Friday Snippets: She Deals in Lead

This week's Friday Snippet picks up, again where we left off two weeks ago. Dell, after escaping the nuclear wasteland of Columbia, has headed toward the little town of Mexico. She still deals with her choice to leave Roy, the man who loves her more than life. On her journey, she has been clotheslined by two brothers on a back country road for the gas in her motorcycle. We left her last week, under the gun of the younger brother.

Be sure to leave a link to your Snippet! Let me know what you think!

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Dell stared down the barrel of the gun, down into the darkness of her own death and she did not look away. The boy was terrified. Dell eased the hammer down on her shotgun and stepped back, easing away from him. The boy was sobbing and the pistol wavered in his hand, bobbing like a cork. It was hard to breathe. She swung her leg over her bike, revving it to life. His voice wavered through the cool of the night.

"Where are you going, man?" he asked. "Are you just gonna leave us here?" His voice cracked. His face had twisted into something ugly, changed by the realization of what he was doing. The gun vomited flame. Dell threw herself low over the lines of the bike, hugging herself to its frame.

She could have, should have killed him, should have slid the bike around, ridden it to the ground and unloaded the shotgun into his chest. But then she thought of what his brother would see when he woke. She couldn't bring herself to do it. She hated herself for it, but she could pray that the boy missed.

She hunched low as the night winds pulled at her coat. She was sure that at any moment she would feel the white hot slug between her shoulder blades, feel her own lukewarm blood on her jersey. Bullets whined past her ear and then her arm bloomed in a sunburst of pain. Blood splattered across the right lens of her gas mask. She didn't stop.

"She was sure that at any moment she would feel the white hot slug between her shoulder blades, feel her own lukewarm blood on her jersey.

Bullets whined past her ear and then her arm bloomed in a sunburst of pain. Blood splattered across the right lens of her gas mask."

It wasn't until she saw the shadow of the brothers' truck against the ridgeline that she slowed and allowed herself to breath. The air was stale and thick inside the gasmask and she ripped it off. Sweat flattened her curls to her head and burned her eyes. Her face was extremely pale and her hands shook violently as she brought the bike to a stop beside the truck. The smell of blood was almost overwhelming. The fuel gage on her bike hovered above empty.

Dell swung off the bike and slumped down beside the truck, easing her arm out of her coat. She cut the hem off of her jeans and tightened it in a tourniquet around her upper arm. For a moment, she let herself breath.

After she forced a hose down into the truck's tank, she cradled her arm in the curve of her body and with her teeth, tore open one of the Snickers Roy had packed. Swallowing down the chocolate, she cringed at the prospect of siphoning. Gas welled up in her mouth and she spat it out. She paused, her hackles rising. Someone was nearby. She was certain. She let the gas drain off into the bike's tank and pulled her shotgun into the shadow of her body.

So say we all.
Bri

Friday Snippets: I Hate to Say Adieu

Thank you guys so much for you input last week! We've reached the section of this story that originally started the whole idea: the bike. That's right. An image I found online of a refurbed bike started this whole story rolling, and now, my friends, we have arrived. Last week, Dell was reunited with Roy, her estranged lover and in the same snippet, she made the decision to leave his side and broke his heart. This week, she begins her cross-country journey...

Let me know what you think and definitely leave a link to your own snippets! I will be able to get to them fairly quickly this week because I've got most of my work out of the way.

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Dell waited until Roy had moved further into the dark to bow her head into her hands. She was cold now that he was gone, now that his weight did not pull her toward him as he leaned on her bedside. She wiped her at face, furious at the hot tears streaking her face and the dead weight dragging her heart down into her feet. She heard Roy moving somewhere in the dark of the basement, searching for something. She straightened, exhaling any regret or fear in a rush.

She was cold now that he was gone, now that his weight did not pull her toward him as he leaned on her bedside.

"You're going to leave now for real aren't you?" Caleb whispered. She started at the sound of his voice, but could not stop the slow nod of her head. He closed his eyes. His fingers twirled in Corleone's fur. "You love that man. A lot." She nodded again, her throat thick with left over guilt. She stood, brushed back his bangs. "Get some rest, boy," she said. She held her hand over his eyes until she felt his lashes brush her palm, warm with tears. She pulled her hand away and he did not open his eyes. It would be better if he didn't watch her leave.

She felt her way through the dark until she found Roy's hand. Silent, they stood there in the inky black and she could feel the beat of his heart through his fingers. So long they stood and she swore she would never let herself forget that moment. He guided her hand to the cold stock of her brother's shotgun. He pulled away and did not touch her again. "I'll strike a match for you, but I don't have any more fuel to spare," he said. "The doors at the top of the incline are open, but you may have to force your way through. I've loaded some ammo and supplies in the saddlebags."

"Roy-"

"No," he said. The murk deepened around them, Dell was sure and she bowed her head. She heard the rattle of matches. A small star bloomed at the tip of Roy's fingers. She saw her brother's refurbished WWII motorcycle, loaded with saddlebags and a scabbard strapped beside the front wheel.

She shouldered on the coat he'd laid across the seat with mask and goggles. Each moment the light burned down was agony. She did not cover her face just yet, letting the mask hang around her neck and pushing the goggles back on her head. As she kicked back the stand, she swung her leg over and slid the gun into the scabbard. The bike rumbled to life. She found Roy's eyes, smoky green and shadowed beneath his long black bangs. Only a moment of light was left between them.

The match blazed down, down to his fingers. Dark. Only dark. Dell pulled on the gasmask and goggles, roaring up the incline and out into the dull red glow of the end of the world.

So say we all.
Bri

p.s. I'll post a picture of a papa-san later this weekend. Promise :) It's the most comfy chair on earth.

Friday Snippets: Love in the Time of Apocalypse

Please, leave your link to a Friday Snippet! I won't be able to read them until later today when I get done, but I definitely want to see where all the stories are going this week. Please let me know what you think - We're almost to the section of this story that I absolutely adore. I'd like a general opinion of what you guys think. Thanks!

THE SNIPPET

We're returning to Dell and her masked man this week. If this is your first time to read any of this Friday Snippet story, here's the basic run down. After Columbia, MO is nuked, our heroine, Dell O'Sullivan barely survived and rescued her cat Corleone and her neighbor's son, Caleb. After searching through the burned-out city for hours for an unknown person named Roy, Dell collapsed. Exhausted, she was overcome by memories of her dead brother, Matheson and her long-lost friend, Iris Garrick. All of this as a strange masked-man walks toward them out of the smoke...

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Dell dreamed of that long ago summer when she saw her brother's face on the morning before he died, before they laid down in the cold earth with no thought to the winter frost. She dreamed of the last time she saw him in the doorway, dark haired and smiling. She knew Iris was there, somewhere in the sunlight.

Dell flinched. She woke and dark was all around. She was cold, her hair clinging in slick curls against her brow. She felt herself leaning to the left and reached out her hand in the shadows. She felt the slow rise and fall of Caleb's chest, the warm purr of Corleone tucked in the curve of his arm. The man in the mask sat across from her. She couldn't see his face, but the outline of his profile was unmistakable. Roman nose and Asian jawline, the gleam of his eyes dark dusted green and tilted exquisitely, courtesy of his father the GI and his mother the lady he loved and brought across the sea after the war.

"Roy," Dell croaked. He smiled, standing over her. Dell brought her hands to her eyes, wanting suddenly to weep. She felt him sit on the edge of the bed and she wrapped her arms around him, pulling herself to sit. Every bone in her body ached, but feeling him laugh against her shoulder was worth it. Caleb stirred in his sleep. Dell pulled back, comforted by the rough hands framing her face. Roy leaned his brow against hers and she could see the faint sheen of his green almond-shaped eyes.

"Where are we?" she whispered.

"We're underground. My house is gone, but we're in my basement."

"When happened?"

"Nuke."

"Was it just Columbia?"

"From what I can tell from the chatter, whoever got us, got most of the east coast."

Dell's hand went to her heart, her chest clutching tight. Roy watched her, judging his next words carefully. "I've heard that we may launch back, and you know what that means."

"Then there is no safe place," Dell said. "I want to be here with you if that's how it will happen."

"Then there is no safe place," Dell said. "I want to be here with you if that's how it will happen."

"I know," he said. He lowered his head, laughing quietly. "And I want you to stay."

"But we both want to know what's going on outside," she said. Those were the most awful words she could imagine saying, but she knew she would not stay with him. She had not stayed with Math died or when Iris left and she would not stay now that the world was ending. "You still have his bike?"

"Of course."

"And...the gun?"

"Yes," Roy said. He leaned forward suddenly, kissing her for the first time since the day of Math's funeral.

"I could give you anything, Dell," he said. "And you ask for those two things."

She could feel a sob deep down in her chest, but as she pulled away from him, his hand tangled in hers and she opened dry eyes.

She could hear the anger thick in his voice, tinged with grief and frustration. "I knew you would ask for those two things, Dell," he said. She rested a hand on each of his shoulders for balance and stood. He looked up at her and she saw his face, streaked with grime.

"I'll give you both," he said. He bowed his head against her, and his words were muffled against her heart. "I could give you anything, Dell," he said. "And you ask for those two things."

So say we all.
Bri

Friday Snippets: Shadows Taller Than Our Souls

And we're back with Dell this week. After the nuclear blast in Columbia killed her friend Daniel, Dell rescued her neighbor's young son, Caleb. Since then, she has made her way through Columbia with Corleone, her cat, and Caleb. Wounded and exhausted, Dell makes the decision to hand the boy off to some soldiers in a jeep above the drain where they are hiding. She writes his information on his arm in permanent marker and he begs her to let him stay with her.

Let me know what you think and please leave a link to your own Friday Snippet!

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Crouched there in the dark under the street side drain pipe, Dell saw Caleb's face and ash frosted his shoulders like snow. The jeep was rumbling above them, purring and coughing. She had to send the boy up, let the soldiers take care of him. And then the jeep rumbled on, down into the fire-eaten city, and Dell was still staring at the boy gulping down sobs in front of her. Her vision blurred and tears burned in her dry eyes.

Caleb flung himself at her, throwing his permanent-inked arms around her neck and choking on his tears as he tried to talk. She closed her eyes, shaking her head. She told herself she would not regret this decision. She'd done that before, when she sent her brother away. The last time she saw Math alive, he turned in the door, smiled with the early sunshine at his back and was gone into the morning. Dell forced her eyes open. Not now. Matheson had no place here in a world of ash and broken glass.

The last time she saw Math alive, he turned in the door, smiled with the early sunshine at his back and was gone into the morning.

She let Corleone into one of the pillow cases, letting him enough room so he could stick his head out to investigate, then slung both cases onto her back. She stood, Caleb's ear pressed against her chest, his arms smearing ink around her neck. He wrapped his legs around her waist, and under the shadow of leaning office buildings and skeletal skyscrapers she carried him.

She kept her distance from the wounded and the blind, those burned and staggering through the ash-drifted streets. She turned his head, forcing his eyes away and covering his ears.

"Where are we going?" Caleb mumbled against her.
"We're going to a friend. Now close your eyes," she said. "Roy will know what to do and we're almost there."

She was running before she knew it, and each step was agony up her back. She wanted to take off her shoe, the pressure of it like a vise, but she was struck by the strange fear that all of her blood would pour out if she did so. She swayed on her feet, stopped. Caleb looked up at her.

"What's wrong?" He was yelling. She could only hear him as if from a great distance, from deep down under dark waters. Dell was on her knees, ash puffing up phantom-like around her. Caleb stood beside her, trying to pull her to stand. She put out a hand to steady herself.

A man moved toward them through the smoke and his eyes were heavy lenses reflecting ruin and fire.

A man moved toward them through the smoke and his eyes were heavy lenses reflecting ruin and fire. His face was masked, monstrous with old faded leather. She was on her back then and she saw only sky, clear blue above the roll of heat. Shadows swept around them, heavier and darker than space. She wondered at that moment if Math ever saw the sky one last time before...she flinched away from that again. She turned her head.

The man with the mask loomed over them, their faces reflected in his light-white lenses.

So say we all.
Bri

Friday Snippets: When the Centre Cannot Hold

Sorry for the sporadic updates this week, but I promise that once things settle down, I will have a more regular update schedule. This week is our last with Iris for a while, so I hope this helps endear her to you guys a little more. Next week, we join back up with Dell in Columbia and we'll be neck deep in the action (imagine the trailer guys deep voice over this).

Let me know what you think and please leave a link to your own Friday Snippet!

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“The governor? The National Guard?” the man behind the barricade chuckling now, a terrible sobbing sound that sent shivers through Iris’s chest. “There is no state, man. No state, no government, nobody. We’re on our own.”

“If there’s no state, by whose authority do you hold the road?” Iris called, “Please, just let us through. All we want is news of what’s happened!”

“By whose authority?” the man called. All of his laughter had fled. “By this authority.”

He stood, a heavy gun cradled in the crook of his arm like some horrible monster. Sweat slid down his face despite the morning cool, a heavy ammunition belt slung low on his hips. Iris drew back; the man saw it and smirked.


"What's happened, little lady, is that the world's gone to hell," he said. He took a pull on his dying cigarette, his face twisting in disgust. He flicked ash and ember.
“I was there two days ago when the nukes hit. Governor’s dead.” The gun swung across the road and held them in its sights.

"What's happened, little lady, is that the world's gone to hell," he said.“I was there two days ago when the nukes hit. Governor’s dead."

“They got Raleigh in the first wave – with D.C. Portsmouth, and Charleston. Atlanta, Chicago, and St. Louis in the next half hour. All gone. Anything else you wanted to know?”

Under her arms, Iris felt Andrew blanch. "Our cars, our radios?"

"The EMPs from the bombs. One nuke would done most of it," the man said. "But all of those? There's nothing left except a few old cars that might still run. Now get off our road."

Andrew's chest had gone tight. Iris knew what they heard from the thieves on the road was true; what Andrew feared in the burned wanderers was true. Iris bowed her head against his back.

“You can at least let us through to the Traveler’s Rest,” Andrew tried. Iris could hear the desperation in his voice. And she knew if she could hear it, the men could hear it, and she knew what that meant. The man with the gun smiled, and it was all teeth.

"I've heard this before," he said. He popped his pack of cigarettes against heel of his hand and pulled on free. The lighter flared like the morning through the dew. "You'll go to the Traveler's Rest, you'll go to Ashville. And then you'll want to see the cities for yourselves. Then you'll want medicine, then our doctors, then our guns and ammo. So, in the end, anarchy is loosed upon the world...as they say."

The grenade sailed out against the cold blue morning sky, black and streaming smoke in a tattered banner behind. When it tinked across the pavement, Iris felt Andrew wind tight. She reached around, gripped his wrist and dragged down on the reins. The horse reared. The detonation took the beast full in the chest and the concussion rolled over them in almost visible waves. There was nothing but smoke.

Iris rolled into the ditch, dragging Andrew after her. The roar of the barricade gunfire was deafening, but Iris wasn't sure she could have heard her own heart beat in those blind moments. And then her chest was aching. She couldn't breath. The sun had climbed up high, and she could hear Andrew calling her. He was beside her, forcing her to stop. Her throat was raw and her shirt hung heavy with sweat. The road was far behind.

She slumped down against a jut of stone, covering her face with her hands. She couldn't seem to think of words to say and that she could only wipe at snot and sweat, flushed with fear and embarassment. But Andrew was beside her.

"You know that's why I love you, don't you?" he said. The words were like a rush of cold water. He said, "Because you'll always look me in the eye."

He was talking, and his voice was a strange lull of nonsense and comforting phrases. He cradled her face in his hands, pushing back her blood-stiff curls. Her tears made mud on her cheeks.

“Iris,” he said. “Iris, I want you to look at me.” And somehow, she did. He smiled and it was strange on his pale face and the smear of purple bruise across his cheekbone. “You know that’s why I love you, don’t you?” he said. The words were like a rush of cold water. He said, “Because you’ll always look me in the eye.” And that was when he kissed her for the first time.

So say we all.
Bri

Friday Snippets: The End of the Line at Omega

I changed my mind. Iris gets a snippet next week to finish this section. Figured she needed another and I like her so far - she has potential to be a great contrast to Dell.

I identify much more with the Dell character, so naturally, it's the easier for me to write. Who do you see yourself as? Are you a Dell or an Iris? An Andrew or Caleb? If any of you are Corleones (Dell's cat), you rock so hard.

Anyway, this week picks up from the last snippet. Journeying from Andrew's farm in Greenville, they are robbed of one of their horses and very nearly their lives. But they do learn Ashville has been nuked. After Iris rescues Andrew from the thieves, they flee into the night. So, this week...

Let me know what you think and please leave a link to your own Friday Snippet!

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Iris stirred, dew heavy in her hair. She dreamed fire and mushroom clouds, bones bleached under the sun and oceans burned to ash. She dreamed of home and the long summers after graduation when she sat on the beach alone.

Half-awake, she felt for the silver chain around her neck, hidden below her shirt. The smooth metal against her fingertips and the pendent over her heart were reassuring. She opened her eyes in the dark before dawn. Andrew’s jacket covered her but the place beside her where he should have lain was cool. She sat, shouldering into the over-long sleeves.

Andrew sat across from her, his face a blur of shadow. She shrank back when she saw the long gun across his knees.

“What’s wrong?”

“Iris,” he said. His face was very pale. When they stopped their mad ride from the thieves on the road, both had agreed to sleep the night through and continue in daylight. His hair was ruffled and wild. He looked as if he hadn’t slept.

“Iris, there’s something you need to know. While you were sleeping, I saw–” He cleared his throat. He wouldn’t look at her. “I saw others on the road.” Iris felt something cold settle against her heart. Her fingers clenched around the sweat-stiff fabric of his coat. “They were burned, Iris. From head to toe. And they didn’t speak. I don’t think they could.”

He shivered, his face twisting horribly. She could smell his sickness and her stomach turned. She wrapped her arms around herself, imagining ghostly figures slurring out of the fog. Andrew’s voice dropped. He seemed to look through her. “They didn’t see either. They just walked. We can’t stay here.”

“Jesus, Drew.”

“They’re coming from the Traveler’s Rest,” he said. “I just wanted you to know when we ride down there…I wanted you to know what may be waiting for us.” She nodded, swallowing nothing but fear, like freezing fire. He mounted and pulled Iris up behind him; when they stepped tentatively onto the road, her eyes widened.

Through the morning mists and dawn shadows, a large track tank crouched like a nightmare in the street.

As their horse reared, Iris clung to Andrew; she could feel his heart thundering through his back. Through the morning mists and dawn shadows, a large track tank crouched like a nightmare in the street. Behind concrete barricades and sandbag hovels, men in olive drab sighted down machine gun barrels. A voice, thin with stress called out in the dusky morning shadows.

“You are under orders to turn back. No civilians are allowed past Checkpoint Omega. Return to your homes!”

“We’ve come for news,” Andrew called. “Our power’s been out for about three days and nothing – not cars or cell phones or computers – nothing works. We’re from Greenville. What’s going on? Has the governor called out the national guard?”

And that was when the man behind the barricade began to laugh.

So say we all.
Bri

Friday Snippets: Glass Parking Lots

Alright - this snippet picks back up with Andrew and Iris on the road to Ashville. They have just been attacked. Iris was grazed, but Andrew fell from his horse. Whether or not he is still alive is uncertain. If you want to catch up, check out the menu bar above and scroll over the Friday Snippets section! (Isn't that cool?)

You know what else is cool: the illustration by my friend Jocelyn. Have a look. :)

Next week is our last week with Iris for a while - but don't worry, she's still going to Ashville. We'll be jumping back to Dell in Columbia where she has to find a way out of the ruined city, obtain arms and munitions and some form of transportation (read: a sweet motorcycle).

Let me know what you think and please leave a link to your own Friday Snippet!

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Shadows stepped out of the dark, moonlight silvering the indigo metal of their guns. Iris pressed her heels into her horse’s flanks and bolted. The gelding took the roadside fence in a single bound and thundered across the open fields. The men’s laughter echoed across the field. A few fired half-heartedly after her.

With a strong arm, she dragged on the reigns, pulling hard left. The gelding reared, spun on his back legs, pawing at the air. They came down hard. Iris hunched over his dark mane, whispering and patting his neck reassuringly. When the men lost her in the dark, they lit little lanterns and circled Andrew’s horse and his body.

Her heart hammered and hot shame crept over her face. Blood burned in her right eye, and she clenched her fists to stop from screaming. Andrew was still there. Lying in the road. She closed her eyes. She heard the men’s voices like a low rumble of thunder but could not make out what they said.

Andrew was still there. Lying in the road. She closed her eyes.

They dumped Andrew’s pack onto the pavement. They passed the peanut butter jar between them, dividing up the canned fruit. And then she saw them bend, hook their arms around Andrew and lift him between them. The sound of his voice telling them what they could go and do with themselves may have been the loveliest thing she heard in her whole life.

But that was when one of the men lifted his gun. Iris bared her teeth. Without a sound, the gelding streaked over the field, back toward the road. The wind threw Iris’ long auburn hair back from her face and in a moment of weightlessness, she cleared the fence again. Andrew turned and she saw the smirk in his eyes. The men holding him up gawked at her and dropped him. The gelding crashed into their midst, his hooves, cutting down the man with the gun.

Iris wheeled. One of the men reached for her. Just as she had seen Dell do when they were young, Iris slid out of the saddle, putting the horse between them. The second her feet touched the asphalt, she bounded back over, swiveling her gloved hands around the horn. Her feet caught the man in the face. She saw his teeth scatter out across the black tar. Mounting again, she darted past the other shadowy figures, slung low over the left flank of her horse.

She saw Andrew, crouched low. She caught him around the waist, clothes-lining him. She heard him grunt, but she pulled him up with her momentum, throwing him across the bows of her saddle. She rode down a boy who stood up out of the dark a pistol in his hand. She swallowed a wail as his face disappeared in the dark under her horse and she blazed on.

She rode and rode, until the horse lathered and she thought they might outrun the fear racing just at her back. Andrew’s hand clutching her wrist was the only thing that dragged her back to herself. She brought the gelding up sharp. Andrew slid off, clutching at his middle. She dropped down beside him.
“Are you hit? Move your hands, let me see!”

“Dammit woman,” Andrew groaned. He gestured to the saddle, waving his arm as she had when she grabbed him up. “That hurt.”

“I could have left you, Drew,” she said. “You big baby. I could have gone on to Ashville without you. Just for letting them take the peanut butter, I should have left you.” She could feel a laugh in her throat, but tears burned in her eyes. He looked up, frowned at the blood on her temple. He reached to touch her face and the heat from the road dazzled up around them.

“About that,” Andrew said. “I heard those men talking before you came back. They came from Ashville.”

“And?”

“They said it wasn’t a city any more.” He looked away, pulling his hand back. “They said it was a glass parking lot. Just shadows and dust and radiation.”

“What?”

So say we all.
Bri

Friday Snippet: Looks Like We're in for Nasty Weather

Alright. We're back with Iris in the hill country outside of Greenville, SC. She's just asked her friend Andrew for a horse so that she can make the ride up to Ashville, NC. Almost two days have passed since the end of the world and all cars, electronics and means of communication are dead. Just in case you don't know, the referenced song is Bad Moon Rising by Creedence Clearwater Revival (they make everything better). Let me know what you think and please leave a link to your own Friday Snippet!

Copyrighted, do not reproduce, material liable to change. Etc.

“You want to go right now? Tonight?”

“Yes,” she said. He shook his head, running his hands back through his shortened hair. He sighed as if frustrated, as if he forgot taking the scissors to it that morning. His mouth twisted in a frown.

“It’s a long ride to Ashville,” he said. “We could make the Traveller’s Rest by early morning. They’re sure to have some clue, y’think?”

“We?”

“Sure,” he said, turning to the house. He left the door open as he rummaged through the front closet. “You won’t be going alone, that’s for sure. And one of my horses doesn’t count for the plural. I’m coming with you.”

“The Traveler’s Rest it is then,” she agreed. He emerged, sneezing. He flopped blankets and a few belts into her arms and slung a dusty army rucksack over his shoulder. She followed him into the kitchen where he packed canned goods, bread and some Cheerios.

“Peanut butter,” she said. He made a face and she said, “I know, I know. You think you’ll suffocate on it. But I shouldn’t have to be without because you’re a baby.” He gave her a put on frown, but tossed the jar and a knife into the sack.

“Do you think we should take weapons?” Andrew asked, lifting their supplies under his arm. Iris strapped two of his belts around the roll of blankets and slung them across her back.

“Weapons? Really Drew?”

“Yeah,” he said. They stepped into the evening and he locked the door. “Like guns.”

“Seriously?”

“It can’t hurt,” he said, smirking. She stopped, leaning her hip out and crossed her arms. He grimaced. “Sorry. Bad joke. But I think we probably should.”

“You have guns?”

“My father left me a few,” he leaned against the barn doors, the scent of hay and horses rolling over them in thick waves. That smell always reminded her of summer and kittens hissing at rats in her father’s loft.

“I don’t want a weapon,” she said.

“Iris.”

“No. You can play cowboy, Drew,” she snapped. Maybe a little harshly. She shrugged it off and said, “I’m just going to find out what happened. You know?” He shrugged, and she followed him into the swallowing shade of the barn. They saddled in rush of cricket song. As she lead her gelding into the yard, he stepped into the tack room.

Fireflies flickered dazedly in the heat. When he stepped out, she saw a long gun broken over the crook of his arm. He loaded it with a shell thicker than her thumb, snapped the barrel into place.

“Drew.”

“I know you don’t like it,” he said. He never looked at her as he slung the over his back by a wide leather strap. “But I shouldn’t have to do without because…” He sighed. He shook his head, and with a tap of his heels, his horse cantered through the gates. Iris followed wanting to say something, anything. And then Andrew pulled up, waiting for her to come up beside him.

Silver filled his eyes, the strange wheeling stars above usually swallowed by the city light. He smiled and she was glad for the dark as she blushed. Then as if in relief, he leaned back lazy in his saddle as they sauntered on. He tilted his head back his profile harsh against the sky.

I see a bad moon rising, I see trouble on the way, he sang. He kept his voice low, as if he shared a secret. Hope you got your things together… She laughed as his voice rose and he played air guitar, picking furiously and running his fingers down the invisible chords.

“Come any closer and we’ll shoot!” a voice cried out of the dark. Andrew pulled his horse up sharp. The mare reared. Thunder roared through the dark. Something hot blazed against her cheek. Blood splattered her shirt. Andrew sprawled in the road, the contents of his pack rolling in the dust. Iris screamed.

So say we all.
Bri

Friday Snippet: 36 Hours After the End of the World

Alright. This week, we meet Iris Garrick, Dell's estranged long-time friend. She has no way of knowing she (and quite a few others) missed the end of the world. Hope you enjoy! Let me know and leave a link to your own snippets! Also, if you want to catch up, links to past snippets are listed in the left sidebar under Dispatches.

Copyrighted, do not reproduce, material liable to change. Etc.

The sun set low below the South Carolina hills and the world gleamed amber and ghost-blue. Iris Garrick stood in her studio doorframe, watching the stars burn through the cloudbanks piled up from the coast. She tossed her towel into the golden shadows of the glassed in room. She locked the door and took the winding side path down the hill toward town.

The last summer heat pushed down like the hand of God and Iris pulled her long burnt auburn curls into a fitful bun. Long strands escaped, but most of it tangled and stayed once the she wrapped the elastic band in a near-Gordian knot. Almost thirty-six hours before, the power had gone out. No downed traffic lines, no problem at the plant.

Cell phones all over town were dead and the landlines crackled with static. More strange was what happened when she tried to crank her car. The engine wouldn’t even stir. Iris knew there was no hope for the library’s desktops because of the power outage. But two things worried her more than anything. First, not even the battery power on her laptop would bring the thing to life. Second, the power outage and the death of every automobile in town occurred simultaneously, as near as she could figure.

As she came around the curve, she stepped carefully through the debris of one many wrecks strewn across the highways. She cringed from that thought. Those who wrecked their dead cars in town were lucky. But those on the country roads – those she heard from her studio – those drivers could not be saved. No ambulance. No helicopter. No phone to call for help. Nothing.

She wouldn’t think about that now. She couldn’t.

Passing the tree line, she saw the town’s baseball diamond and shielded her eyes against the sun. Children’s voices and the crack of a bat. The catcher leaned back on his heels as the ball arced high. Iris raised her hand and smiled. She palmed it out of the air. The catcher, a child of maybe ten, threw off…her mask, planting small fists on her hips.

A mop of black wavy hair spilled over her ears and plastered her forehead under the catcher’s mask. Iris almost choked. The girl’s frown and the jut of her chin brought life to memories Iris thought were six years dead. It was her face. Dell’s face. And that was when Iris made her decision. She would talk to Andrew. She tossed the ball back and ran.

She sprinted to the library instead of her little rent house squashed between two suburban monsters. The library doors and windows were shut: a sure sign Andrew was gone for the day. After the heat sweltered over them last night, he took scissors to his honey-colored locks this morning. That was a mistake she wouldn’t let him make again. His hair stuck out in shaggy spikes. No doubt, he wouldn’t stay in a library without open air.

With the day dying, Iris didn’t reach his home until after moonrise. She saw him before he saw her. Crossing the yard, a stack of books under his arm, Andrew paused. Moonlight dusted his blond hair and sweat-darkened shirt. He saw her standing in the road and waved. She smiled helplessly. He came up close and she clenched her fists. She couldn’t stop now.

“I need to ask a favor, Drew,” Iris said. “I’m tired of waiting for news. We all know something’s happened. So I’m going to Ashville. And I need a horse.”

So say we all.
Bri

Friday Snippet: From the Mouths of Babes

This week's Friday Snippet picks up with Dell in the wasted city of Columbia, Missouri. Her friend Daniel is dead. After her apartment collapsed and killed the family who lived above her, Dell has taken the last Tailor child, Caleb, under her care. This one is a little longer than the others, but it reads quickly with a lot of dialog. I wanted to get through this section so that we could meet Iris next week. Enjoy!

Copyrighted, do not reproduce, material liable to change. You know. Etc.

Dell hooked her arms more firmly under Caleb’s knees and paused in the center of a cratered street. The boy lolled against her back. Behind them, the mushroom cloud still clawed skyward. Dell was sure her lungs were full of ash and the dead. Caleb’s legs gave out two hours back and since she had carried him.

She wasn’t so concerned about that as the sense of vertigo that grew with every step and every squish of blood in her shoe. But she knew she couldn’t very well stop with the nuclear winds behind her.

That was when she heard the crackle of radio. She slid down the lichen-crusted side of a deep drainage ditch. Laying Caleb in the cool curve of a concrete pipe, she hunched in the shadows and listened. A jeep rumbled overhead and stopped just at the other side. She heard only snatches.

“Get out of this hellhole….fallout…not just here…St. Louis, Shreveport….Columbus, Richmond, D.C.” She slumped down beside the boy. Corleone curled against her and Dell heard her heart beat hollow in her chest. Surveying her two pillowcases, she made her decision.

No way could she take care of a child in her condition. There was not enough food. Not enough water. Not enough of anything. But she wasn’t going to a refugee camp. She wanted to settle accounts, here at the end of the world. She smirked at the melodrama.

The boy would get medical attention and food if she left him with FEMA or the National Guard. She bowed her head, covering her face with her hands. Crouching, she emptied the pillowcases on the dry walkway of the drain tunnel. She divided out the water and the food and what little medication she had. When she was satisfied that she would have enough to get where she was going, she packed the rest and set it aside for the boy. Her pile, she wrapped up and slung into the sheet with Corleone.

Dell woke the boy and forced him to sit up on the ledge. She pushed his sleeve up above his elbow. After fishing in her pockets, she found a permanent marker and uncapped it with her teeth. On his arm, she wrote his full name and address in capital letters.

“How old are you Caleb?”

“I’ll be nine on November 4,” he said. Dell added his date of birth and his home phone number. That was ridiculous, she knew, but it was instinct. She took his right arm, writing furiously now. Above, the engine rumbled to life.

“How many brothers and sisters do you have, Caleb?” She was careful to keep it in the present tense.

“Four.”

“And your dad makes seven to your family right?”

“We don’t count him,” Caleb said, dragging his nose across his sleeve. “But yeah." Dell scrawled 2/7. She capped the pen after adding a few more lines.

“What’s all that mean?” He was crying again. “You’re going to leave me aren’t you? I'll be all alone!”

"You're not alone," she said. She took the boy’s face in her hands and forced him to look at her. And then she lied. She hated herself for it, but she knew he could not crumble now in a drainage ditch. She needed him to listen. So she lied.

"I saw Joshua," she said. "I saw your brother. When the National Guard asks you, you say that you saw him. You tell them you're not alone. They'll try to find him. Understand?"

"He's alive?"

"Yes."

"Joshua's alive," he smiled, swallowing the lie and giving it back to her. Dell's chest ached with guilt.

“I need you to listen now,” she said forcing back bile at what she'd just done. She pointed to 7 MILES – SSE – G-ZERO. “This means you were seven miles south-southeast from where the bomb hit. Show this to the soldiers, and they’ll know how much medicine to give you.” She pointed to the O at his wrist.

“Do you remember last Christmas, when you got sick?” she said. "You needed blood and I gave some because our blood matched. This O means you have O kind of blood. Alright?”

“Alright. What’s the 2 slash 7 mean?”

“You don’t worry about those. The soldiers will know what they’re for.” She wrapped his fingers around the knot of the heavier pillowcase. “This is all the food I can give you, Caleb. You don’t give this away to anybody, you understand?”

“What if a grown-up asks for it?”

“Nobody.”

“What if they tell me–!”

“Nobody!”

“But I don’t want you to go," he choked. "I want to go with you. What if I don’t remember all that stuff you just said?” The car above was moving off. If she was going to do this, she had to do it now.

Next week, we pick up with Iris, Dell's estranged friend, 1500 miles to the east. Let me know what you think and be sure to leave your own link for me to read your Friday Snippet!



So say we all.
Bri

90K for Sven: Of Writing, Canine Rage, and the Net

Because Sven Says!

Sweating with Sven has been one of the greater experiences for my writing. In revising XIII, I have found a stronger voice and much more enjoyable characters. Needless to say, I am pleasantly surprised. The word count is just enough every day that I don't feel rushed and can be incredibly proud of my prose this round of revision.

And I Will Show You Something Different...

A Handful of Dust is also coming along nicely. It's not part of the Sweat challenge, but I am serializing it every week through Friday Snippets (which, btw, are all collected and numbered in the left sidebar under Dispatches). So far, everyone seems to enjoy the story and I enjoy (read: have amazing amounts of fun) researching. This Friday, I'll leave Dell in a particularly difficult situation and next week Iris will be introduced. I hope you guys like her as much as Dell.

On the Miracles of Law Enforcement

In real life, I've had to call the cops on my neighbor's dog. Now before you say, "Oh, Bri, that's so horrible. Don't you like dogs?" listen to this. It barked constantly. Every. Single. Night. It barked from 1:30 AM to 8:00 AM. Talking to the owner did no good, so I resorted to desperate measures. And for the past two nights since the cops visited him, I've had solid sleep. Whoorah.

The Net is Vast and Infinite Lonely

I've gotten to know quite a few of the writer-bloggers in this little area of the net and had a blast. So, this weekend I tried to find a few other fantasy and science fiction writer-bloggers. Strangely, I could find very few who kept consistent blogs or who responded to conversation in their comments. Can anyone point me toward a blogger community of these sorts? Or are we it? The last stronghold of fantasy, science fiction and romantic writers in all the vastness of the Net? :D

So say we all.
Bri

Friday Snippet: The Atomic Weight of Aluminum

After joining up with Sven to sweat for the next 70 days, this Friday Snippet almost slipped my mind. Without further ado, here is the Friday Snippet. We rejoin Dell in the back alley lot with Mrs. Tailor and Caleb after a nuclear blast has laid waste to Columbia, Missouri.

Copyrighted, do not reproduce, material liable to change. You know. Etc.

Dell helped the older woman down to the ground and dropped to the dirt beside her. Before she could stand, Mrs. Tailor had her by the shoulders, fingernails biting through her jersey.

“Where are my children?” Her eyes were wild and bloodshot. Tears tracked white streaks down her ash-smeared face. Dell disentangled herself. Panic was infectious.

“I’m not sure,” Dell said. She gripped the mother’s wrists, forcing her to focus. “I’ll stay and look for them. But you can’t keep Caleb here too long. You need to get out of the city! Find a FEMA station or the National Guard. They’ll take care of you.”

“My children!”

“Look! If he stays here, he will die. You have to help him. You have to get him out.”

“You take him,” she said. She shoved her son toward Dell. “I have to stay and look for my children!”

She staggered toward the sagging apartment. Caleb buried his wet face against Dell’s stomach, his sobs muffled. She stood helpless, her hands at her sides. She choked for just a moment, and scrambled back from the fear creeping up in her chest. As she gripped the boy’s arm, her expression hardened. The apartment shuddered. She dragged Caleb after her, his fist pounding against her ribs. He screamed.

Daniel lay in the grass, his blood like paint splattered on the green stalks. His eyes mirrored a mercury sky. The fires crept closer and dying embers flared like cold stars.

Dell took the baseball bat from Daniel’s hand. The aluminum was still warm from his grip as she slung it through her belt loop. Her pants leg was heavy with her own blood. Fire lanced up her leg.

A few sharp cracks, like bones breaking, tore the air and Dell heard the east wall of the apartment cave. She slung Caleb in front of her, shielding him against her. The apartment collapsed in a roar of rolling dust and debris. Dell felt the boy’s heartbeat through his back.

She closed her eyes, breathed. She stood and the pain in her foot hissed. The boy clutched her hand, his fingers clamped on her wrist. Corleone mewed and the pillowcases swung heavy from her shoulder. In a haze of shock, Dell stumbled through the ruined streets toward wailing sirens. The boy on her arm followed, choking back his sobs with ragged hiccups.

Next week will probably be the last section with Dell for a while. We'll have a scene of Iris and Dell in college, and then we'll jump to Iris in the present, a few days after Doomsday. Let me know what you think! Also, if you're doing Friday Snippets, leave a link and I'll check it out!



So say we all.
Bri

Post-Apocalyptica Magazine Reveals New Fashions!

My good friend Joce drew these for me last night and this morning. She's been keeping up with the Friday Snippets and has offered amazing input for Iris' character. The story A Handful of Dust focuses on the estranged friendship of these two characters and I draw on my real life friendship with Joce to write those moments when they are happy and how it might feel to lose that.

Also: I got out of jury duty. They picked all the jurors they needed from yesterday's pool, so my services were not required. Three cheers for the justice system.

Dell O'Sullivan

So far, I've only introduced you guys to Dell O'Sullivan, the baseball-loving nuke-dodging heroine who eventually travels across the wastelands of the US to find her friend and find a place to call home on the coast. Joce got everything into this pic - Dell's looks, outfit, (notebook, pencil, mail bag, baseball bat, WWII helmet and the cutest haircut ever). Yay! Dell in a rationalist, a minimalist and someone focused on survival.

Iris Garrick

Joce also drew up a sketch for Iris Garrick - the more artistic of the two friends. Iris comes to embody the "mother-nuturer" in the story and is much more focused on living - not just suriving. That is a 12 gauge flare gun she's holding, and Joce drew her perfectly. Nice coat too. I'm a little jealous. Iris doesn't have as much survivalist gear as Dell because she doesn't travel much. She stays in Ashville and Greenville in North and South Carolina, holding together her small community. Hence the not so minimalist approach.

So say we all.
Bri

The Horror, The Horror

Thanks to MerylF for the Rockin' Girl Blogger Award! It's pretty, don't you think? I'll tag Annie (I'll answer the other four random things you tagged me with later this week!), Joce, Pam, Staci and Joely!

The Horror, The Horror!

I always get high-strung during this part of the summer: I feel like I should pack, that I shouldn't get too comfortable here at home. In just a few weeks, I'll move me and mine back up to Little Rock for another school year. With classes and thesis, applications to grad schools and the GRE, as well as my job at the Writing Center, this looks to be a busy year.

Designed for Living in the Writing World!

In the writing world, I've been working on a couple of projects at once, building up word count and coming up with some pretty cool ideas. I've had the urge to turn one of my sci-fi short stories into a novella or comic. My novel,XIII,needs to be revised with the addition of fifteen more scenes and I'll definitely continue A Handful of Dust for a possible short story.

PSA: Don't Use It As A Knapsack Or Pillow!

Today, I've been digging into what someone would need to do to survive a nuclear disaster. Surprisingly, if you know what you're doing, your odds of survival don't suck so bad (not that they're very good in the first place). If the initial blast doesn't get you, odds are, you'll survive.

What will get you is living in a world with fallout and radiation poisoning, where rule of law has failed and where meds, ammo, food, fuel and water are scarce.

I think what's most frightening in these "post-apocalyptic" books and movies is that, sure the environment is hostile and resources are low, but what we have most to fear is each other. Remember that scene in 28 Days Later when our zombie slayers meet up with "law and order"? I knew that while the infected were psychotic red-eyed rage-machines, the military men were infinitely more dangerous.

Same thing applies in Cormac McCarthy's The Road. You would think meeting other men, other sentient life, in a devastated world would be a good thing. But the most horrifying moments in that book (emphasis on horrifying), are those when the father and son encounter various bands of men roving the wasted countryside.

Speaking of Horrifying!

I've got jury duty on Tuesday.

So say we all.
Bri

Friday Snippet: Calm Like a Bomb

In this week's Friday Snippet, we continue the adventures of Dell. The story finds her in the back alley lot after the nuclear blast she narrowly avoided by calling in sick to work. Daniel's fate still hangs in the balance. Hope you enjoy! Let me know!

Copyrighted, do not reproduce, material liable to change. You know. Etc.

She choked on heat and death when her first breath after the bomb rattled in her chest. Rolling onto her stomach, she clutched her screams in her fists. Grit groaned in her mouth, muddy with blood and sand. She wretched, quivering as she wiped her mouth on her soot-blackened sleeve. She hooked her fingers through the chain link fence, pulling herself to stand. Her bones ached and blood squelched in her left shoe.

But it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the smoke swallowing up the sun and sky, and the buildings like skeletons staggering through the flames. She couldn’t hear. She saw the flames and the crumbling buildings, but all was silent as a snow-dusted sky.

Water gushed from a broken main in the street near her apartment and the walls slumped in as though exhausted. Debris blocked the door. On the balcony, Dell saw Caleb Tailor howling. His mother rocked him, but her face was empty. Up the drainpipe and over the wrought iron railing, Dell climbed. She crouched beside them, but neither looked at her. She shivered. Stumbling through their apartment, she couldn’t seem to keep her balance.

Out in the hall, she used the wall for support. A dull ache throbbed behind her eyes and thick white dust coated everything. Blood tickled her temple and sweat stung her eyes. Each step was a cranberry smear along the floor. It was difficult to think, difficult to breath. She was vaguely aware of the panic hissing just behind the pain.

When she found her apartment door jammed, she shouldered her way through. The place reeled like a drunken nightmare; all the angles leaned just enough to add to her vertigo. She reached for Daniel’s pack and saw the ash and blood on her jeans. Her knuckles clinched white on the doorframe.

Corleone meowed, crouching where she left him asleep near the fridge. She knew she was in shock but it was a distant thing. The cat stretched: dust drifted off him like a cocaine cloud. The apartment moaned. In splintered frames, the windowpanes squealed and shattered.

Dell blinked. And then she moved. She slung her pillows from their cases, threw open the cabinet, and swept the canned goods into the first pillowcase. Snatching up the second, she threw in bread and what was left of the bottled water from the fridge. Knotting the two cases together, she slung them over her shoulder. With her sheet and blanket bundled under her arm, she ducked into the hall. Corleone followed.

Up the stairs and through the Tailor’s toy-strewn apartment, she hobbled. On the balcony, Caleb still whimpered. Dell tied Corleone against her with the sheet; he squirmed, but she ignored him. Kneeling, she gripped the eight-year-old’s arms and in her best shut-the-hell-up voice, snapped at him to be quiet.

The balcony trembled and Caleb screamed. When Dell pointed to the drainpipe, the boy shimmied to the ground without question. Fear quickened in her blood. Biting her lip, she waited until he was well out of sight. When she slapped Mrs. Tailor, the woman’s head rocked back as though on a hinge. Color rushed back into her clammy face and her breath came in a gust. She stared up at Dell, actually seeing her for the first time. Dell smiled.

So say we all.
Bri

Friday Snippet: Baseball at World's End

After trying to get the Snippets code to work all day, I sort of wanted to punch it in the face; I say thankee sai to Meryl for showing me how to get the autolinks to work. But as far as the snippet goes, here is the first of the post-apocalyptic-chick-lit. Any ideas for a title?

Copyrighted, do not reproduce, material liable to change. You know. Etc.

On the morning before the nuclear bomb went off over Columbia, Dell called in sick to her office. This was her ritual, every autumn, just before the first serious frost. The World Series was done and Dell and Daniel and the neighborhood boys would troop out to bid goodbye to the season.

With her voice still thick with sleep, it wasn’t difficult to convince the secretary of her sniffles or the gravel in her voice. When the girl, some intern they’d picked up from Mizzou, repeated the message and hung up, Dell bounded out of bed. Throwing on jeans, long sleeves and a jersey, she stumbled into her shoes. As she passed Corleone asleep on the counter, she ruffled the heavy tabby’s ears and tossed last night’s leftover fish into his bowl.

Ducking around the small herd of Tailor children as she stepped out the door, Dell called good morning with a glare. The oldest two swallowed snickers, having delighted in stomping on the floor above her room just before the alarm. Before their mother could ask her to watch the unruly brood, Dell swung into the stairwell. She breathed deep, tasting the frost. The chill snatched the last warmth of bed. As she stepped out into the back alley lot, she saw Daniel wave from across the green. Tossing her the catcher’s mask and shin guards, he slung his bat over his shoulder.

“Couldn’t find first,” he said, scratching at the blue shadow of his beard.

“What?” She smirked, fitting the mask over her face and flexing her fingers in her glove. He kicked the bag at his feet and home, second and third, a few mitts and a tattered baseball rolled out into the sparse grass.

That was when she saw it. Like a flare of sunlight, like dawn, except in the north of the city. Dell shielded her eyes, pushing the mask back. Daniel stared up at the sky, still clutching his bat. Mrs. Tailor paused on her balcony, a sheet draped her arm, her youngest clutched against her. A heavy shadow fell over the back alley lot. The city flinched, bleached white.

Dell gasped. The heat seared past them, blowing them back. She tasted dust and ash and blood. The glass walls of skyscrapers and apartment rises rippled, exploded, filling the air with what looked like starshine. The dew sighed into steam.

She felt herself screaming but she couldn’t hear, so it was hard to be sure. Silence roared through the city. Cars and buildings caved and crumbled. And then God exhaled. Sound thundered over them, the force crushing them flat. The grass hissed and bowed low.

Dell O’Sullivan lifted her eyes and saw the slow roll of smoke. The blast hurled the clouds back and spewed lightning in rusted forks. The sky seethed mercury gray. In fire and smoke, the ringed mushroom cloud shivered the color of boiled blood and copper.

So say we all.
Bri

Day 28: When You've Give a Grendel a Cookie...

I've been tagged by Crystal and will post 8 Random Facts about myself tomorrow...BEWARE!

GRENDEL'S COOKIE: TWELVE YEARS' GRIEF HEAPED AT MY DOOR

I took a break for a few days from worrying about the dreaded Plot-Monster but yesterday, I pulled off its proverbial arm and hung it from the proverbial rafters. After talking to Martin and Joce about a few particular points of interest and possible scenes, a few very pretty conclusions for the story presented themselves.

THE MILK FOR GRENDEL'S COOKIE: WHAT TO DO

1. CALLING THE BANNERS - Mostly, I developed one of my nations into more a loose affiliation of tribes to give them more of a flexible structure in warfare like the Manchu bannermen, and the Celtic and Germanic tribes who swept through Europe, sacking Delphi and Rome.

2. MY HERO IS A JANUS - I also worked on characterizations, and found I love creating an image of the hero - then revealing how he's not exactly who he portrayed himself to be. Unreliable narrators are so intensely enjoyable to write.

3. A PICTURE (YOU KNOW THE REST OF THE CLICHE) - I've decided to pick up illustrating XIII again. So you all get to look forward to sketches and Photoshop delights in the weeks ahead.

OTHER THINGS NOT GRENDEL
LOOKING FOR LIPSTICK AT THE END OF THE WORLD

The post-apocalyptic chick lit will be written as a short story and possibly, at a later date, be illustrated to create a weekly updated comic. So far, there is no definite title or time frame, though I do think excerpts of it will becomes available on the Friday snippets.

MAYBE A FEW THINGS GRENDEL-ESQUE
NO VAMPING (OR WERE-ING), PLEASE

I've got a few ideas of how I would want to do a comic, mainly because of a little comic called LAST BLOOD, a gory but spectacular project, and Dylan Meconis' weekly Family Man, involving vampires and folk of other were-like tendencies. And speaking of were-like tendencies, give Alina Pete's Weregeek a look-see.

So say we all.
Bri

P.S. I missed it...but Happy Browncoat Day! Can't stop the signal!