pounds Off containment facility. He did not want that to happen again. The following week, he hit his target and exceeded it by a pound. Wayne had five more days before the next weigh-in and was already fretting over it.
“Well, these people are serious. They demand results. You have to admit that I look a lot better than I have in a long time.”
Sally gave a shy smile. “You do. I just worry what’s going to happen if you don’t hit their target again.”
“I’m sure that first time was just to scare me,” said Wayne. “And believe me, it did. Now, everything will be fine.”
But on the day of the next checkpoint, Wayne was keeping his fingers crossed. Two days earlier he was at an office party where he gorged on six slices of pepperoni pizza. Since then he tried to exercise hard and eat little, but as of that morning he still had not undone the damage.
He jogged during his lunch break, but was so hungry that he could not stop himself from buying a sausage sandwich from a street vendor. With every bite he took, he knew that he was hurting his chances.
His hands were shaking when he arrived at Pounds Off. He had to be at two hundred twenty three pounds. Tom Baxter told him to step on the scale and Wayne groaned when it balanced two pounds higher than his target. “Shit!” Wayne shouted.
“Mr. Helms, this is a serious violation,” said Baxter sternly. “I hoped that you would have learned the last time, but unfortunately you continue to be weak. And for that we must discipline you.”
Wayne’s eyes were wide with terror. “Not the containment facility.”
“No,” said Baxter. “Apparently that does not work with you. We will try something different.”
Wayne gulped. He hoped that this punishment would be less severe.
The same two large men that escorted Wayne previously, appeared. As they led him away, he wondered if they ever smiled. They led him to a room that had exercise equipment hooked up to so many wires that they looked like spaghetti.
Wayne was relieved. “You’re going to make me workout?”
“It is not so simple,” said Baxter. “You are going to work out on each of them, five in all, for a period of a half hour. You will have a five minute rest in between. Each of these machines is linked to an electrical generator. If you drop below a certain speed it will provide a low level of voltage that will surge throughout your body. You will feel pain and discomfort, but no real harm.”
“You guys are all heart,” said Wayne.
“Good luck,” said Baxter. “We will notify your wife that you will be coming home late.”
A petite woman standing behind Tom told Wayne to step on the treadmill. “No way,” said Wayne.
“I would do as she suggests,” said Baxter. “Otherwise you will breach your contract. It is for your own good Mr. Helms. We all have the same goals and that is to help you achieve a healthy body and lifestyle.
Wayne shook his head and stepped onto the treadmill, considering the possibility of quitting Pounds Off.
The woman connected wires to his wrist, chest, neck and other body parts. “We are starting…now,” she said.
This surprised Wayne and before he was able to start running on the treadmill, he let out a yelp as a surge of electricity went through his body. “What the hell was that?” he asked.
“As I explained to you before, Mr. Helms, low levels of voltage will be sent into your body if you do not maintain a minimal velocity level on the machines,” said Baxter.
“Ahh,” yelled Wayne as he got shocked again.
“If I were you, I would worry less about the mechanics of the system and start moving quickly.”
Wayne glared at him but ran faster. He had already been shocked twice and did not want it to happen again.
“After you complete this workout,” said Baxter, “I have little doubt that you will be well below your target that you failed to meet today.”
“We don’t have to go to these extremes for me to lose…Ahh,” said Wayne. As he was talking to Baxter, his speed dropped and he was shocked.
“Pay attention to what you are doing, Mr. Helms. Do not pay attention to me.”
“You guys are friggin’ crazy,” said Wayne. “You know that. You’re nuts. You can’t do this to people.”
“We can and do. And after you are finished with our program, you will be thankful for what we have done. Most members of the Pounds Off family join our maintenance program after they have reached their ideal weight.”
Wayne continued bickering with Tom. He would stop talking whenever he got shocked. Baxter stayed with him until he was finished his thirty minutes on the treadmill. He was sweating profusely and breathing heavily. After the woman took off the wires, he dropped his hands to his knees and sucked in air.
Wayne started to approach Baxter with a scowl, when he said, “I would conserve your energy, Mr. Helms. You have a five minute rest period. Use it wisely. This will be the most rigorous workout that you have ever endured.”
Wayne plopped himself onto a nearby bench. He was already exhausted. How was he going to finish? He leaned his head against the wall and breathed deeply.
Baxter handed him a glass of water. Wayne drank it quickly. “Can I have another?” he asked. Tom nodded and got him another glass of water.
The five minutes were over quickly. The petite woman grabbed him by the wrist and took him to the exercise bike. She attached the wires and probes and said, “Start peddling.”
Wayne did not want to get caught unprepared and peddled hard immediately. “I will see you later, Mr. Helms,” said Baxter walking out of the room. “At Pounds Off we teach difficult lessons. Please remember this the next time you want to eat six slices of pepperoni pizza.”
“How did you know…” Wayne stopped short when he was hit by a shot of electricity. He had to stay focused. By the time he looked up again, Baxter was gone.
Wayne wanted to conserve his energy, so he slowed down. He was already tired. If he was going to finish this exercise routine, he would have to go slower. Since he did not want to get shocked, he reduced his pace to its lowest level before he felt the surge of electricity. This was the minimum speed that he would have to maintain.
Wayne kept steady until the last five minutes. Towards the end, he began to huff and puff and gasp for air. His face was an ugly shade of purple.
Wayne was shocked three times near the end of the bike workout. He barely had enough energy to get off the seat when he was done. The woman handling the wires gave him a bottle of Gatorade. He drank slowly, but still spilled most of it onto his shirt.
His next apparatus was the rowing machine. Wayne tried to concentrate on using his arms for this exercise. For the first time in his life, he had built some strength in his arms. He was shocked only a few times.
Within minutes of his stair climber work out, Wayne thought he was going to pass out. He was zapped regularly. He could barely achieve the minimum speed. His body was numb from pain and exertion. Several times he nearly stopped, but as he came close to stopping, the amount of voltage supplied by the wires increased. The pain and threat of pain was the only thing that kept him going.
When Wayne was finished with the stair climber, he fell to the floor and vomited. The woman monitoring him helped him sit on a stool. She allowed him a few extra minutes of rest, helping him sip Gatorade every few seconds.
On the final apparatus, the elliptical trainer, Wayne thought that he was going to die. He was not being melodramatic and really thought this. His face and body felt like they were on fire. His lips and cheeks were swollen. His eyes were bloodshot. His legs throbbed and his feet no longer had sensation.
He could not keep track of how many times he had been shocked. His mind was as frazzled as his body. Twice more he vomited, however, he did not stop.
The last thing that Wayne remembered was the woman telling him that he needed two more minutes to complete the exercise.
Hours later he woke up in the hospital. He had been severely dehydrated. He woke up and saw Sally. He could barely make out the words that she was saying. His body still throbbed. Wayne tried to elevate his head, but lapsed into unconsciousness.
A couple hours later, Wayne woke up. He was feeling better. “How are you?” his wife asked.
“Better I guess,” he replied. “I still feel like hell.”
She handed him a cup of water and he sipped it slowly. “Wayne, you have to quit this program. It’s not worth it if you’re going to wind up in the hospital.”
“I guess not,” said Wayne. “They practice tough love at that place. But I bet I lost a lot of weight tonight.”
“Wayne, you had to go to the hospital, for Christ’s sakes. Is it supposed to be some consolation that you lost weight? There are easier ways to do this.”
“But I’m actually losing weight,” said Wayne.
Sally started losing her temper. “I want you to quit.”
“I don’t know. They keep on bringing up this contract. It might not be easy.”
“Screw their contract, I want you to quit.”

A week later, Wayne still was on the program. For one thing, it would be easy to meet the target at the next weigh-in since he lost ten pounds during the evening of his hospital stay. And despite all of this turmoil, he still enjoyed the fact that he was much slimmer than he had been in a long time. He would have to be diligent about meeting the weekly targets. He was sure that he could do that after last week’s episode. So despite his wife’s protest, he did not quit.
He made two hundred twenty pounds easily the next week and was on pace to reach two sixteen the following week. But Wayne’s hunger was constant and the meager portions of food that he ate never satisfied him.
It was a Saturday afternoon and Wayne was starving. He told Sally that he was going to buy an ink cartridge for their computer. But instead he stopped at Vinnie’s Pizza and bought an Italian hoagie. It was okay, since he was ahead of schedule.
Wayne drove to the back of the shopping center. He could not bring the food home or Sally would yell at him. He did not want to eat the hoagie where people could see him. Wayne closed his eyes and took a big bite into the bread, lettuce, tomato, salami and ham that made up the sandwich. He took another bite savoring every second of it. When he was this hungry, eating food was better than sex for him.
After his third bite, he was startled by a high pitched screech. It was an SUV driving right at him. It stopped just in front of his car. Two men with rifles jumped out.
“Put the hoagie down, Mr. Helms,” yelled one of the men.
“What the hell?” he muttered. Wayne recognized the two men as employees at Pounds Off.
The first gunman, a tall black man, walked towards Wayne’s vehicle with his gun pointed at Wayne. The second gunman, a stocky red haired man wearing sunglasses, stood near the SUV. “Put the sandwich down,” said the black man calmly.
“Fine,” said Wayne. “I will. Just relax. Man, you guys are totally out of control. I was just eating a hoagie. There’s no need to shoot me.” Wayne placed the hoagie on the passenger side of the car.
“Now step out of the vehicle,” the first man shouted.
Wayne opened up the driver’s side door and walked onto the asphalt. “Is all of this necessary?”
“Yes it is, sir,” replied the red-haired gunman. He opened up the rear door of the SUV. “Please step inside of our vehicle.”
“Why?” asked Wayne. “Where are you taking me?”
“We are taking you to see Mr. Baxter,” said the second man.
They drove to the Pounds Off headquarters where Baxter was waiting in his office. The two men escorted Wayne into the office. The red head placed the partially eaten hoagie on the desk.
“Mr. Helms, why must you persist on testing our patience? You agreed to follow the diet plan that we set for you. Nowhere on the diet does it say that you can eat a fatty, greasy Italian hoagie.”
“I know,” said Wayne. “But I was ahead…”
“No buts,” said Baxter cutting him off. “We have set your diet the way we have for a reason. I was hoping that you would get serious and that we wouldn’t have to resort to punishment.”
Wayne’s face turned red. “Well fuck your plan. I quit.”
“I would not advise that, Mr. Helms,” said Tom. “Surely you have read the stipulation in your contract regarding prematurely failing to meet the agreements set forth in the document.”
“Huh.”
“Well, let me educate you. In the event that you do not fulfill your part of the bargain, you owe Pounds Off a sum of fifty thousand dollars. In the event that you do not have this money, and I know that you do not, we will seize your bank accounts and garnish your wages until you can pay off the sum.”
“You bastards,” said Wayne. “Let me see this contract.”
Baxter reached into a drawer and pulled out the document. Wayne looked at it. Carefully and saw the small print.
“Are you satisfied?” asked Baxter.
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Tom gestured to the two men. “Put him in the containment facility.”

Five hours later, Wayne was released and taken to his car. When he explained to his wife what had happened, she was livid.
“They come after you with guns and drag you out of your car,” she said frantically. “And now you tell me that if you do not finish the plan, we have to pay them fifty grand. Well let me tell you Wayne, I have had enough. You’re going to meet all of their weight requirements and follow this thing through or we’re done. With all that is riding on this thing, if you don’t have the will power to stick to your diet, then I’m taking the kids and leaving. Got it?”
“But Sally,” said Wayne near tears.
“No buts. You either do this thing or I’m out of here.”
***

Wayne could not believe his wife’s threat. She wouldn’t really leave him, would she? He was trying really hard and had already come so far. He expected support and leniency from Sally and was not getting any.
Four days after he was held at gunpoint, he successfully made weight, with two pounds to spare. The following week he barely hit two hundred seven pounds, which was his target. It was getting increasingly difficult for Wayne to lose those extra pounds as he got closer to his ideal weight.
One thing that helped him was that he was in much better shape now. Before, he had a very difficult time doing a complete workout. Now he was able to go for an hour without over-exerting himself. He was much stronger than he had been. His bench press increased from a pathetic seventy five pounds to one hundred forty five pounds. When he flexed in the mirror, he was actually able to see muscles.
But eating…that was another story. Every night, he lay awake thinking about food. On a couple of occasions, he snacked at work. But now he stuck to pretzels instead of chips. He had not eaten a cheese steak for nearly a month, which was the longest stretch in his adult life.
Three weeks after the gun incident, Wayne thought that he would be fine. But he ate too much salt on the day of his weigh-in. He was shocked to see the scale at two hundred and three, one pound over his target weight. His heart nearly dropped to the floor.
He looked at Baxter pleadingly, but Tom returned a cold glare. “Mr. Helms, why must you force us to go down this road again? I figured the threat that your wife would end your marriage would have been sufficient, but you still persist in trying our patience.”
“How do you know about that?” Wayne asked furiously.
“That is not relevant,” said Baxter. “What is relevant is that you have failed once more.”
Wayne hung his head in shame. Meanwhile Baxter picked up the phone. He spoke into the receiver, but Wayne could not hear what he said.
“W-what are you going to do to me?” asked Wayne.
“Nothing to you, Mr. Helms. However, your kids will have to pay the price this time.”
Wayne lifted his head suddenly. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Relax, Mr. Helms. No harm will come to them. However, they will be attending a boot camp for the next two weeks.”
“What?” asked Wayne. He got the keys out of his pocket and reached for his jacket.
“Don’t bother,” said Baxter. “They have already been picked up. I anticipated that you would fail again and made the necessary preparations. Your children have already been picked up.”
“You son of a bitch,” said Wayne. He shook violently and spit came out of his mouth as he spoke. “I hope you burn in hell.”
Wayne started crying as he left the office. He felt like ripping Baxter’s throat out when he saw the man’s look of pity. Instead Wayne went home, defeated.

The reason that he joined Pounds Off was so that he could get intimate with his wife again. And now she and the kids were gone. Sally would not speak to him after they had been taken away to boot camp. She packed her bags and left that night. He was all alone, his life in shambles.
After his children returned from boot camp, they were so angry that they would not speak with him either. Baxter was right, they were unharmed, but their resentment would take a long time to mend.
Wayne continued with the program because of the fifty thousand that he would owe Pounds Off and the hope that if he finished, Sally would take him back. He thought this was his best chance for reconciliation.
The first week after Sally left, he was too depressed to eat and reached his target easily. In the second week, he started eating again. With his wife no longer home, his eating habits got worse. He did not know how to cook and therefore relied on frozen dinners, or eating out, which did not help his cause. It should not have come as a surprise to Wayne when he was over his target weight of one hundred ninety four pounds.
Tom Baxter told him to get off of the scale after the weigh-in. He paced around the room with a snarl on his face.
“I have never had to go to such extreme measures with another customer. You are a disgrace, Mr. Helms. I can see why your wife left you. I tried to be civil with you, but you leave me with no option. Today, Mr. Helms, you have missed your target for the last time.”
Wayne’s mouth hung open as he shook his head desperately. “You’re not going to kill me?”
“No, I am not. But after what I am going to do, you might wish you were dead.”
Wayne rushed to the door, but was intercepted by four men. They tackled him to the floor. One of the men produced a pair of handcuffs and apprehended Wayne.
They took him through the rear exit of the building and into another building located across the street. They brought him inside of a damp room.
“You love to eat,” said Baxter, “and you can not seem to control yourself. Well, in that case, I am going to make you do what you love so much. I am going to make you eat more food than you can handle.”
They tied Wayne to a chair with a rope and then left him. Nearly an hour later, Baxter and his entourage returned. Wayne’s senses were alerted when he smelled greasy food. He could smell pizza and hamburgers, maybe even a steak.
“Mr. Helms, we have brought some food with us,” said Baxter. “And you are going to eat it—all of it.”
“Look, I’m really not that hungry,” said Wayne.
They started Wayne off with a roast beef sandwich which he finished easily. They provided him with a liter bottle of soda to drink with his food. After this they produced a sausage, meatball, and pepperoni pizza. By the third slice, he was slowing down. After finishing the fourth slice he was stuffed.
“Look, guys I can’t eat any more.”
“What’s wrong, Mr. Helms,” said Baxter. “This is the food that you love. You sneak it whenever you can. You eat it at work even though it goes against your diet. And you will eat it now.”
One of the men gripped Wayne’s shoulder tightly and suggested that he continue eating. So Wayne dug into the next slice and the next and the next. By the time he was finished, Wayne was feeling ill.
He groaned when Baxter put a hamburger in front of him. “Look I can’t eat that. I’m going to get sick.”
“Well, perhaps you should have thought about that before you showed up overweight, again. Eat it.”
A man with a large scar on his cheek stood in front of Wayne. He pounded his fist into his hand. Wayne did not want to find out what would happen if he refused. Wayne bit into the all beef hamburger. It was loaded with cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, pickles, mustard and ketchup. His hands shook as he ate and his face turned an unhealthy shade of green. He shoved the last bite into his mouth but could not put it down. His jaws were sore from chewing.
“Finish it,” said Baxter.
Wayne shook his head.
One of the men grabbed Wayne’s face and forced his jaws to move up and down in a chewing motion. “Swallow,” he yelled at Wayne. Wayne swallowed and shortly thereafter threw up what he just ate.
“That’s disgusting,” said Baxter.
“Please let me go,” said Wayne.
“I’m afraid not. You’re not done yet.” Baxter produced a plate of fries. After the first few it was obvious that Wayne physically could no longer eat. Baxter took away the fries.
One of the men said, “Open your mouth.”
Still in fear, Wayne did what he was told. Baxter placed a large funnel into Wayne’s mouth. Two minutes later one of his captors brought a heated can of soup. He poured the contents into Wayne’s mouth slowly so that he would not choke. After the soup, they poured soda into the funnel. This was followed by another can of soup. When they were finished, they removed the funnel and Wayne fell to the floor.

Wayne turned his body around so that he could tan his back. Before Pounds Off, he rarely went to the beach. He was self-conscious because he was so overweight and being in the hot sun made him uncomfortable. But now he had no problem taking off his shirt and displaying his new slim, trim, rock hard body. He weighed a lean and muscular one hundred sixty two pounds. Every day he spent a few minutes looking at himself in the mirror. He had even developed an impressive six pack. Pounds Off changed his life and this was the beginning of a new chapter.
Wayne could barely even look at food for the next few weeks after Baxter forced him to eat as punishment. The scent of it made him feel ill. He ate sparingly since then. He had no problem meeting the requirements at any of the other weigh-ins and finished the program two weeks ahead of schedule.
He called Sally after graduating from Pounds Off. She seemed unimpressed. When he suggested that they get together, she flatly refused him. He could visit the children when he wanted to, but she was not interested in rekindling their relationship. She told him to get on with his life because she already had. She suggested that he get a divorce lawyer, because she had already contacted one.
Although deeply hurt, Wayne decided to take her advice. If she was no longer interested in him, then he was left with little choice but to move on. He began to go out with co-workers for happy hour and out to bars and night clubs on the weekend. He was amazed that women were actually interested in talking to him.
“Excuse me,” Wayne heard a female voice. Wayne rose from the towel he had been laying on. He saw an attractive blond woman in her early thirties wearing a string bikini. “Would you mind put some sun block on my back?”
“Sure thing,” replied Wayne. Wayne gently applied the lotion. Nobody had ever asked him to do this before.
When he was done the woman turned around and thanked him. “You know, you look really familiar. I can’t quite place it, but I know you.” Since his look had changed so dramatically, he expressed his doubt. “Did you go to Rockwell High?” Wayne told her that he did. “What year did you graduate?”
“1990,” said Wayne.
“So did I,” she said. “Wait I know who you are. You’re that guy Wayne. People used to…”
She stopped herself, but Wayne finished her thought. “Make fun of me.”
“Yeah, they were a bunch of assholes anyway,” she said. “I’m Stacy Egan.” She extended her hand and he shook it. Wayne now remembered her. She had been homely looking in high school. “Wow, you look so different. I can’t believe it.”
“Well, I’ve lost about sixty pounds since then,” said Wayne.
“Really? Well you look great. How did you do it?”
“I joined a program called Pounds Off. The best diet system in the world.”

The End

Reconquest: Mother Earth Chapter 4

Last week to get the Kindle version of my novel Reconquest: Mother Earth for 99 cents at http://www.amazon.com/Reconquest-Moth...

Part 2
Chapter IV
Five Years Later

Mitch opened his eyes and let out a low groan. He closed them quickly, the brightly lit room scalding his eyes, and released another groan. He tried to move his hand, but it would not respond.
Mitch opened his left eyelid slowly. He tried to look around, but did not have the strength to move his head more than a few centimeters.
His lower lip trembled involuntarily. Where was he? He felt pain, soreness and intense sluggishness. Every time he attempted to move, his slow mind and weak body thwarted him.
He slightly curled his fingers. It was not much, but it was more than he could do a few minutes ago. He made a great deal of effort to elevate his head, but still could not.
For now, he gave up trying to move. He was expending too much effort and not getting results. Instead, he stared at the white ceiling.
Half-formed memories flooded Mitch's head. What had happened?
Mitch was back in the naval base in Kuwait. He had been called in by his commander — he couldn’t remember the man’s name. His commander told Mitch that they needed to overtake and control the Dartayun Dam, a major hydroelectric source an hour northeast of Baghdad. Intel indicated that Fedayeen and Baathist loyalists were going to bomb the dam and flood Baghdad downstream.
This would be a joint mission between Mitch’s SEAL team and a squad of Polish Grom commandos. Prior to the strike, Mitch and his team tried to simulate scenarios that could happen when they tried to overtake the Dartayun Dam.
Two nights before the mission, Mitch met with the Polish squad leader. They split the teams up and located several key locations within the structure to hit first. Mitch did not like the idea of collaborating with the Polish commandos. He was unfamiliar with their tactics, and familiarity was one of the things that made his team excel. In addition, Mitch had lattitude in his missions to employ whatever tactics necessary to accomplish his goals. If their methods did not mesh with that of the Grom team, then this could lead to trouble.
The night before striking the dam, Mitch felt the normal tightening in his stomach he got before a major operation. He hardly slept that evening, going over all eventualities, even though he knew that once the action started, anything was possible.
They set into action the following evening. It was a clear, moonless night, too quiet for Mitch’s liking.
Four Pave Low special-operations helicopters took off from the base in Kuwait. It took five hours to reach their destination. On the way to the dam, each helicopter had to be fueled in midair by a KC-130 tanker.
The beginning of the mission turned out to be dicey. The helicopters had to hover over the dam while weaving through a maze of high-powered lines. When the choppers established their position, the SEALs and Groms rappelled down thick ropes and onto the upper level of the dam with extreme stealth. Speed was of the essence.
Mitch was the first one down, setting the pace for the others. He hit the ground and sprinted with his machine gun held at chest level. He had the layout of the dam memorized and knew precisely where to go. At the end of the walkway, he reached the power plant control room and found an alien with blue skin and eight limbs screaming at the top of its lungs.
Mitch shook his head violently. Alien creatures in Iraq? That made no sense.
He broke through the door. Inside were two dam operators. He yelled surrender in Arabic repeatedly with his machine gun raised and aimed at them. He scanned the room and found no alien creatures, but of course there wouldn’t be any.
The two dam operators jumped out of their chairs. It was times like these that Mitch had a hard time telling apart the good guys from the bad guys. These Iraqis were two frightened men caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Being a combat veteran, Mitch knew that warfare was not all black and white. Although these two control room operators were not likely to fight back, Mitch had to be wary. The bad guys did not always wear black hats. However, if he saw the blue alien he would shoot it on sight.
Two more SEALs entered the room. They apprehended and tied up the operators. Mitch got on his radio and contacted other team members. Within minutes, they had seized control of the dam without a single bullet being fired. Within the hour, they also took an adjacent power station and several buildings within the complex, without using any gunfire. The only injury occurred when a Grom commando was hurt while rappelling from the helicopter.
The job was not done. They searched each building until dawn looking for explosives and potential saboteurs. Although he had reviewed the blueprint of the dam, he did not realize just how massive a structure it was until he was inside. Methodically, the SEALs and Groms searched, but did not find anything.
When they were done, day was breaking in Iraq. Mitch conferred with Deborah about what he was going to do next. No wait. That was impossible. He had never worked with Deborah on any mission, let alone one in Iraq during the war.
Since there had been no resistance, Mitch decided to free the dam operators and let them continue their work. This was not part of his original plan, but as was often the case, he had to adjust as he went along.
Even though the raid had been successful, the danger was not over. The threat of the Fedayeen loyalists overtaking the dam and flooding Baghdad was very real. Mitch was not about to let his guard down. For the next six days, his team patrolled the dam and the surrounding area until the regular armed forces could arrive to relieve them.
Mitch opened his eyes and looked around this strange room that he now found himself in. He was sure he was no longer in Baghdad. He had returned from combat. He knew this because he had been with Deborah. He had proposed to her.
Mitch tried to stretch his mind and remember something, anything, about what had happened to him.
Mitch continued to try to piece back his memory, but found it taxing. Before long, he fell asleep.
Many hours later, he awoke with a fit. He clenched his hand into a loose fist. When he tried to elevate himself, his arms shook. He looked around the sterile room and knew he couldn’t be in a military hospital, or for that matter any hospital he had ever seen.
Nearby him on a table was an emerald green box that had all kinds of buttons and switches. The inscription on the machine had characters, which he presumed to be numbers and letters that were unlike any human language he had ever seen. He expected to be hooked up to IV tubes, but instead he had super thin tendrils that resembled the roots of a plant that fed from the machine into various parts of his body. The whole thing looked freaky, but he did not have the strength to remove it.
He floated in and out of sleep over the next several hours. He would wake up only briefly before fatigue overwhelmed him. He felt like a baby, not having enough energy to sustain wakefulness for any significant period of time.
He jumped back in his bed in fright. His head snapped forward. He tried to scream, but could only groan. He closed his eyes and opened them once more, hoping this nightmarish vision would leave.
His heart beat like a jackhammer. He was not imagining things. A gigantic alien life form hovered over him. Its skin was light green, and its torso was long and lean.
Mitch’s entire body shook as he tried to cower away from it. Alien beings. He vaguely remembered encountering them before.
He desperately wanted to get out of the bed, but was powerless to do so. He clutched the metal railings.
“Relax, Mitch Grace.” The alien’s soft voice reminded him of wine being poured into a glass.
The soothing voice did little to lessen his anxiety. He had to escape, but his muscles would not cooperate with the pleas from his brain.
He couldn’t let the alien get to him. “P-pl-please.”
“Be at ease, Mitch Grace.” The alien lowered his head. “I am here to help you.”
“Help,” he cried out, even though he doubted there was anyone who could save him from this creature.
The alien drew back its head. “You have been through a difficult ordeal. For a great quantity of time, you have been in a sleeping state. Comatose, I believe is the correct word. But now you are coherent. This provides me great joy, Mitch Grace.”
Mitch closed his eyes. He still felt weak. Maybe he had been in a bad accident, and was unconscious and dreaming in a hospital bed. He opened his eyes and turned his head in revulsion when he still saw the alien.
“Please, Mitch Grace, be still. I have read about the effects of your condition. It is likely that you are feeling disorientation. Your memory must be lacking.” The alien tilted its head. “Yes, poor memory and damaged body, I would surmise.”
Mitch felt terrible sadness. What if he was dead? He felt like crying, but no tears would come.
The alien spoke to him in its soothing voice. “This must be difficult for you. I have little comprehension of these feelings, but I will help you. You must trust in me.”
He was not sure if he should believe the alien. If he was dreaming, then it did not matter. He would play along. Maybe he could learn something. “What ha-happened?”
The alien shook his head. “I have no details of the sustaining of your injury. You were hurt, badly hurt. Trauma to the brain, edema. You have been comatose, and I have been your caretaker…doctor would be your equivalent word.”
Mitch closed his eyes and moaned as images flashed in his head. The phone call, an alert to danger, then a fence. Inside were two aliens who looked very different than the one in front of him. He tried to concentrate on his memories. A third alien, much smaller than the others, appeared. There had been something sinister about the small alien. Then there were explosions and people being torn apart.
“How did I…get hurt?”
The alien shook its head back and forth. “I wish I could answer your question in a satisfactory manner, but I do not have this data. It was a bad time. Many humans were killed. You were caught in the war.”
The word made Mitch cringe. “War?”
“Yes. It was bloody and brutal. So many dead.”
Mitch closed his eyes and buried his head in his pillow.
“I should not speak of these things. After your ordeal, you should not be subjected to this.”
Mitch ground his teeth. “Tell me.”
“You must rest first. It is too soon. No, no. I will tell you everything, but you must rest. As your doctor, I deem it your medicine.”
“Please.”
“Rest now. In time. When you wake up, I will be here.”
Mitch became drowsy. He closed his eyes and, within seconds, was asleep.
***

Mitch woke up convinced that he had the strangest dream of his life. He froze when his hands touched the metal rails surrounding his bed and he saw the root-like tendrils attached to his body. He slowly raised his head, saw the alien, and felt like crying. It was no dream.
“You have risen out of your sleep, Mitch Grace.”
Mitch regarded the creature. Judging by the alien’s sharp facial features and lack of mammary glands, he assumed the alien was male. He almost looked like a praying mantis. His thin legs looked like they could snap with ease. His hands were dainty and he had the longest fingers Mitch had ever seen. His mouth and nose were like slits. Long, oval eyes with black pupils occupied much of his face.
“This has to be a dream,” Mitch muttered.
“I understand your emotions.” When the alien spoke he sounded like he was singing. “I have done much reading on humans who wake from a coma.”
“Coma?”
“Yes my research indicates that is the appropriate term for your prior state. When humans revive from comas they feel denial. They find it hard to accept that what they have gone through has truly taken place. Earlier you experienced anger and depression. Classic symptoms as such. Very much like the textbook indicated.”
Tears welled in his eyes. His mind was slowly accepting that he was really talking to an alien. “How long have I been in a coma?”
“Let me do some quick conversions.” The alien had a distant look. “Approximately five of your Earth years have passed since you have been comatose.”
Mitch let out a low shriek. “Five years? Five fucking years!”
“Yes. For my species that is a brief period, but for humans it is considerable. Your average lifespan is roughly one fifth of the average lifespan of my species, so I understand your trauma.”
Mitch was mortified. He wanted to fall back into a coma. “I can’t believe it.”
“The pleasant news is that you are alive.” The alien’s voice rose. “If I were to find the truth inside, I did not think that you would ever wake. I estimated your probability of survival to be 3.87%. That you are alive is a signal of your resiliency. You have made all my efforts worthwhile, Mitch Grace. Truly remarkable. I am glad that I convinced them not to discard you.”
“What?”
The alien’s long fingers touched his face. “I should have omitted that part. I must remember the fragility of your brain caused by edema. My sorry to you.”
“Explain, please.” Mitch felt nauseous.
“When I arrived on the first day, I saw death and destruction. The human dead were being discarded. I examined you and found you to be alive. They were going to disintegrate your body, but I pleaded with the Chief Medic to allow me to nurture you back to health. He told me that it was wasteful of time. I let the Chief Medic know that I have come to this planet to cure and would leave if not allowed to achieve the goals I set. You became my patient.
“Let me introduce myself. I know that you are known as Mitch Grace, which I uncovered from the metallic piece that you had on your person. You would have difficulty pronouncing my name, so I will shorten it to Sarm for your ease of calling.”
“This is crazy,” Mitch said.
“I fail to see why you would question the sanity of the situation.”
Mitch was not sure how much more he wanted to learn. Five years had passed. From the sound of it, things had not gone well. “What happened since then?”
Sarm's smile faded. He looked down at Mitch with his big, black eyes. “I should not increase your burden at this pivotal moment in your recovery.”
“Tell me. Please.” Mitch reached out and touched Sarm’s slender green arm. It felt leathery, and he quickly recoiled his hand.
“I am afraid your species did not fare well. It should not come with surprise. The technology from this planet is primitive. The humans never had a chance, although your people fought with valor.”
Mitch’s lips began to tremble as tears gathered in his eyes.
The alien was unusually quiet.
“Tell me what happened. All of it.”
“I will tell you everything in time. I can see that your face grows tired. For now I will share the summary of events. The armies of your planet united from what I have learned from your history in an unprecedented fashion. While they were planning a defense, they were overrun. The Minister of Science’s forces destroyed your armies before they could fight back. It was a sad outcome, but it was filled with inevitability.”
“You fucking bastards.” Mitch shouted through gritted teeth.
“In approximately one half of one Earth year, the human population was one tenth of what it had been, and there was no resistance left. Your governments and fighting machines had been mostly destroyed. Many remaining people had been taken by the Minister and his forces. Most humans have become a source of free labor. I am afraid that your species no longer has control of this planet. I feel sorrow for your plight.”
Mitch shook the railings on his bed with what little strength he had left. “Why? How could they do this?”
Sarm shifted his long fingers in an interlocking motion. “Why does anything like this happen? The Minister of Science wanted your planet and had the ability to take it. It is unfortunate, but Earth is not the first planet to experience involuntary occupation.”
“Christ have mercy.”
“Ah Christ. If my memory is correct, He would be a major deity of your planet. I have read your Bible.”
Mitch rolled his eyes. “That’s wonderful.”
“I try to read as much of your planet’s literature as possible. I have read many of your famous historical documents as well as classical writing. One can learn a great deal about a species by reading their literature.”
“I don’t care about that. Who’s in control of the planet now?”
“Technically a council rules, but the true reality indicates the Minister of Science makes all of the vital decisions.”
Feeling compelled to act, Mitch struggled to prop himself up. His arms felt like rubber.
Sarm reached out, but Mitch shrank back. “I only mean to help you, Mitch.”
“I don’t need your fucking help.” Spit flew from Mitch’s mouth. “I don’t need your sympathy. I don’t need anything from your kind.”
Sarm backed away. “I understand your anger. To wake up after a five-year coma and find out that your species has been significantly reduced and are now subservient can be devastating to the psyche. I understand that you do not trust me since I belong to the group that bears this responsibility.”
“You don’t understand anything.”
“Not true. My home planet has been under hostile occupation since the time of my youth. I know your hurt. I have also done research to know the theory of what you are feeling in your awakening. True, the theoretical can never match the reality.”
“What do you want from me?” Mitch asked.
“Allow my assistance in your recovery. I cannot atone for the evils that were done to your people, but I can help you.”
Reluctantly, Mitch extended his hand and touched Sarm’s leathery skin. The alien pulled him up with ease. Mitch looked at Sarm wide-eyed, misjudging the alien's strength because of its thin frame. With his free hand, Sarm lifted the pillow and propped it under Mitch’s head.
Mitch nodded, but could not bring himself to express gratitude. Sarm was one of them, one of the beings who stole his planet.
“I will give you honesty in our dealings. Your path of recovery will be difficult. A successful recovery will require exertion of the mind and body, but you have shown fortitude in coming out of your comatose state. Therefore, I have the belief that you will overcome this current shortcoming in your physical condition.”
“Why bother?” Mitch closed his eyes. “What do I have to look forward to? Becoming a slave to this alien domination?”
“Life is worth living. There is an entire universe out there of which you lack knowledge. Many, many wonders that continue to fascinate. It is why I am here, to continue to learn and develop.”
“I don’t give a shit about the rest of the universe. I care about my own planet. I want it back.”
“I fear you ask for something far more difficult to obtain than your rehabilitation.”
Mitch struggled to get out of the bed, but Sarm eased him back into a reclining position. Heavy fatigue fell on him like a rain cloud as he closed his eyes.
“Pleasant dreams, Mitch Grace.”
He allowed the blackness overcome him and fell into deep sleep.