J.B. Garner's Blog, page 58

Goal Posts: 100 Followers, 100 Posts

Little else to say there!  Today, I’ve hit both 100 posts (who knew I had so much to say?  I sure didn’t) and 100 followers (who knew so many people wanted to hear any of it?).

Thanks to everyone who has read and followed and thanks especially to those who have given input back!

Sneek Peak: Incorrupible Chapter 3

I was telling the whole truth in my last blog post.  Not only the burying my dog part, but the sudden crash of writing desire and the determination to not let that sink in.  Sadly (or not … I’m not sure how I feel about this), that loss of my companion for a decade gave me a sudden surge of clarity and inspiration on a major plot point of Incorruptible.

To keep up my personal momentum, let me present another sneek peak, the third chapter of the third book in The Push Chronicles:

Chapter 3 Strange

    I glanced the man up and down once. The facts were that he had saved my life right then, knew who I was, and wasn’t Pushed. No, in fact, I could have sworn … well … I wouldn’t know for sure until I saw him in action. Average height, wiry frame, but all of his features were concealed behind the paramilitary-style uniform and face mask. Considering the bad straits I was in, I would have to take a leap of faith.

    “I don’t -” I tried to say, but he cut me off.

    “Nothing to do for it,” he said with a surprisingly upbeat tone. “Improvisation is the finest quality of any cook.” He turned on a heel and began a jog down the corridor from whence he came. The guard at my feet groaned and shifted, but was safe enough to leave behind. Summoning my own waning strength, I took off after my unknown ally.

    “What about the others?” I called after him. It was obvious he was taking it slow to account for my condition.

    “Don’t worry, the cavalry is on the way.” More boots were marching in our direction and, just as the hall my own cell had been on, this one was the same simple white-washed cinder block, just with a distinct lack of doorways.

    “I don’t mean help, I mean my -” I didn’t appreciate being cut off again, but the shudder of chills kept my anger at bay. I was already starting to loose focus, which could be quite deadly.

    “We can’t.”

    There was no time to lodge a protest immediately. Up ahead, at the base of a flight of stairs, a small cadre of guards had set up a short firing line. They were mostly silent … I assumed throat microphones and silent alarms at this point … but the guns would speak plenty once they steadied their aim. With no cover, well, there was only one option.

    I tried to will my legs to work like they used to, but I couldn’t work a miracle. Yes, my surge of speed was still impressive, but it wouldn’t be enough this time, not in the state I was in. It was only a mild surprise that the mystery man surged past me. It looked like Rachel had found another Natural somewhere.

    It wasn’t jealousy but honest appraisal that noted that he wasn’t as fast as I was at my peak. Maybe Mackenzie had known about this man too, it would have explained why he had known so much about our particular brand of oddity before he disappeared. Still, it was more than fast enough to close in before the gunmen had a chance to open fire.

    What did take me completely off guard was the fact that, instead of taking advantage of the moment to fire his own rifle to disperse the guards, Mr. Mystery hurled something produced from a vest pocket. It looked very much like a nine-volt battery, probably because that’s what it was. It landed with a clunk in the middle of the confused guards.

    “You’re up, Vee!” the man said and shielded his eyes. There was something wrong about that battery, that much I could tell for the split-second before the air split with a flash of raw electricity, the sudden clap of thunder, and, more importantly to me, the sudden flood of unreality caused by the sudden appearance of a Pushed.

    It was all over as my eyes cleared. All of the guards were laid out, twitching from the residual charge running through their muscles, as if they had all been shocked by one giant taser, an experience I was intimately familiar with. Through the wisps of smoke and the acrid waft of ozone, a roughly humanoid shape hovered above them, a coherent form of dancing sparks and lightning. In the middle of that corona was an all-too human form, clean-cut with close cropped hair … ex-military maybe? Just trying to make the two images, unreal and real, synch up made my eyes hurt even more.

    “Hell yes! I am so glad to be out of that thing!” the figure buzzed, his voice sounding more like the hum of a power line than a human. If I hadn’t heard the echo of his real voice behind it, I would have been lost in my somewhat addled state.

    “Change of plans,” the mystery figure said. “Dr. Roman broke out early.”

    “How did she -“

    “One of you guys gave me the key somehow.” There was a blank look on the lightning man’s face and the Natural stared in my direction, unreadable behind the mask. “Right?”

    Shocked silence was their only answer. They didn’t know about the key either? I didn’t like it. Not one bit. My growing circle of allies continued to stare, despite our precarious situation.

    “Don’t stand there and gape. We can’t have much time.” The world spun for a moment … all of the sudden exertion on top of a sudden turn of my stomach forced me to lean against the wall.

    “Right, sorry, ma’am,” the electric man replied and spun in the air to face the stairs. “I’m hitting the wires. I’ll blow all the alarms and electronic locks on the exit and the rest of this floor, then meet back up with you. Should keep the guards down here busy.”

    “It’s up one flight and through the main yard and we’re out,” the Natural in black assured me. “You can hold it together a bit longer, right?” There wasn’t a hint of doubt in the man’s voice. If anything, he seemed a bit … awed to be talking to me. Damn reputation.

    I could only grit my teeth and nod as the one called Vee broke into so many separate sparks of electricity, disappearing into the walls. I had to close my eyes to stave off another bout of illness at watching his natural form broken up into so many shadowy images. Fortunately, yesterday’s meal, such as it was, stayed inside and, with a steadying hand from Mr. Mysterious, I stood up.

    “Yes, but we can’t run. Not yet.” I pointed back down the way we came, where the other vault doors were. “There have to be more -“

    “No, Doc, there aren’t.” There was something going on, I could read it in his voice. “Doesn’t matter anyway. You’re the most important person here anyway. We have to go.”

    I wanted to argue. The idea that I was so special pissed me off to no end and I had been forced to deal with it every day since Washington. Still, I had the sinking feeling that he was right. Not about me, but that we had no choice. Whatever plan these people may have had was shot now and there was sure to be more trouble the longer we stayed.

    ” … fine.” I couldn’t hide the venom in my voice. Even if I had been able to, I wouldn’t have. I hated this whole set-up, but there were no chances of freedom any more but this one.

    If anything, the man in black looked a little hurt, but responded with a quick nod. Without another word, we broke for the stairs.

I had imagined by his use of the word ‘yard’ that we would be coming out into the middle of a prison exercise yard, surrounded by walls and guard towers. What we came out onto after two flights of stairs and a now-unlocked hatch didn’t match what I had seen in all those movies at all. It just was an abandoned lot by a train yard. The patchy grass was strewn with bits of trash and debris and a cheap electric fence wrapped around the irregular perimeter.

    Two things immediately caught my attention, scattered as it was. The first and largest thing was the skyline. To see the buildings of good old Atlanta all around me was a great relief but that relief was greatly tempered by the semi-transparent golden glow that encompassed the sky in all directions. I couldn’t tell if it was something physical like a dome of some kind or if the sky itself had changed. Either could be possible in the twisted reality we all lived in now.

    As disturbing as the unnatural glow above was, the second thing presented a more immediate concern. Waiting for us were four figures, all immediately recognizable to me. There was a split-second of joy, but it was gone quickly.

    They were my friends, my family. The Atlanta Five, well, minus one. Hexagon, the towering six-armed powerhouse with the manners of a Southern gentleman; the Human Tank, the hyperactive cyborg teen with a super-powered tank body; Medusa, my best friend and snake-woman with the power of petrification; and Extinguisher, ice-manipulating firefighter and, well, my other ex-boyfriend. My first impulse was to rush up and start hugging them.

    Before I could move, the man in black put a warding arm in my way. I didn’t need it, because I could see what had happened with my own two eyes. There were tight metal cowls fitted to each of their heads, though in Meds’ case it was a mesh of metal to accommodate the writhing snakes on her head. To my eyes, they were simply metal and plastic, simple hats, but they were Pushtech and who knew what it was doing to them. From the naked aggression in their eyes, it couldn’t be good.

    “Indy, you need to step away from the criminal and surrender yourself to us,” Ex said mechanically, riding a stable platform of ice. “We don’t want to hurt you.”

    “You can trusssst usss, Irene,” Meds hissed. “Thingsss have changed in wayss you can’t -“

    I didn’t want to hear this anymore. What had been shock and pain turned into sweet, hot rage and that rage sang in my heart. I didn’t feel that sickness or weakness as I ducked past Mr. Mystery and ran forward. No one on the team could ever match my quickness and that fact hadn’t changed as I was in the midst of the group before they could react.

    Medusa was the least immediately dangerous to me and thus the one I could have the best chance of saving, assuming what I was about to do would save her. I grabbed her around the sinewy waist and bulled through the center of the team’s formation. Scaled fingers snaked around my throat, but I ignored them even as they began to squeeze. Hoping to get at the apparent source of the problem, I hurled us both down as hard as I could to the ground, confident in Meds’ Pushed durability to prevent permanent harm.

    As we slammed into the packed earth, Medusa’s grip loosed slightly, enough for me to breathe freely. From behind, I heard the air torn by burning plasma and freezing air. God, Irene, did you just leave the man that helped save you, even if he was a Natural, to get torn apart by three of your friends? I ignored that nagging in my mind as I pinned Medusa down with a forearm.

    “Thisss iss a misstake, Irene!”

    “I don’t know what the hell he did to you but I’m going to fix it.” She tried to block my reaching hand with her arm, clutching it by the wrist, but I was stronger and my willpower was steady. My fingertips touched the crown of metal bands. Just another inch.

    “Doc!” came the hurried shout. “We have to go!” The sounds of struggle and unnatural energies echoed through the open field. At least he wasn’t dead yet.

    “No, I can do this!” I had the lip of the gizmo with the cuff of two fingers now. Medusa hissed and thrashed but there wasn’t anything she could do at this point to stop me. Her gaze had no effect at all on me. It would just take a few more seconds.

    “VEE!” The mystery man’s cry for help was pained. Having been on the wrong end of the Five early on, they were dangerous even for a Natural like the two of us. It didn’t help that they knew how to fight someone like me. The smell of ozone heralded blinding light radiating from behind me amid cries of surprise and pain. My hand clutched around the metal band across Meds’ forehead now as several of her hissing snakes chomped down into my arm.

    “Ma’am, we have to go.” Vee’s static voice was all military. “Damn, Quentin, where’s Frost?” I ignored him and the pain in my arm. I had it now and I wasn’t leaving without at least one of my friends.

    The scream of agony ripped through my ears as I twisted the steel and plastic in my grip. Meds’ entire body spasmed for a moment before going entirely limp. With a final cry I tore the rest of the headdress loose and tossed it aside like a cheap piece of trash. Now, I could go.

    Assuming that I would live through the next five minutes. I saw a familiar blue light in my eyes and everything became very cold. Ex … Extinguisher … knew intimately my strengths and weaknesses. Sure, he couldn’t freeze me solid, but he could freeze the air around me. Specifically my head.

    Cloudy ice obscured my vision as the horrific sensation of imminent suffocation came over me. There had been no chance to hold my breath and already things were starting to go gray. Understandably, I thought I might have been delusional when I saw the massive dragon woman swoop down under a nearby underpass, sweeping over my head as I collapsed. My knuckles broke as I beat on the ice, but my fists just weren’t hard enough to crack it. Maybe if I had been in better shape … not that it was going to matter in a few moments.

    I was right, but not in the way I had thought. Just as everything turned a uniform black, the splitting of ice filled my ears and the cold went away. I didn’t care how or why, I just pulled in a deep breath, happy to be alive. For obvious reasons, I didn’t struggle as I felt myself being hoisted by powerful arms.

    “I can’t leave you boys alone for a minute, can I?” the resonating voice next to me said as wings beat the wind. Mr. Mystery’s pain-tinged voice cried out against the growing wind from somewhere beside me.

    “Probably not, Frost, probably not.”

    ” …. did you get her? …” It was a gasping wheeze of a question and I doubted anyone heard me, but the dragon woman did.

    “Voltage took her,” Frost, I assumed her name was, said through the wind as we flew off to who-knew-where. “I only hope they too got away.”

    As weak as I felt, I could feel my fists clench. I promised myself, as we made our escape, that I was not only going to free my family but I was going to make the Crusaders pay for what they did, no matter what it took.

Writing is a Bad Habit: A Writer’s Most Vital Quality

This is going to be as short and sweet as I can make it.

There are many important qualities to being an effective writer.  So many, in fact, that to gauge them in importance against each other can be difficult at best.  However, this past year has shown me one quality that shines above all others.

To me, that is determination.  I think it’s a truism that hardship and adversity can breed the best stories.  The best of those adversities and tragedies are the ones we experience ourselves.  To live through these and to be able to express the pain and emotion of them requires determination.

On top of that, every aspect of our trade is one of overcoming the odds.  Continuing to write no matter how many rejections or ‘no’s we receive.  If we can’t do that, if we don’t have the determination to overcome, then we will never ever succeed at our craft.

So yes, no matter how creative or innovative or evocative of a writer we may be, we are nothing without determination.  I’ve struggled through the death of my best friend and now I have just dug the grave of my dog.  I don’t want to write another word, and yet I have to do so.  Not just to honor their memories, but to craft something positive from the pain their deaths have given me.

Another review crests the waves!

Rick Chapman, author of Rule-Set, put up a review today for Indomitable!

Check out his thoughts over HERE.

Looking at Character: Tackling Dark Matters

Tragedy and hardship are often important ingredients in the brewing of drama, conflict, and characterization.  Sometimes, it’s caused by the nature of the story’s conflict.  Sometimes, it’s an element of a character’s backstory that is revisited during their character arc.   Even in a genre or story where such things aren’t front and center, few if any people (and that means characters) go through life without experienced some kind of personality-affecting trauma, even if it’s a small and relatively inconsequential affair.

Obviously, then, we writers should learn and understand how to tackle such topics.  There are a lot of dark events that can shadow a person’s life: the deaths of loved ones, chronic illness, natural disasters, warfare, slavery, serious injury, sexual crimes, and so on.  When we introduce such things into our stories, it becomes imperative that we not only handle these things in a realistic fashion, but also in one that shows a social conscience towards readers who may have dealt with these same issues.

That isn’t to suggest that these subjects shouldn’t be tackled or that they should be glossed over to prevent triggering old wounds.  What I mean to suggest is that tragedies and horrors that crossover into the real world need to be handled with all due respect and even then with caution.  In fact, glossing over a traumatic incident in your works is probably more insulting than harming to your potential readers.  It suggests that you believe such a horrible thing should simply be pushed away and not properly explored and, be inference, that the pain of the readers who have suffered from that thing should likewise be glossed over.

Don’t even include trauma if you don’t want to explore it and treat it properly.  Don’t throw in extraneous traumatic events to a character’s backstory and never explore the meanings and repercussions of those traumas.  Giving a character a tragic history to simply drum up reader sympathy without dealing with it is a poor poor choice and will, again, insult more readers than it will possibly endear.

In the end, when you consider including such dark matters into your plots and characters, always remember that we have a social responsibility as writers and creators of media.  What we do influences others.  Always keep that in mind and remember, always do your research!

Kickstarter News: It’s over and we won!

Though it was fully funded on day 1, so this isn’t a super huge shock.  It’s still pretty awesome to have pulled it off and it will ensure that the writing will go on and gain more traction!

Thank you to everyone who shared, liked, and spread the word about the Kickstarter!  Every bit helped!

Now, it’s time to plan!

Sneak Peek: Incorruptible Chapter 2

While I wait like an anxious spider-monkey for the last few hours of my Kickstarter to end, why don’t I share with you another tidbit:  chapter 2 from the last novel of The Push Chronicles, Incorruptible!

Chapter 2 Open

   What hampered my plan more than anything was my lack of time sense. I would have to be ready to act at a moment’s notice. It’s not like I could unlock the manacles ahead of time; that would undoubtedly be noticed by my unseen guards. While I assumed Twister came in on a regular basis, I had no idea when exactly those times were. I drifted off to sleep on top of the key with the determination to pay close attention the next ‘day’, no matter how sick or hurt I felt.

   I don’t know when I woke up. It could have been minutes, it could have been days. My head was clearer, but there was still the shudder of chills running through my body. Closing my eyes, I forced myself to think, to ignore the physical symptoms of the body, and reach that sublime state of focus that used to come so easily. It was the other gift the Whiteout made possible, the other sign that, while not Pushed, I and a few like me weren’t normal people anymore either.

   What had been as simple as flipping a light-switch came only with all the willpower I could muster. Through the chills, I could feel sweat run down my trembling brow. However hard it was to summon and however fleeting it felt, the focus came all the same. Literally mind over matter, the pain, chills, and tension fell away, cataloged as the physiological symptoms they were, and all that was left was my own accelerated thoughts.

   The very first question in my now-clear mind was if I could trust myself. Yes, time was urgent, but I couldn’t deny there was a strange thrill on overhearing the talk of medicine. Though my main area of expertise was physical therapy, I had studied the basics of drug rehabilitation. If Aziz was a real doctor, there was the promise of something to scratch that itch. I badly needed whatever he had to offer … part of me did, at any rate. Just the thought of the possibility of some relief brought on a terrible temptation to hold off a few days, even a week, just until I felt better.

   Shoving that doubt aside, my next worry was if I could even get out of this cell. Assuming I could get the manacles off and subdue Twister (not a guarantee in my weakened state), could I get out before they simply closed off the chamber and used whatever safeguards were in place?

   My mind wanted to ramble on to a host of other questions and problems, but I forced myself to stop. Nothing could be gained by open speculation. Though I would have loved to have a plan outside of ‘get out of here’, there just wasn’t any information to make that plan. At least seven days had passed during which the immediate outside world had been at the mercy of a small army of super-powered beings led by a virtual god (even if he was probably still recovering from the horrible beating I had given him). Anything … or nothing … could be different.

   Letting my mind slip out of focus, I was almost overwhelmed as the illness and pain washed back in like a tidal wave. One hand clenched into the soft cot like a claw. The other, though, kept its grip on the key. All I could do now is wait.

   “Alright, Indy, it’s meal time.” God, where had the time gone? It seemed like it was just moments ago when I had done my planning, little as it was. “Got your first round of meds too so chin up.” Twister’s voice was perked up a bit from yesterday. He didn’t even bother to remind me to take the prescribed position, though to be fair, I was mostly in it anyways.

   As the pressurized door let out its familiar hiss, I licked my lips. A new flush of fever filled my head, trying to cloud out rational thought. I should just sit here, take the medicine, eat the food. Just one day more of recovery wouldn’t hurt, would it? It would take off enough of the edge to bust out of here feeling so much better tomorrow, right?

   I wasn’t sure where the defiance came from. Maybe it never had left because that iron-willed core had saved me from the Whiteout and here it came again. Fever be damned and temptation be shunned, there wouldn’t be one more day of this. As my mind centered, I felt that familiar singing in my veins as endorphins and adrenaline rushed through me.

   The door’s mechanical slide slowed to a crawl as my mind and body accelerated. It was just like old times except for all the alarms in my head. My body screamed, weakened by fever, inactivity, and detox. I ignored all of the protests. There wasn’t time to acknowledge them; it just added another layer of urgency to my mission as I pushed myself up and forward.

   I was so slow compared to what I had been capable of, even accounting for the weight of the shackles on my ankles. There was no time to unlock them now, but I had enough speed to eat the distance from cot to door as it finished its slow slide. Twister had a look of shock on his face, even though he was certainly getting a radio feed into the earpiece I saw. At least my reflexes weren’t completely shot. Dr. Aziz looked even more surprised that the Crusader was; it was doubtful he had ever seen someone he thought was normal move so quickly, even if he was an agent sent by Brooks and Choi.

   The temptation to use the chains on my wrists as a weapon against the people who had put me here was great but I avoided it. The thing about the Pushed is the physical empowerment everyone else saw, the outer shell of the superhuman, to me was just as unreal as anything else created by the Whiteout. Inside the rugged exterior that could have been pulled from a Western film, was the much older, but no less rugged, mortal man inside. A heavy chain might have hurt the superhuman shell, but it probably wouldn’t have taken him out.

   My two fists, however, ducked past Twister’s guard and landed solidly into his chin, pushing through the phantasmal second skin like it was air. To my surprise, despite the crack I heard from his jaw and the busted lips, the lawman didn’t fall. God, how sick was I?

   “Guards, she’s loose!” Leave it to the Pushed to give unnecessary exposition. Twister raised his hands as he staggered back, swirling winds instantly conjured up at his command around his body. To anyone else, they were an unbreachable barrier of tornado force gusts. Even at several feet away, the force was enough to hurl Aziz away. To me, it was just a mild breeze. I could have easily broken through and finished off the Crusader.

   I didn’t, though. The doctor, blown back by Twister’s winds, was tumbling straight for the side of the airlock-style chamber right beyond my cell. More specifically, the hard, reinforced steel corner of the cell gate. He was a complete innocent in this and that impact, I knew, would be likely lethal. I had no choice as I abruptly stopped myself and shifted my weight, throwing myself to intercept the normal before his neck snapped.

   Maybe I was only a shadow of my usual self, but that was fortunately more than enough to snatch the doctor before impact and turn us to cushion the fall. Aziz grunted in pain but seemed quite intact as I rolled though, clumsily coming up to my knees. As I tried to reorient and find Twister, my sluggishness bit me hard. I turned on a knee just in time to see that little white table that used to carry my food tray whipped at my head, a tremendous gust of wind behind it. In that brief moment of clarity before it hit me square in the chest, I had a strange surge of longing as the cup full of pills that had been sitting on the table flew wild around the airlock.

   That longing passed as pain radiated out from my chest as the impact picked me up off my knees, throwing me against the hard steel wall. As quickly as it came, the pain was shut off by my supreme mental focus. It would make for a great bruise and maybe something was cracked, but I could still move and fight. I’d have to act fast though, before either more guards arrived or Twister found something far heavier to hurl at me.

   At least the lawman wasn’t being stupid. Even as I pushed myself off the wall, grabbing the table in both hands, Twister gestured into the cell itself. The creak of wrenching metal filled the air from the room and I didn’t want to find out what he was pulling loose to throw at me next.

   I threw the table at him as I sprinted. It was just meant as a distraction, buffeted away by the corona of wind around the Crusader, and it succeeded. Human instinct split his attention for just a moment. That moment was all I needed to throw myself at Twister, passing through the twisting shield and crashing straight into him. His head struck the floor violently but it was all of my weight dropping on his chest, his real chest, that made him cry out in pain.

   With Twister’s concentration broken, the majority of the winds stopped, along with the tearing of steel. A quick scramble brought my knees up, pinning the Crusader’s shoulders to the ground. Raising up my fists, I looked down him. What did he see, I couldn’t help but wonder? A fellow hero straying from the proper path? A wild-eyed psycho who needed to be caged for the greater good? Or just a desperate woman with no choices left?

   “Stand down,” I cried. “I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have to. Just let me go.”

   “You know I can’t do that,” he said with a wheeze. “Anymore than you would if the -“

    For the first time in these past months, I hated having to shut up a soliloquy, but I didn’t have time for it. I brought down my fists and Twister went limp under me. There was a moment of swelling panic when he seemed far too still, a moment drawn out by my own altered perception, but then, thankfully, came a shuddering breath. I hadn’t killed him.

   The sound of movement behind me caught my attention. I turned to see Dr. Aziz picking himself up, looking dazed. Good, maybe he could help me out further than just the key he gave me. Speaking of the key, I went wide-eyed when I realized that it had been knocked out of my hands. I stood and spun to look around the room.

   Aziz was rubbing what was probably now a sore back. The glint of metal at his feet was the key. I must have dropped it when I tackled him. Letting out a sigh of relief, expecting a pack of guards any moment, I called out to the doctor.

   “Come on, Doctor,” I said, “we don’t have much time. Get the key and get me free quick!”

   “Huh?” The man was still a bit dazed. “What key? What are you talking about?”

   “The key you hid on me. Come on, Doc, it’s at your feet and -“

   “I did no such thing!” His eyes settled on Twister’s unconscious form. “Dear God, did you kill him?”

   “What?! No, of course not! I didn’t even want to -“

   “I don’t care and I don’t want to know. I’m no party to this and I don’t want to be.” There was fear in his eyes. “I only want to do what I need to in order to go home to my family tonight.”

   There was a moment as we stood there, looking at each other. He wasn’t sent here by anyone and he hadn’t slipped me the key, that was for sure. But …. no. There wasn’t time to think about it now. I could hear boots approaching.

   “I’m sorry.” It was an empty apology. Oh, I meant it, but what good did it do him or anyone else really? I ran towards the doctor and he flinched away, no doubt expecting another assault. Instead I snatched up the key and ran on, out the exit of the airlock.

   The hallway was plain cinder block with a fresh coat of white paint. It could have been in any windowless municipal building or correctional facility on the planet. There were two other similar heavy steel doors before the hallway turned on either end. Seeing no immediate guns or superpowers pointed at me, I fumbled with the key and the manacles, fingers shivering from the edges of the chill I was barely keeping at bay.

   First the cuffs, then the shackles on my ankles, they hit the floor with a heavy clunk. It felt like it was forever since my limbs weren’t burdened by all of that metal. For the first time since this sudden escape attempt had started, there was a glimmer of a chance of success, at least if my body or my willpower didn’t fail me.

   That moment of distraction, fighting my own stupid fingers, had been enough. I hadn’t heard those last heavy footfalls to either side of me and I certainly hadn’t seen the four guards, two on each side, make the last careful turn around the corner and aim their rifles.

   “Indomitable,” came the shout that brought me back to the moment. Stupid Irene, I chided myself. “You will raise your hands above your head and surrender. Failure to do so will force us to use maximum force in taking you down.”

   They certainly didn’t sound like your run-of-the-mill corrections officers. They weren’t Pushed either. Just what the hell had gone on in the past week? What the hell was I going to do? At my best, sure, I wouldn’t have been too worried. I could have fought my way out of this. In my current condition, though …

   “You have three seconds to comply.” I couldn’t let them take me back in there. I would never get out.

   “Three!” I made a show of slowly raising my hands, hoping to make them slow the count as I tried to think.

   “Two!” So much for that. In desperation, I formed a crazy plan in my mind. I slid my right foot ever so slightly under the chain connecting the two open ankle cuffs.

   “One!” The moment the spokesman said that, I pivoted and kicked, my foot catching the chain. As I snapped the kick off, the momentum sent the chain and cuffs flying. The crude missile smashed into the guardsman’s face mask, sending the man flying back with the sound of shattering plastic and pained screams.

   The inhuman speed of the movement had startled the guards, giving me just a hair of a chance. I scooped up the other set of chains with one hand and swung them with an underhand toss, sending that pair arcing at the other guardsman on the leader’s side of the hall. I couldn’t spare the time to see if I even hit my target, instead turning to charge the other two gunmen.

   “Shoot shoot shoot!” one of them ahead of me shouted. Without the burden of the shackles, I moved much quicker, though still not up to my best form. It was enough though. Before he could fully press his trigger, I was practically in his face. I wrenched the rifle aside and bullets fired wild down the hall. With a shove, I smashed the butt of his rifle, still gripped in both of his hands, down into his chest. The guard let out a pained wheeze and obligingly crumpled.

   The other shooter though … I heard the loud report of his rifle. At so close a range, there was no chance I could possibly avoid a fatal hit. Just to add to the surprises this day was giving me, I had no such bullet wound sprout in my body.

   The guardsman next to me hadn’t shot at me. He had shot down the hall, just as the man who I had missed with those cuffs had taken a bead on my head.

   “What the hell do you think you’re doing, Dr. Roman?” the guardsman said. It wasn’t a voice I recognized, but the very fact he called me by my actual name spoke volumes. “This isn’t part of the plan!”

New Resource for Writers!

jbgarner58:

This entire blog is an excellent resource for writers, but I thought I should spread the word about this new feature in particular.

Originally posted on A Writer's Path:

I’m excited to announce a new project that I’m working on that I feel will be helpful to the writers following this blog.

View original 132 more words

One day to go: Kickstarter Take 2 ends in 24ish hours!

The title says it all!

The good part is that we have already met and exceeded our initial goal.  Hurray!

The bad part is that we are just INCHES from a $750 stretch goal.  $15 US from not only funding more work, but netting all the contributors free posters with the book art and two special works done exclusively for the Kickstarter.

So, if you want to contribute, now is the time!  If you can’t contribute, share!

You can check out the project by clicking the My Kickstarter tab at the top of this blog or by clicking HERE.

Sneak Peek: Incorruptible Chapter 1

It’s that time again!

Writing has begun on Incorruptible, the last book of The Push Chronicles.  That means it’s time for some sneak peeks at the first couple of chapters!

Chapter 1 Prison

    It was, I had to admit, a perfect prison. My first full day in it had been spent trying to probe it, figure out a way out. I had to give Eric credit for not falling into any number of traps his Whiteout-altered mind would have pointed him at. No matter how far gone he may be into his messianic delusions, he was still a genius. Instead of relying entirely on the unreal Pushtech devices as I would have thought, the Crusaders had started with a nice, solid cargo container and just added on to it. There was almost nothing unreal to the cell: just reinforced steel and locks. Just the right thing to hold me in.

    Three months ago, when Eric, better known these days as Epic, had thrown the switch and caused all of reality to twist and turn, I was one of the few people who resisted it. As a free bonus gift, I could ignore the unreal changes around me. If this had been created using the super-science of those superhuman beings called the Pushed, I could have just walked right out as if it didn’t even exist. Even the ridiculous manacles and chains weighing me down wouldn’t have stopped me.

    Of course, even if I had been so lucky, there were other problems. The alternative chills and fevers, the gnawing hunger tearing at my stomach, and the raw desire for something to ease the pain … by the second day here I had recognized all the signs of withdrawal. I guess Duane had been right. The former FBI agent-turned-private investigator had warned me, had tried to stop me. Still, no one ever mentions how much pain is involved in being a ‘superhero’ and what a mere mortal would have to take just to make it through the day.

    A ‘superhero’, what the world at large calls a Push Hero, was the last thing I ever wanted to be. Considering Eric had used some of my own research into bio-feedback to perform his reality-tearing experiment, I had felt little choice but to become one. Responsibility was a bitch and I was buried by it. That was the recent past, though. For now, I was a prisoner, while Epic’s Crusaders, Push Heroes who had a more extreme vision for protecting the normal people, must have control of at least Atlanta by now.

    It had been a week now since I had surrendered to Twister and the other Crusaders, or at least what I thought was a week. To be fair, my sense of time was distorted and not just from the waves of sickness from the detoxification. Why people in solitary confinement often become unhinged was now blatantly obvious to me. It took what rational thought I had between fevered dreams of escape or hours spent cursing Rachel Choi, Duane’s partner, for telling me to surrender, to keep at least semi-sane.

    “Indomitable?” The mid-Western drawl was distorted, either from the ringing in my head or the speakers themselves, I wasn’t sure which. “The new doctor’s here and I’ve got your grub.” The voice of my jailor, also the man who had slapped these chains on me in the first place, was one of the few I had heard since I had been here. The truth was that I didn’t hold any real resentment towards Twister, even if, like most Pushed, he only ever used my nom de guerre.

    Like so many others, the former police officer had their minds filled with a format for how things should work in this new reality. For most people, they didn’t even notice and even those that do can hardly fight the influence of the Whiteout. If only things really did work like a comic book, as Eric had intended, but even with the world vastly changed, some things remained the same.

    ” … alright … hungry anyways … ” I was in the midst of a fever break and with it was coming a moment of clarity. The sound of my own voice sounded alien, a shadow of it’s normal sound. As per procedure, I forced myself to sit up, trying to ignore the lingering pain of the two bullet wounds in my chest and shoulder, payment for stopping Mackenzie. Good thing he was gone now, dissolved in a cloud of metaphysical particles.

    “Alright now, just sit still. Opening up this tin can.” There was a pressurized hiss (I could only guess why this cell had it’s own air supplies, probably to gas me if I got unruly) and the cell doors slid open. If I had my strength, if I wasn’t bound by all of this chain, if I wasn’t ailing so horribly, that would be the only time, those few moments as Twister and the man who had to be the new doctor came in before the doors shut, to have a chance to escape.

    Instead, humbled by all of those things, I simply tried to focus, eyes gummy with sleep and dried sweat, on the small table with its Styrofoam tray of food being pushed towards me. It didn’t look appealing, but my stomach didn’t feel picky.

    “Alright, Indy,” Twister said, “this here is Doctor Aziz. With your, er, resistance to Doc Bio’s powers, I figured you’d do better with a normal doctor.” I barely noticed the Crusader’s look of unease as I grabbed the plastic spoon and ravenously attacked the food-like mush. The doctor, a middle-aged Arab, shifted on his feet, keeping a few steps back.

    “From your previous caregiver’s notes, I see you’re still -” the doctor began, only to be cut off.

    “Save it, Doc.” Twister smoothed out his handlebar mustache. “She won’t even give you an ear until she’s done eating.” He wasn’t entirely right, but I didn’t bother to correct him. Though I was far from out of the woods, my mind was far more clear and my hunger less overwhelming than it had been for days.

    “Well, then, Mr. Twister, as her, well, overseer, I really must say that this isn’t the best facility for her well-being.” There was a shuffle of papers as Aziz rifled through his clipboard. “Your Doc Bio suggested Indomitable here was suffering from several ongoing conditions outside of her immediate injuries. Solitary confinement and constant manacles are only going to aggravate those conditions.”

    Interesting. I found the willpower to space out my eating. Chew, Irene, it’s good for you.

    “Look, I’m not real keen on all of this myself.” It wasn’t false regret in the lawman’s voice. “You just don’t grasp how dangerous this lady is if we don’t keep her under wraps until, well, until later.”

    “She isn’t Pushed. I just don’t fathom why all of this is necessary, especially considering where -“

    “Hush it, Doc.” The drawl had turned steely. “All of that aside, this is the woman who laid out Epic with her own bare hands. That should lay it all in perspective for you and …”

    Twister’s sentence had trailed off. They were both looking at me now; I hadn’t even realized I had stopped eating, listening to every word with rapt attention. It took a moment through my dulled brain to realize that I was grinning like a madwoman.

    “Don’t leave anything out on my account,” I said, feeling a tiny surge of confidence. Maybe I was locked up here. Maybe the Crusaders had taken down my friends and allies, the Atlanta Five. Maybe they had dealt with the defection of their own in the Argent Archer. Maybe they even put away Alma, who I’m sure wouldn’t back down to them, no matter how new she was to this. Through all of that though, Twister remembered the great price the Crusaders paid to bring us all down. They all remembered. There was still just a hint of fear and that gave me a strange sense of hope.

    “I think you’d better just finish up that meal now, Indy.” Twister’s tone was hard, but I could see that lingering wariness in his eyes. “Let the doc look at you, right? No funny business.”

    My grin cracked slightly as I felt the tingle of fresh chills creep up my sweat-slicked back, but I kept control enough to favor his request with a disinterested nod before going back to the food.

    Despite the obvious case of nerves I had given him, Dr. Aziz was a consummate professional, at least as much as I was able to notice through the wave of chills and nausea that had come over me. He inspected my wounds as best as he could having to maneuver around the manacles and lengths of chain that weighed me down, took my vitals, and asked me a series of questions, most of which I don’t quite recall. There were several serious scowls, much deep thought, then a brief discussion with Twister over the need for medications. Doc Bio, unable to use his powers to alter biological matter on me, had been of the opinion that any kind of medication would only hamper the drying out process. Personally, I thought he had been far more interested in studying my unusual nature than healing my wounds.

    “Well, if you say so, Doc,” Twister said with a weary nod. “You’re the expert here.”

    “You say that, but I don’t think you mean it.” Aziz shook his head as he turned towards the prison door. “If you have any concerns over this woman’s health, she should be transferred to a prison hospital in the city.”

    “Doc, we already talked about this.” My head was hung as the chills turned to fever once more, but the food had calmed my gut enough to let me think. The Crusader seemed sincere enough; his doubt about what he was doing was obvious, at least to me. “I … look, there just isn’t a choice on this. I’ll make sure she’ll get her medication.”

    “Very well, Mr. Twister. I certainly hope you Crusaders know what you’re doing.” There was a surprising amount of bitterness in the man’s voice. Normal people almost never stood up to a Pushed: there was fear and awe, but rarely dispute. “The stocks at my hospital’s pharmacy are already low and -“

    “I’ll let the higher ups know.” Twister sighed and followed after the doctor. “Things will improve and fast. You’ll see.”

    As the doors opened with another hiss, I let myself settle back down on the sweat-stained cot. I must have been recovering somewhat because my mind turned over these new tidbits of information instead of slipping into another fever-dream. From the sound of it, Epic’s new regime was having problems. Predictable, really. It didn’t matter if you were Pushed or not, he rolled into Atlanta with a sneak attack and an invading army. Forget the internal rebellions, there’s the U.S. military to think about.

    That thought sparked a sudden sense of urgency. When this all started, we had barely averted the lighting of the proverbial powder keg at the Battle of Washington, salvaging enough good will with the U.S. government and people to prevent a war on American soil between normal and Pushed. Now, though, this kind of attack of part of the nation would trigger all of that and more. Just how long could we have to prevent it?

    No matter the pain, the sickness, or the obstacles, I had to do something. I needed to get free, find my friends, and …. I didn’t know what, but something. Lives were at stake.

    As my mind sparked with this new purpose, I felt something hard, cold, and metal tucked into the waistband of my orange prison slacks. For a long moment, there was the certainty that the sensation was just another new delusion brought on by my rattled psyche. Unlike all of those, though, this new feeling didn’t pass. In fact, the growing pressure as I tried to put more weight on it made it worse.

    It took a considerable amount of maneuvering to get at whatever it was. The thickness of the chains that limited my arms and legs was impressive, but the length considerably less so. I also had to factor in the need to keep whatever it was out of the prying eyes of the cameras I knew were watching me. Even so, it just took patience and time to jostle it loose from my waistband and to flop over until it was under my chest as opposed to the small of my back. I only hoped my jailers took this for one of my many fits of thrashing before sleep.

    Certain in the reality of the object now, I hazarded pushing myself up on my elbows just enough to peek at it, now right under my breasts. It looked distinctly like a key. More importantly, it looked like the key they had used to unlock these manacles the few times they had removed them to let me wash.

    Had the doctor put it in my waistband during the examination? I couldn’t remember it happening, but I didn’t entirely trust my own perceptions right now. It really was the only explanation, wasn’t it? Maybe he was someone sent by Rachel and Duane, a signal it was time to escape, that a plan was ready.

    I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I dropped back down on the key, feeling the cold metal against my breastbone through the thin prison clothes. It was the feeling of freedom and it was so very comforting.