The Journey Of St. Laurent, Chapter 6

Author’s note:

For those of you who are new: You are now reading an online serial pulp novel. If you didn’t start at the beginning, you may want to do so. Chapter 1:  Down By The Bay. New chapters are posted on Fridays. This serial is the sequel to my first novel, Oasis.

Chapter 6 – Stomping Grounds

It had all happened so fast, and it had all happened the wrong way. I couldn’t believe how naive I had been to think it would have gone smooth. I couldn’t believe how incredibly stupid and rude Jex had been. I couldn’t believe any of it. I started taking random turns and staying off the main roads.

I tried to convince myself that at least I had kept my word.

It wasn’t much consolation. The whole purpose in my visiting Jex had been defeated.

I couldn’t fight the empty feeling inside. Most of my friends had lived there in Oasis. Now they were gone. My apartment had been destroyed along with the rest of Oasis. I had no job, nothing to do, and no place to go. All I had in the whole world was a pack with a change of clothes, a wad of cash, and a Jeep.

What do I do now? Try to tell someone else? Who in the world would possibly believe me?

My story detailing the brain-dead virus-controlled zombies in Oasis would sound an awful lot like insanity to anybody with half a brain. Apparently not even a conspiracy freak like Alan Jex would listen to it. And even if I skipped all that, I’d still have to convince people that aliens are among us and just waiting for the right moment to take over everything.

Yeah, going with the “alien-only” story is going to be so much more believable.

What proof did I have anyway? The only proof I might have had was in that portfolio, and I never even bothered to open it and see what was inside. I wanted to kick myself.

Out of morbid curiosity and boiling anger, I flipped on the radio to Jex’s show so I could hear what else I should get mad at. I tuned the radio and heard…

Nothing.

I listened for thirty seconds.

Dead air.

I wondered what that could mean. Was he reading the letter in the portfolio?

No, it was probably a problem with the commercials or something. I turned it off and concentrated on getting thoroughly lost. It didn’t take long to get there.

The city had changed in the nine or so years I had been away. I mean, the old area around the Alamo would probably never change, but everything else was new improved, or broken down. Everything was different.

I just kept driving until things stopped looking just different than I remembered and instead started all looking the same as every city I’ve ever been to. And then I kept driving until everything was just a blur.

I only paid enough attention to avoid getting in a wreck.

A nice neighborhood went by the window and then a slum or two. I got on a freeway for a while, maybe half an hour or so, and got off again in some dinky suburb. Even with the driving, my mood was not improving much. I made a couple of random turns down side roads and eventually pulled up in front of a small, tired, pale yellow house.

It somehow looked familiar to me, but I was too mad and depressed and out of it to remember why.

Let me stop here for a second. I need to mention something. Sometimes people do things they can’t explain. When I used to work in the ER, at least once a week, someone, usually an adolescent male, would come in with an embarrassing self inflicted injury. Every single time I would ask the injured boy why he had done what he had done. Every time he would answer, “I don’t know.” I don’t know. I don’t know. Nobody remembers why they thought jumping off a roof or holding a lit firecracker was a good idea.

Once, a twenty-year-old guy came in with a fork sticking out of his arm. A fork. He claimed he had been eating and had freaked out when he noticed a spider crawling on his arm. I asked him why he thought it would be useful to stab it with his fork while it was still on his arm.

He said, “I don’t know.”

I then asked him why he hadn’t pulled the fork from his arm.

He had just shrugged and said, “I don’t know.”

I only mention this because if you asked me what could possibly have possessed me to do what I did next, I would only have one answer. “I don’t know.”

I got out of the Jeep and walked up to the front door. The house was looking increasingly familiar. How did I know this place? What was I expecting to see inside? I couldn’t be sure. All I knew is that I was utterly alone in the world and I was looking for something. The empty pit inside of me wouldn’t tell me straight what it was exactly I was looking for.

I knocked on the door.

What am I doing here? It’s the middle of the day, why should anyone even be home?

Footsteps approached from the other side of the door.

And then it hit me. I knew exactly where I was. I even knew why my subconscious had led me here.

The door swung inward.

A middle aged man stepped forward. Deep lines from years of hard living dug into his features. He was thin and just a hair shorter than me.

An uncontrollable fury shot up my legs and my body. I hated the man who stood before me. I clenched my jaw and my fist.

He recognized me and his eyes opened wide.

I swung my fist and put behind at least a decade’s worth of repressed anger. It connected with his face and made a satisfying “whump” sound.

The older man stumbled back and collapsed on the floor.

One punch. And he’s out cold.

My hand already ached. I looked down at it and then at the unconscious body on the floor,

The hatred disappeared. I couldn’t exactly say that I felt guilt over cold-cocking him, but the loathing that had washed over me was gone. The nurse inside me took over and said I’d better help him out. I stepped over him, checked his pulse, and went into the kitchen.

The Alan Jex show was playing on a little radio near the sink. Jex had found his voice again and was ranting up a storm.

I didn’t even want to know what he was talking about any more. I turned off the radio, then went through some drawers and found a clean towel. I filled it with some ice from the freezer and went back into the front room.

The man was starting to stir. He groaned and pushed himself up to sitting.

I handed him the improvised ice pack. “Put this on your face, Walter.”

He looked at me for a good minute before speaking. “I always knew someday you’d come home, son.”

________

Keep Reading! Chapter 7 is here.

The Journey Of St. Laurent, Chapter 5

Author’s note:

For those of you who are new: You are now reading an online serial pulp novel. If you didn’t start at the beginning, you may want to do so. Chapter 1:  Down By The Bay. New chapters are posted on Fridays. This serial is the sequel to my first novel, Oasis.

Chapter 5 – The Face Of Radio

The KNRT building was nothing special. It was just a simple two story brick building. If it didn’t have the station letters mounted over the door, it would have looked like every other building in the area. The cars in the parking lot gave the first hint of what could be found inside. One bumper sticker on a Blazer read, “Get us out of the UN!” Another sticker on a big Ford pickup read, “9-11 was an inside job.” Several vehicles had gun racks. The only car among the SUVs and trucks was a lime green Geo Metro. It stuck out like a sore thumb.

I had never been able to listen to the Alan Jex show all the way through. He was just too aggressive. His show was almost always about conspiracies, and what to do about them. His general mode of operation was to make an absurd statement about Nazis in the Senate or something, and then berate anyone brave enough to call in and challenge him. He loved stirring up trouble, and had made national news a few times by being arrested while protesting various government injustices.

To tell the truth, I was more than a little curious to see what he was really like.

The lobby was nice enough. The furniture was worn leather, there were patriotic posters, and the secretary was pretty. Her hair was dyed a couple of different colors, her nails were extra long, she was chewing gum, and she had a vast collection of piercings.

I bet she owns the Geo.

She looked up from her celebrity gossip magazine. “Can I help you?”

I tapped the portfolio with my free hand. “I need to deliver something to Mr. Jex.”

“I’ll sign.”

“I’m afraid I have to hand it to him personally.”

“Well he is in the middle of a show.”

“Can I just hand it to him when he takes a break?”

“I don’t know, Mr Jex always tells…”

Probably been taught to give folks the runaround. “Look, he’ll want to talk to me anyway.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

No use beating around the bush. “You hear what happened in Oasis?”

“Of course. Everybody heard that.”

“I was there.”

She scrunched up her mouth and looked me over. “All right, I’ll ask Rhett.”

“Who’s Rhett?”

She didn’t bother to respond, she just stood and walked back into a hallway. A minute or two later she reappeared with a tall, stocky guy with a military haircut.

He extended a hand. “Hi, I’m Rhett Bartholomew. I’m the producer on Mr. Jex’s show, and I’ve got to be back in the booth before next commercial break, which is coming right up, so make it quick.”

I shook his hand. “I was in Oasis until it was destroyed, and I’d like to talk to Mr. Jex.”

He frowned at me for a moment, then motioned for me to follow. “All right. Come on.”

I followed him down the hallway and to the door of the studio. It has a big red “On Air” light above it and everything. He put a finger to his lips and gently pulled open the door.

Alan Jex was not quite as tubby as I expected a radio pundit to be. In fact, he wasn’t really pudgy at all, nowhere near as immense as his voice sounded. He was extolling the virtues of the sponsor of the day and hardly seemed to notice us enter. Rhett motioned for me to sit opposite Jex and to put on the spare set of headphones sitting on the table.

Jex gave me a quizzical look as I sat, but his speech never broke stride. A minute later Rhett gave him a signal and cut to a commercial.

Jex pulled the phones off one ear and pointed his thumb at me. “Who is this?”

“Says he was in Oasis when it all went down.”

A corner of his mouth curled up. “Oh really? What’s your name?”

“Corbin St. Laurent.”

He scribbled something on a scrap of paper. “How much time, Rhett?”

“Fifteen.”

Jex repositioned his headphones and slid a microphone toward me. “Just try to relax, Corbin.”

As soon as the commercial ended, Jex jumped right in. “Welcome back, everyone. I know none of us will ever forget the videos we’ve all seen of the bombs in Oasis. It was a horrible tragedy. Tens of thousands of our brothers and sisters died. What makes it worse is that there are signs that we have been lied to, and on a grand scale. In honor of those men and women, I will tirelessly seek the truth. In that effort, we have a surprise guest today. Someone who was there. His name is Corwin St. Laurent. Say hi, Corwin.”

“It’s actually Corbin.”

He shook his head and pressed on. “The videos that came out of Oasis have all been very vague. We have very little to support the official story. There were only a few people that were able to escape the terrorists before the explosion.”

That’s not right. “What?”

“Why don’t you tell our nationwide audience what really happened on the day the terrorists duped practically everyone in Oasis to the center of town.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about how the terrorists made that scene at the hospital, shot that guy up with PCP or some other drug, then pushed him out a window. They decoyed everyone to the center of town so they could mobilize and take over the city that much easier.”

My stomach churned. “That’s not-”

“We already know that they had a huge number of sympathizers working with them. We know that they got practically everyone in town, and we know that within forty-eight hours the town was rubble. We’ve been told that the bombs were placed by the terrorists to aid in their mass kidnapping scheme, but some disturbing reports have been leaked that have shown the bombs were of U.S. Origin, and were placed by the military.”

“Well, the military did bomb Oasis, but what you’ve described never-”

“So what did happen, Corbin?”

“You’ve got it all wrong. All of it. There was no army of terrorists. They never took over the city. The military quarantined the city. The guy at the hospital wasn’t on PCP. I’ve been an ER nurse for almost four years. I know what drug induced behavior looks like, and that was not it. He was infected. Infected with the most dangerous virus ever. It takes over the-”

Jex slammed a fist on the table. “What are you trying to pull, Corbin? We’ve already had three other refugees from Oasis on the show a week ago. They spilled the whole story. This was the single worst tragedy in American history. For you to make a mockery of those lost lives is treason in my book.”

“And Oasis wasn’t bombed after two days. It happened two days ago, after almost two weeks.”

“That’s impossible. We all know the government has covered up even big things in the past, but what-”

“It was the virus that killed Oasis. All but maybe a couple hundred people. This virus turned people into-”

Jex’s face turned red. “That’s enough. I’ve heard enough. This is not a joke. This is not funny.”

I couldn’t believe what was happening here. The media had been fed a lie. They’d even come up survivors to lie on the Alan Jex show. All to cover up one thing.

I clenched the portfolio in both hands. “That’s not even really why I’m here. I’m supposed to deliver a message.”

Jex stood up. His whole body shook. He picked up his microphone in one hand and pointed the other at me. “I want you and your filthy attention whoring lies out of here. I want you out of my studio now!”

“What, did you just grab onto the first crack-pot conspiracy theory out there?”

It was out of hand. It was hard to think of anything other than how bad I wanted to punch him. Just give him the portfolio and get out.

“I said get out, you stinking, sniveling, traitorous pile of vomit. I can’t believe you’d bring in that heap of lies and expect anyone to believe it. You disgust me and every other red blooded American listening. If I weren’t on air right now I’d give you what you’ve got coming to you, you arrogant-”

I threw the portfolio at him.

He watched it smack into his chest and fall to the floor. “What’s this? Your purse?”

He reached down to pick it up. By the time he looked back up, I was out the studio door.

I slammed it as hard as I could and stormed down the hallway.

As I passed the desk and the pretty secretary, I heard the studio door slam again.

The secretary looked up at me. “Don’t worry, most guests leave the studio looking lake that.”

I blew past her and shoved open the front door.

What a crock. Nobody was going to believe me anyway, and now Jex will be ripping on me for days.

I climbed into the Jeep and fired it up.

Rhett came out of the station. “Corbin, hold up.”

Right. Like I want to stick around.

I pulled out.

Rhett ran for the Jeep. “Wait!”

I punched it and left him in the dust.

Great. So what do I do now?

___________

Keep Reading! Chapter 6 is here.

New Rhiannon Frater Book

I interviewed Rhiannon Frater a little while ago, and I just found out she finally published the sequel to her first zombie novel. Check it out.

As The World Dies: Fighting To Survive

If you’d like to find out more about her, check out her blog.

The Journey of St. Laurent, Chapter 4

Author’s note: Whoops. I forgot to post this this morning. Better late than never, though.

For those of you who are new: You are now reading an online serial pulp novel. If you didn’t start at the beginning, you may want to do so. Chapter 1:  Down By The Bay. New chapters are posted on Fridays.

Chapter 4 – On the Road… Again

I’ve been in more than my share of fights, and through them all, I’ve become pretty good at telling when the other guy is ready to get serious and throw down.

Martin was giving all the signs. His fists were clenched. His bushy eyebrows were scrunched into a scowl. His jaw was set. His face was red and shaking. He sucked in air through his nose. When he spoke, his voice trembled like a pot about to boil.

I didn’t know if I could take him. He was bigger and obviously better built than me, but I’m pretty tenacious. It didn’t really matter if I could, anyway. There were armed guards behind a door less than forty yards away. There was sure to soon be cars of coworkers driving by on their way out of the parking garage.

I could run. But then what?

No, my only out was to diffuse him, or confuse him enough to let me go. The trouble was my mouth has always been better at causing fights than avoiding them.

I opened my hands and brought them up in the least aggressive way I could manage. “Just hold on a minute-”

“No, you listen to me, punk. I guard in those labs. I know you don’t work there. Do you think I’m an idiot?”

I gagged down the urge to answer that question. “You really want a reason why you should let me leave? I’ve got a bunch. Do you want me to start with a logical one, a legal one, or a moral one?”

“Don’t push me. I hate being lied to.”

“You probably also hate being caught on camera beating people up.”

He took a half step forward. “No cameras in here.”

“Right. So, let’s go with a couple of logical reasons then. What if I’m tougher than you think? Or better yet, what if I am evil and everything you imagine me to be, but after you turn me in, I just claim you were my accomplice all along and you just had a bout of conscience? Yeah, you might eventually be acquitted of treason, but is that a chance you want to take?”

He narrowed his eyes a little more. “I am not weak, and I’m not stupid just because I’m a guard. How about you give me a good reason, or I break you?”

A silver car squealed a little as it passed where we were standing.

I raised my hands a little further and shrugged. It was almost painful to keep my voice even. “Fine, how about the legal reason?”

Martin flexed the muscles in his clenched fist. “I could take you with one hand behind my back. You think we stop training once we get assigned to a research base?”

I shuffled back a couple of inches. “I was not, and never have been a prisoner on base. I was not there illegally. I was extracted from, or rather I escaped from Oasis, debriefed to Major Glover and the general who’s name I’ve forgotten, and checked thoroughly for pathogens. I’m only out first because I was first in line. Pretty soon, all the remaining civilians from Oasis will be debriefed and sent away. So, yeah, legally, you have no right to stop me.”

“Right, and just a minute ago you said you were part of the research team.”

“Or how about a medical reason? Yes, I’ve already been declared clean, but what if we get in a fight, and I bite you. You think your bosses will let you just slap a bandage on it? Or do you think they’ll treat us as infected? I think we’d both be receiving tests for a long, long time.”

His shoulders dropped an inch and he shook his head.

At least I’ve got him thinking about something other than punching.

“I’m giving you one last chance.”

“Fine. I’ll give you the moral reason to let me go.”

“Last chance.”

I lowered my hands. “You know what happened in Oasis. You know that something’s still going on. Something big. You may not know exactly what. But you know it’s going to be bad, and you have the nagging feeling that nothing is going to be done about it.”

“A lot of things have been happening. That’s no reason-”

“The things that are, or rather the things aren’t happening back in your base are going to endanger-”

His face shook even harder. Like he was fighting with himself. “The research that happens on base keeps idiot civilians like you safe. Its ability to keep you safe depends on the secrecy of what goes on-”

I knew he was wavering. I had to stretch the truth a little and take a chance. “I’ve seen the alien corpse, too, you know. I’ve seen it. I was given a package to deliver that can help us to fight against those things.”

Martin’s eyes widened. “You what?”

Time to lay it on thick. “That’s right. I saw it. I also know why they are here. The aliens. I know for certain what you may only suspect- the military is doing nothing and is being hamstrung by Washington. If we do nothing, then those, those things are going to, going to have their way with our whole nation. With your friends. You want your sister to be mutilated? You want your mother to be abducted?”

I glanced at his left hand. Yep, a ring. “How about your wife? You want her to be safe?”

His whole body started to shake. “How did you…”

“I know it’s scary. I’ve seen what you’ve seen down in those labs. We don’t have to just let it happen, though. You personally can’t say anything to anyone. You’re bound by oath and training to keep quiet. You talk, and you’ll be locked up before you know it. But if you let me go, I’ll get a warning to someone who can then warn a lot of people. If you let me go, you give people like your wife and your neighbors a chance to prepare.”

He shook his head. “I still can’t just let you leave-”

“Yes you can, and you have to.”

Martin stepped to the side and leaned against the door of the next car over. He looked at the ground, played with his ring, and appeared to be mulling things over.

I didn’t wait for him to come to any conclusions. I pulled open the half door, hopped up, fished for the keys in the ash tray and fired up the old Jeep.

Martin didn’t even look up until I had half backed out of the stall. When he did, I knew I had to hurry. He didn’t look happy.

He reached out, “Hold on a minute, I’m not-”

He was too late, though. I hit the gas and lurched backward.

Martin jumped back a little. I wasn’t about to hit him, but he didn’t know that.

I slammed the Jeep into first gear and put down the pedal.

In the rear view mirror I saw Martin running. I couldn’t really tell where he was going, but he looked certain to get there fast.

I followed the signs and squealed around a couple of corners.

Martin was gone from sight. Before I knew it, I could see a bright spot of daylight at the top of an exit ramp. There was no gate on the way out, just a line of two or three cars waiting to enter traffic.

I scanned around to see if Martin was following in his car, or maybe if he was running for the ramp.

A red sedan pulled up behind me. I couldn’t tell if it was Martin or not. Nobody got out screaming, so for the moment I figured I was safe.

I clamped the steering wheel and kept looking around.

The cars ahead finally moved.

I pulled out of the echoes and darkness of the parking garage into the blinding Safford sun. I took a deep breath of the hot, dry air. It felt good to be free.

I made a couple of turns just to get out of view and see if I was being followed. After that, I looked for signs that led out of town. I didn’t want to stick around for anything. Five minutes later, Safford was a vanishing speck in my rear view mirror.

I stopped an hour and a half later to get gas, a map, some junk food, and to see how much money the major had given me. Fourteen hundred dollars. I smiled. Yeah, that should get me to San Antonio, all right.

The ride to Texas was the least eventful part of my journey. It could have taken me eleven hours or so, and I probably would have done it in one shot. Unfortunately, the radiator sprung some kind of leak about two hours down the line.

Hey, I didn’t say it was uneventful, just the least eventful.

The mechanic said it would be at least three days to get in the new radiator, or he could try to weld it up himself, but who knows how well that would hold, ten minutes, a week, a year? By five o’clock I was back on the road with a welded radiator and my wad of cash two hundred and fifty dollars lighter.

I got tired driving and spent the night in a seedy little hotel in a town who’s name I didn’t even notice.

Early the next morning, I was back on the road again.

I pulled into the parking lot of the KNRT radio building at a quarter after ten, just fifteen minutes after the bombastic Alan Jex had started his show.

I grabbed the portfolio out of the back seat, took a deep breath, and walked to the front door. Had I known what was going to happen inside, I wouldn’t have gotten up so early to get there.

_________

Keep Reading – Chapter 5

The Journey of St. Laurent, Chapter 3

Author’s note: Thanks for reading.

For those of you who are new: You are now reading an online serial pulp novel. If you didn’t start at the beginning, you may want to do so. Chapter 1:  Down By The Bay. New chapters are posted on Fridays.

Chapter 3 – You Have to Find the Road Before You Can Hit It

I shoved the note in the jogging pants’ sole back pocket.

The was nothing terribly special about the double doors the Major had pointed out, other than the fact that they were double doors. The lobby that lay inside, however was another story. It didn’t look any nicer, only different. It was like I had stepped from a bunker into a well kept subway station. Yes, the walls were still made of cement, but there were posters for movies and headache medicine hanging on them. There were several rows of wooden benches where folks could wait. Several fake potted trees littered the room. The place smelled faintly of body odor, Pine-Sol, and oil.

The opposite wall opened into a tunnel, and it was where the tram entered and left the little station. There was a tall white machine next to the platform. An armed guard stood right behind it. He was really the only thing that ruined the illusion of a metropolitan subway station.

I wondered if he was there to check I.D.s. I tried to convince myself that the notion was ridiculous. This was a research installation. Not a prison. How many people could they possibly have trying to sneak out? Just me.

There were several folks already sitting on the benches. Three of them were wearing dress uniforms. Three of them were in fatigues. Two of them were wearing lab coats and dress pants. There was one other guy wearing sweats. He was seated close to where I was standing.

I figured I’d be less noticeable if I sat by the fellow in sweats. He had a strong jaw and a bushy eyebrows. His sweats were, well, sweaty, like he had just come from a good workout.

But not too close.

It was a bad choice. No sooner had I found my seat than he slid over and extended a hand.

“Martin Coalville, what’s your name?”

I didn’t even think to use a fake name. “Corbin St. Laurent.”

“Glad I’m not the only one who makes use of the gym here. Yeah, I know it’s not great, but it beats paying a fortune every month down at Gold’s.”

I nodded. “Yeah, the contracts there are evil.”

He chuckled, but it didn’t seem all that genuine. “I haven’t seen you around before, you new on this tram?”

I looked at my hands for a moment and considered how I should field that one. “Well, I should have been on the 2AM, but with all the craziness, I haven’t been anywhere for a couple of days. I was feeling kinda ripe, so I showered, grabbed the sweats I haven’t had time to use yet, and here I am.”

He gave me a look and shook his head. “Dude, sucks to be you.”

You have no idea. I just wanted to laugh, or maybe cry. Instead I shrugged. “Tell me about it.”

I took a glance at the clock. Five until ten. I hoped that meant ten in the morning.

My sleep schedule is all messed up.

Martin stretched out his long legs. “You’re not a guard, are you?”

Was that an accusation?

I stretched out my somewhat shorter legs. “Naw, I’m in research.”

He twisted up his face. “Then it really sucks to be you.”

I wished I could figure out what he was getting at.

We continued the uncomfortable small talk for a minute or two, then Martin excused himself. He walked straight over to the armed guard by the platform. They talked for a moment or two and then Martin turned and pointed at me.

I did my best to act like I didn’t notice it. In fact, I did my best to imagine I was invisible. I can’t believe it. I’ve been on my own for four minutes, and I’m already toast.

Eventually the guard nodded, explained something and motioned for Martin to step back from the platform. Martin stepped away and glanced back over his shoulder at me. He was frowning and the look on his face was more than a little distrustful.

I just avoided his gaze as best I could. No use stirring things up.

Within a minute or two the tram pulled up. Ten or fifteen people got out of the tram. The guard kept both hands on his rifle and watched each person leave the tram.

Each arriving person touched a badge to the machine which caused a little green light to flash.

Once the tram was fully unloaded, everyone who had been waiting stood up. I hopped in the back of the line. One by one everybody got on. Nobody got out a badge for the machine.

I breathed a little sigh of relief until it was my turn to get on. I took a quick glance at the guard.

He nodded at me, and I couldn’t be sure, but I think he winked.

The tram had a single cabin, with the front section arranged with benches on opposite sides facing each other, and the back section in standard row by row bus seating.

The tram was nowhere near full, but I could just imagine how packed it got during big shift changes. I sat down toward the front of the cabin, as far away from Martin as I could. Somehow, I got the feeling he didn’t trust me or my story.

The tram jerked to life and began speeding down the tunnel. It had windows, but the only thing I could see on the other side was blackness.

I fought the urge to go through the portfolio, or see how much money the Major had put in the envelope. I was sure Martin was watching, and I did not want to do anything else that he would find suspicious. My mind wandered for a moment and pondered on how much this tunnel probably cost. Not only that, but I wondered why it had been built at all. Why didn’t everyone who worked on the base just live in Oasis? I guess I’ll never know the answer to some things.

The tram seemed to be moving pretty fast, but I knew the commute would still take a while. After all, Safford was almost a hundred miles away across the desert.

As much I tried to avoid it, I ended up mulling over everything the Major had told me both the night before, and that morning.

Aliens. Extra terrestrials. I didn’t want it to be real. It just couldn’t be. Of course, with everything I had seen recently, I supposed anything could be real. How many were already here in the U.S.? How would delivering this package to Alan Jex possibly help the situation? Who was to say he would even do anything about it? But, I had given my word so I, of course, would follow through. That’s just the kind of guy I am.

I went on thinking about it for the hour and change it took to get to Safford.

Eventually the tram stopped in a nearly identical looking station to the one where we had boarded, only this time there were four armed guards, and they were posted not on the platform, but right on the inside of the main entrance.

We all shuffled off the tram and through the miniature station. The guards at the door didn’t even seem to notice us as we left.

The tram station emptied into a big cement parking structure. It felt open and spacious compared to the hallways back on the base. It was saturated in the sweet smell of exhaust.

The little crowd of arrivals split up with almost no “see you later”s or anything.

I looked around and couldn’t see any Jeeps, so I just started walking. About halfway down the row I saw it.

The parts that weren’t caked in white-ish-yellow-ish mud or rust were indeed brown. It was an older Jeep Wrangler with a roll bar and no soft top, hard top, or top of any kind. It had definitely seen better days. I wasn’t about to complain, though. It had wheels and it was going to get me away from the military.

I tossed my bag and the portfolio on the floor in front of the back seat and pulled open the half door. I couldn’t wait to get on the road.

A hand reached out of nowhere and grabbed my arm.

I jerked my shoulder away and spun around.

The hand was attached to Martin. I hadn’t even noticed him following me.

He let go of my arm and balled up his fist.

“I know you lied to me back there. I’m pretty sure Jackson lied to me back at the station, too. Not sure why.”

“Let’s not do this, Martin.”

“Just tell me why I should let you out of this parking garage.”

_____

Keep reading, Chapter 4 is here.

Amusing Writing Tool: Write or Die

I was following someone on twitter and they mentioned Write or Die, so I checked it out.

Write or die is an amusing web app that helps prod you along and keep you writing. It has various settings, including how you want it to prod you along: a reminder box, an annoying noise, or kamikazemode, where it begins to unwrite what you have typed in.

Someone should make a plugin for OpenOffice like this.

Write Or Die

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