Self Published Pulp

I enjoy being in contact with other self-published authors. I like to get new ideas and see what other folks are doing.

Lucien Black has been on the sidebar for a while, but we just finished an email interview and now you can know what he’s really all about.

Tell everybody about yourself in a nutshell.

I started my writing career in 1993 when I self published my first comic book.  The book did fairly well, but like most self published works, we had little funding to continue producing comics.  I had so many ideas that I wanted to bring to print and worked for the next 12 or 13 years with various artists trying to self publish again.  Of course, I submitted my works to Marvel and DC and Image, but never received any work.  I did obtain a small job for a small publisher but that never saw print.  My wife convinced me to change my ideas to short stories and try publishing them in that format.  It took some convincing and some time to adjust the work, but as of October of last year, No Vacancies, Vol 1. is on the market and I can officially call myself an author!

Why do you describe your work as “pulp” fiction?

No Vacancies is a series of short stories, some based on ideas originally intended for comic books.  Most of the stories are multi-part and continue over future volumes of No Vacancies.  The genres are typically action adventure, horror, superhero, mystery, fantasy etc.  So it seems to fall into line with the traditional Pulp style stories of past. Classifying them as pulp helps to frame the concept of the series.  Currently I have about 14 volumes of No Vacancies planned.  The first volume includes two stand alone stories and two multi-part tales.  They continue in the next installment coming out May 7, 2009.

Do you read much old school pulp? If so, what are your favorite authors/stories?

I have not read much pulp fiction in the traditional sense.  I have collected, read and written comic books for years.  As I mentioned above, some of the stories were originally designed to be comic books.  With the way the industry operates, you have to be very well connected to land a job somewhere.  Since I lack the ability to draw, finalizing the product on my own was impossible.  With the short story concepts, I can control the production and final product with little or no interference.  I don’t have to rely on anyone to draw the ideas that I write.  Most comic book scripts contain pages of scene description, so the ideas are already there, they just need to be fleshed out for a traditional long fiction product.

Tell us about “No Vacancies: Volume 1.”

Volume 1 of No Vacancies contains four short stories.  One More Sunday is the story of a detective investigating the death of the city’s superhero known as the Protector.  He is thrust into a world he really knew nothing about and as he pieces together the mystery of the Protector’s death, the detective gets closer and closer to the man behind the mask and becomes his advocate.  In the short story Devotion, Dr. Alastair Cromwell, a medical examiner, uses all of his knowledge and medical training to bring his late wife back from the dead.  The procedure has dire consequences and is sure to delight horror fans.  That leaves the first parts of two multi-part adventures called High Stakes and Outcast. In High Stakes, readers are introduced to Jack Ander, a man that has avoided conflict his entire life and is thrust into the middle of a situation that forces him to break out of his shell and be the hero that he could be.  This story is a bit confusing at first, as there are many characters to introduce, but as readers stick with the story, we will uncover a alternate universe where some the past comes back to haunt us.  Finally in Outcast part 1, readers are introduced to Nathaniel, a man on a mission to find the killer of his fiance.  He finds himself teaming up with a Hudson City Detective who just lost her family to the same man that Nathaniel seeks.  The two form a tenuous alliance to find the man responsible.  But the killer is merely a pawn in a much bigger game of secrets and deception.  Nathaniel holds some secrets of his own as well.

When can we expect volume 2?

As I mentioned earlier, Volume 2 is due out on May 7th 2009.  We are currently running a contest on our website at www.lucienblackbooks.com.  The lucky winner will receive a signed copy of No Vacancies Volume 2.  Check the website for more details.  In Volume 2, High Stakes and Outcast are back with parts 2 and there are two new tales.  One is the first part of a new multi-part series called The Independent Initiative the other is called the Last Cowboy and is a stand alone story.  I steer away from horror in this story, but future volumes I have a few new horror tales planned.

Why did you decide to self publish?

Self publishing was a route I could take and stay in control of my work.  I see this as a steppping stone to bigger and better things.

Why did you choose Lulu?

Lulu seemed like an obvious choice but I heard a lot of negatives about all of the providers.  When I actually received the final product from Lulu, I was so impressed.  It looked like a truly professional product. So right now, I am sticking with them;

Which distribution method did you use at Lulu?

I used the distributed by Lulu, which included the Amazon.com distribution.  That is their free offering.  I have not yet upgraded to the package that allows the books to be displayed on Barnes and Borders.  Cost isn’t necessarily a factor, I think I am waiting to have the spare time to start my book signings, that has been very slow going.

How long did it take to get listed on Amazon?

This might be my only bone of contention with Lulu.  The process for listing and receiving back sales is quite slow.  It took about 4-6 weeks for the book to appear on Amazon.  Then, I sat in silence waiting for my first sale to register, to date, I have no idea how many copies actually sold on Amazon.  I could care less about the revenue at this point.  I would just like to see my work in the hands of the readers!

How has your experience with Lulu been?

Again, the experience has been great.  Self publishing has its flaws, but overall great products!

Would you suggest Lulu to other writers who want to self publish?

Yes i would, but Lulu is only as good as the work you provide them.  If you want to pay them to actually do the layouts and cover, I am sure the product will be professional, but if you submit the work yourself, you should really know your graphic design, etc.  The product is truly only as good as what you give them.

What have you done to promote your book?

Promotion is the hardest part of self publishing.  We have our own website at www.lucienblackbooks.com.  We have blog and have posted info on other blogs.  We have some link exchanges and I have done a few interviews.  I am really looking at growing my fan base one reader at a time right now.

Where can folks learn more about you and your work?

Check out my website at www.lucienblackbooks.com.  The books are available on Lulu and Amazon.com.

What is Censorship?

Recently, I saw that someone tweeted a story about Deseret Book stopping the carrying of Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight series, at least on the shelves.

http://www.sltrib.com/themix/ci_12193772

Along with the link, the tweet said “How I hate censorship.”

Is what happened really censorship?

My feeling is that a business decision is not censorship, regardless of who owns the bookstore. If a business decides that it will sell more other books by not carrying one specific book, that is not censorship.  That’s business. It may or may not be a bad business decision.

Censorship is when a government, school, or other controlling institution takes away the ability and right to read/watch/listen to something. The censoring entity may destroy copies. It may pass a law or make a school rule that provides a punishment for those caught with a copy.

Deseret Book has not taken away anybody’s ability or right to read Twilight. Deseret Book has not forced the presses to stop printing. Heck, Deseret Book even still sells the books by special order – they’re just not on the shelves. And they are doing it because they believe it’s what most of their customers want.

If somebody (and by somebody, I mean a teenage girl) really wants a copy of Twilight right this second, she can, like, totally walk down the street to Barnes and Noble and buy one.

Even if a religion comes out with a statement that says “Don’t read this book,” that does not take away anyone’s ability to purchase or read the book if they still want to, so it’s not censorship.

What do y’all think?

The Journey Of St. Laurent, Chapter 8

Author’s note:

Sorry about the Xtreme lateness on this one. Life has been crazy, and while I’ve had motivation, I haven’t had the late night stamina to write. However, in the good news department, My wife and I went in for the baby’s first ultrasound, and everything is looking good. Pictures can be found on my wife’s blog.

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 normally posted on Fridays, but I’ve got to put Journey… on hiatus through the end of April so I can finish up some other writing projects. This serial is the sequel to my first novel, Oasis.

As always, I appreciate typo alerts.

Chapter 8 – A Gathering Storm

For a moment or two, nobody in the room knew what to do.

The television was silent, the patrons were silent, even the kitchen was silent.

I dropped my stare from the TV set and looked at Walter.

His wallet was already out. He yanked out a couple of bills and left them on the table. “Come on.”

He didn’t say it very loud, but it carried to the whole restaurant.

From the reaction of everybody there you’d have thought he had climbed on a table and screamed “Run for your life!”

A tsunami of sound washed over the room. Parents yelled at their kids to hurry. Cooks in the back shouted obscenities. Folks pushed out chairs and scrambled for the front door. One brave soul, probably the manager, was raising his hands and shouting for “everyone to please calm down like the president asked.”

It didn’t matter. Once fear had taken hold of everybody’s mind, there would be no letting go until they had found somewhere they deemed safe.

Walter was the first one out the side door. Once he popped it open, the fire alarm sounded, which only added to the craziness.

I slid out of the bench and took a quick look around the room. For there being so much noise, there sure aren’t many people in here.

I let an older couple get in front of me and I tensed up a little in case anybody started pushing from behind in their hurry to escape.

The whole situation was insane. Where is everyone going in such a hurry?

I figured it wouldn’t really matter where you were. If the aliens were going to hit us with a death ray or something, there’s probably no way you could get away anyhow. No need for running crazy.

Walter was half way to the van by the time I got outside.

I ran after him.

A good chunk of the crowd that was leaving the restaurant was beating cheeks for Walmart. A steady stream of cars was entering the parking lot. Traffic seemed to have increased since we had started our meal.

The van was started by the time I opened the door.

My father looked over motioned for me to hurry. “Come on, the swine herd is coming.”

I hopped in, “Swine herd?”

“The unprepared. The sheep. The ones that think everything is always going to be all right, and that think government will prevent things from getting too bad.”

He backed out and someone immediately crowded into his parking place.

I wondered how many people had heard the announcement. If it interrupted the sports network that was playing at the steakhouse, it probably interrupted all the other networks as well. Still, there were plenty of people not watching TV or listening to radio. It would probably take a couple of hours for the word to get completely around. Traffic was definitely picking up, but it didn’t look like a mass invasion was trying to hit the store. At least not yet.

Walter had been a little callus, but he was basically right. When the crisis hits, there’s no time to prepare. You’re either ready or you’re not. And if a panic set in, justified or not, everything worth buying would fly off the shelves in no time.

Walter flipped on the radio. Mostly it was replays of the speech.

Before I knew it, we were back at my childhood home.

Walter put the van in park but didn’t turn it off. He touched my shoulder. “Son, I know you and I may never see eye to eye on many things. I understand why you ran away. You may not like me much or agree with my politics, I’m sure you’d be welcome to be with us at the compound or wherever we end up until this blows over.”

“Blows over?” I shook my head. “What makes you- it doesn’t matter. I’ve got something I need to take care of. I can’t stay.”

“I know you’re probably still mad about everything. And you have a right to be-”

“It’s not about you. It really is something I need to-”

“Son, listen to me.”

“What?”

“I haven’t had a drop to drink since you ran away. Not a drop. I’ve changed. I don’t know how to say I’m sorry, but I don’t want to lose you again.”

It was weird. I simply couldn’t muster the anger I had felt toward him for so long. Maybe I felt a little sorry for his lonely life. Maybe it was the fact that he had raised me to be a survivor, and I had been able to survive the horrors that happened in Oasis. Maybe it was everything else that was happening.

“This isn’t about you. I’m serious about that.” I looked out the window. “If this does blow over, I’ll come back.” I opened the car door. “And we’ll have a long talk.”

I looked back at him.

For the first time since the day my mother had died, I saw tears in his eyes. He took a deep breath. His mouth moved a little like he was trying to speak, but there were no words.

It almost made me feel bad for giving him a black eye. Almost.

The radio broke the silence with a report of looting somewhere in California.

There’s always looting in California.

“Thanks for the gun.” I slid out of the van and retrieved the box with my rifle and the bag with the extras. “I’ll see you around.”

I climbed up into the Jeep and pulled rifle out of the box. I hooked on the sling and loaded all four clips. For a moment I stared at the rifle sitting on my lap. The weight of wood and steel felt somehow reassuring. I wasn’t in any hurry to shoot anyone or anything, but the world had just been turned upside down and shaken. I’d need any extra edge I could get. There was no way of knowing how well it might work against a extraterrestrial, but it might come in handy if I caught up with Samir. Would it come to killing? I hope not. I tossed the gun and magazines in the box and shoved it all under the back seat.

When I looked up, Walter was coming back out of his house with something under his arm. He came up to the Jeep.

“Take this, too. You may need it.”

He handed me a black AM/FM/Shortwave radio. I nodded a thanks and set it on the passenger’s seat.

He looked up at me a moment longer, folded his arms and said, “Good luck.”

“I’ll see you around, Walter.”

The engine started right up and away I went.

The tank in the Jeep needed filling, and I was worried that gas prices would already be jacked up in anticipation of large crowds looking to get out of town.

I lucked out. The very first place I saw was priced the same as earlier in the day. After I finished at the pump, I went in and saw why.

The only employee on duty was a pimply kid who looked about seventeen. He was chewing gum and listening to an mp3 player. It was up loud enough that I could have sung along if I was into whiny pop music. A phone rang and rang in the back room. It was probably the boss calling with instructions to raise the prices.

While there, I bought a couple gallons of water, two bags of hard candy, and a few packages of beef jerky. It wasn’t exactly emergency rations, but if things got messy for the next couple of days, it’d do. I paid from the envelope of cash.

I put the supplies in the back with everything else and climbed on in, then flipped on the radio so I could get an idea of what was going on nationwide.

Every channel I scanned was talking about the aliens in one way or another. The president’s speech had happened less than an hour before, and already there were reports of mass UFO sightings in major cities. New York, Chicago, Phoenix and Los Angeles had all seen a low altitude flyby of mysterious ships.

It seemed that I wasn’t the only one who thought the president had spun too rosy a tale about the aliens. Across the US, stores were getting packed and food was disappearing from the shelves. In cities where the UFOs had been seen, the situation was worse. Unrest was becoming violence.

Less than an hour. We’re already falling apart at the seams. Why in the world are things getting so bad so quickly?

And then I saw why.

________

Keep Reading! Chapter 9 is here.

“Journey” Updates and Insanity.

Sorry about there not being a Chapter 8 this week. With my house attempting to commit suicide and the fact that I went out of town Saturday & Sunday, I just haven’t had the time to finish it up. It hasn’t so much been a writer’s block as a “not enough hours in the day” block. I have also been working on a couple of other creative projects. One of which is a silly little political video that should go up on youtube later today. (Check my twitter feed later if you are interested…)

I hope that I’ll finish up Chapter 8 tonight and post it tomorrow morning.

After that, however, The Journey of St. Laurent will go on hiatus, probably until the end of the month. I have to finish two other writing projects before the end of the month. Both should be pretty cool, and I’ll let you know what they’re all about when I’m done. I’m not going to disappear completely though, so check back from time to time or watch the rss feed.

The Self-Published Carnival

Okay, a friend of mine (Benjamin Rogers) sent me an email with a good idea. It appears that he will not be following through with his idea for the time being, but I just can’t seem to let my version of the idea go. That idea rattled around and mutated itself until it became a blog carnival for self publishing and self published authors.

What is a Blog Carnival?

(From BlogCarnival.com)

A Blog Carnival is a particular kind of blog community. There are many kinds of blogs, and they contain articles on many kinds of topics. Blog Carnivals typically collect together links pointing to blog articles on a particular topic. A Blog Carnival is like a magazine. It has a title, a topic, editors, contributors, and an audience. Editions of the carnival typically come out on a regular basis (e.g. every monday, or on the first of the month). Each edition is a special blog article that consists of links to all the contributions that have been submitted, often with the editors opinions or remarks.

So what is The Self Published Carnival?

This blog carnival is intended to be a resource for authors of fiction or non-fiction who wish to self publish. Topics will include writing, editing, marketing, POD publishers, more traditional self-publishing company reviews, book promotion, and whatever else might be relevant for self publishing a book.

It’s not intended to be a place for book reviews (unless that book is about self-publishing). I suppose announcements for self published books are OK, but they should be books you’ve written.

Are you an author that either plans to self-publish or has already done so? Would you like to be involved?

Here’s how. You can either use the interface at blogcarnival.com to submit an article (the Self Published Carnival) or you can use my contact form to let me know about your article. If you’d like to host the carnival sometime, that’d be great, too.

Clarification:

I’ve had a couple of questions, so I thought I’d clarify.

If you want to participate, you can do one of two things: write an article or host the carnival.

To write an article, you:

1. Write an article about self-publishing and post it on your blog.
2. Send me a link to your written article via my already-mentioned contact form or using the interface at blogcarnival.com
3. When the next edition of the carnival goes live, you can write a very short post pointing to it. This is optional, but it helps more folks find it.

To host the carnival, you:

1. Contact me and set up a month to host it.
2. Go through all the submissions people have made for the month.
3. Write a “carnival post” where you put links to the submitted articles along with a little commentary about each.

I hope that helps.

The First Edition.

The last day of April will be the last day to submit articles for May’s carnival. May’s carnival will be hosted here on May 5th.

Pain – It’s why I write

Yesterday morning at 3:20 AM a carless friend calls me, says his wife is in labor. I hop in the golden minivan of power and rush over to his place. When I see them and I talk to her, I’m pretty sure she’s not in labor. I’ve seen labor several times now, and I’ve done lots of reading on the subject. Anyway, I know it’ll only cause friction, so I don’t say anything – besides, who knows what the hospitals going to say. So we take the five minute ride up the hill, I make sure they get situated, and I go home and try to get some sleep. I’m unsuccessful, and that’s OK, because they call me at 4:45 to come pick them up – false alarm. Fast forward a few minutes. I’m home, tired, and trying to sleep. 5:30 rolls around, I’m still awake, and now it’s my mother-in-law’s wake up time. She’s been with us the past week and a half, for which I am grateful. I love that woman. Anyway, even though she’s great, she is noisy, and thus interrupts my (attempted) sleep. I eventually get an hour’s worth of sleep and then it’s time to go to work.

While I’m at work, my wife smells gas, and calls the gas company. They come out, find a leak and shut off the gas – no hot water or furnace.

After work, I have some duties at my church, so I take care of those and come home. My parents live six minutes away so my wife and I head over there to shower.

We get home, I get everybody in bed, then go to the fridge for a snack. The light in the fridge doesn’t come on – Yay! The power’s out!

No, wait – only half the power’s out!

I check the breaker box and everything looks like it’s in order – no breakers tripped.

I can’t figure out what has happened.

So a dig up an extension chord and string it from one of the few plugs in the house that is working to our refrigerator. After, all, I don’t want a bunch of spoiled food. I go to sleep and hope the home repair fairies visit me in the night.

This morning, I wake up, and the home repair fairies have passed me by. I must not have been good this year.

I call the power company and they come out. The guy gets in the bucket lifter.

Half of the old school power line that feeds my home has burned out. The other half looks like it’s about to go at any time. They can’t repair it, as for liability reasons they only use newer style wire. To use the newer style wire, I need to get a new meter box, poke a hole in my roof, and install a weather head thingy. So he has to cut the other half of my power until I can get things fixed up. Yay!

So now my house is not only cold, but dark.

I buy dome dry ice and throw it in the freezer and the fridge, then pack up the family and send them off to my wife’s sister’s house. We were going to all head there Saturday afternoon, anyway, so it’s no big deal to juggle things and get them on the road.

Now it’s time for me to get on the phone, dig up some professionals and funding, and get to work. (and of course, do my day job, too.)

Now before you get all weepy, let me just say: don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I have good friends, good family, and I’m willing to do what it takes to get stuff fixed. Like all storms, this too shall pass. Pity isn’t the point.

Here’s why I share with you my sad, sad story:

I use writing to deal with the pains and frustrations of everyday life. Something bad happens to me, and I kick Corbin St. Laurent (The hero of my book & its sequel) in the groin. Writing takes my mind off irritants and is releases some of the pressure. For me, writing is better than therapy. I love it, and I’m grateful for all of my painful experiences. Not only to they help me grow personally, they give me an emotional reservoir from which to draw every time I sit down to write. If I can just learn how to tap it fully, I’ll be unstoppable.

I think all successful writing is drawn on big emotions, whether it be fiction or non-fiction. There are folks who have experiences huge financial losses who now use that pain to write on money management. Jane Austen apparently wrote about relationships that were happy endings to her own tragic romance.

So, yes, I believe great emotion can bring about great writing.

All I can say is that after all this, something absolutely evil is on its way to meet poor ol’ Corbin.

An Epic! announcement.

I recently traded emails with Kevin P. McDonough, who is the editor & publisher at Inkie Publishing.

We discussed the upcoming launch of Inkie Publishing’s first endeavor – Epic! magazine. This might be a great opportunity for all of you who would like to see your name (& fiction) in print.

(not the real cover; I just made this one up.)

Here’s the skinny

What made you get into publishing?

The major influences that lead me to publishing were the conglomeration and commercialization of the publishing industry as well as what I perceive as a decline in recreational reading by the general public.  Basically, I want to ensure that there are good, well written stories by independent authors available on the market.

What makes good fiction?

To me, good fiction is about simplicity and captivation.  Obviously the story, the characters, and the setting all need to entertain and captivate the reader.  I think that a lot of fiction lacks the simplicity, both in the story itself and the writing used to tell the story.  Unpublished authors frequently seem to miss this point.  In general, fiction doesn’t need to be, nor should it be, wordy, profound, or "academic".

What made you decide to publish pulp-styled fiction?

Pulp fiction is one of my favorite styles of fiction and covers a wide range of genres from hardboiled to horror.  Because of the short format of the style and the relative openness of the market (plenty of unpublished writers and lack of saturation by publications) I feel that it represents an open niche with plenty of available readers.  What could be a better reason to publish pulp fiction than the opportunity to feature great stories by yet-to-be-famous authors in a market with plenty of readers?

What is EPIC!?

Epic! is Inkie Publishing’s debut publication, a quarterly digest of pulp fiction short stories and sub-novels (novelettes, novellas, serialized novels, etc.).

Is it going to be digital or print or both?

Initially Epic! will be print only.  It will certainly have some digital teasers and other non-story content for each new issues and the plan is to offer back issues in a digital format.  One of the major objectives for starting Epic! is to encourage the recreational reading of short stories and sub-novels in a physical media, so I don’t foresee full digital releases any time soon.

What is your vision for EPIC!?

Long term I would like to see Epic! become a monthly publication, a springboard for new/upcoming authors, and a favorite haunt of more well known authors.  I would like to see the new writers that are featured get the exposure needed to go on to publish more works and have more well known authors submitting works as a way to stay creative and connected to the "underground" fiction market.

What kind of stories are you looking for?

Epic! is open to nearly all genres of fiction.  Obviously the more broad reaching pulp fiction type stories such as hardboiled/noir, sci-fi (no "syfy" though please ), fantasy, action adventure, horror, etc.  Epic! is also open to non-fiction pieces that are related to other works of fiction (book reviews, author interviews, etc.).

How long would you prefer them to be?

For works of fiction there is no strict guideline for length, however, anything under 40,000 words would be a standard submission.  Submissions are open for everything including micro/flash fiction, short stories, novelettes, novellas, and even shorter novels.  Anything over 40,000 words would most likely be serialized across multiple issues.

One of the editors at Astonishing Adventures Magazine jokingly said that any story that had a monkey in it would be more likely to be accepted. Do you have a special soft spot for any particular type of story?

I tend to enjoy reading horror and hardboiled pulp fiction the most, no monkey needed.  I have a slight soft spot for "folk tale" type horror in particular, if I were to come across a good story with a Chupacabra I might just have to accept it!

Why should authors submit to EPIC!?

Authors should submit to Epic! because of the tremendous opportunity and resource that it represents to them.  Epic! is just as much about the writers as it is the readers.  Inkie Publishing is an independent publisher, we don’t have the limitations of the larger publishing houses (shareholders, major overhead, etc).  This means that Inkie can work more closely with authors at ensuring that they get published and can publish a much wider variety of works than large publishing houses are capable of carrying.

Where can they learn more about your submission requirements, etc.?

The Inkie Publishing website (http://www.InkiePublishing.com/) contains everything an author needs to know about making a submission as well as an online submission form for when they are ready.

Thanks Kevin, and be ready for my submission.

The Journey Of St. Laurent, Chapter 7

Author’s note:

Sorry about missing the weekend.

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.

As always, I appreciate typo alerts.

Chapter 7 – A Solemn Broadcast

Castroville. I had nowhere else to go and my subconscious took me to Castroville. Castroville was the small town just thirty minutes out of San Antonio where I grew up. Back before my mother died, my father once took a petition door to door every night for a month trying to drum up support to change the name to Reagan City. When the matter finally got before the city council, my father was informed that Castroville was not named after the Cuban dictator after all.

Strange are the things you remember after returning to the place you grew up.

My father held the ice pack to his face with one hand and rubbed his forehead with the other. “Who taught you how to hit like that?”

My first impulse was to kick him while he was still down. I gagged the impulse back. The second impulse I couldn’t fight. “From a father that used to get drunk and beat his only son.”

Deep lines stretched down his face as he frowned. He shook his head. “I know. I didn’t- What I mean to say is- When your mother died- It was just- The booze- What I mean is, I’m sorry, son. I’m so sorry.”

I had waited for over nine years to tell him off. I had written pages of names to call him. I had planned all manner of revenge. Now that I was standing there, having full advantage, I didn’t feel like following through.

What would be the point?

My mother died in a car accident when I was fifteen. When that happened, my father took to two things: drinking, and beating up on his kid. I ended one of his addictions when I ran away from home on my seventeenth birthday. From my mother I received a burning desire to become a nurse and work in the ER to save lives. My father had given me a capacity for violence. I’d been waiting a long time to give it back.

I gave Walter my best stink eye and made my way to my old room.

It was still a mess. Exactly the mess I remembered leaving. Walter probably hadn’t touched a thing since I ran away.

I sat on the dusty bed. Everything felt so familiar, but nothing felt like home. Home had been Oasis. My room was more like a giant bad memory. I wondered if I’d ever find a place to really call home again.

I felt lost, and I guess I was lost. I had nowhere to go, no purpose, and very few resources to get me wherever I might want to. I was stuck in a place that was no longer home with a man who was now my father in name only.

And then I remembered the note the major had given me. How could I have forgotten that? I pulled it from my pocket and unfolded it.

The note read:

According to your story, two of the terrorists escaped Oasis before it was quarantined. A rental car was found wrecked with a body in the passenger seat just outside Anthony, New Mexico, about six hours from Oasis. It happened about six hours after the first cases of the virus were reported. The driver of the car disappeared before authorities arrived on the scene. If the passenger was infected, it doesn’t appear that the infection has spread.

The car was rented to one Samir Amani. The body had a drivers license in the name of Dion Feroz and a passport in the name of Makis Kasim. Makis is booked to leave the country aboard the Grand Paradiso Cruise Ship sharing a room with a companion leaving from Galveston, Texas on the 15^th.

Samir Amani was arrested at three fifteen this morning for a DUI violation in Baytown, Texas. The wrecked rental car came up when the arresting officer ran his license. Amani is being held at the Baytown municipal jail pending investigation of the wreck.

I suspect the local law enforcement personnel will be too busy in the very near future to care about him, and they have no way to connect him to the outbreak in Oasis. I further suspect you’ll have some interest in tracking him down.

Good luck, and hurry.

Back in Oasis, six terrorists had started the spread of the virus. Four were infected by it in an accident. Two of them spread it throughout the city by pretending to distribute West Nile Virus vaccinations. I had seen those two in their mock-vaccination trailer, and in a frantic struggle I had stabbed one of them with one of the virus-laden syringes.

Six hours. That could have been enough time for the virus to take hold and start to affect behavior. The infected terrorist probably lashed out at this Samir guy and caused the wreck.

I knew what to do. I had to catch up with Samir. All the pain and emptiness that I’d been feeling didn’t just go away, but having a purpose made me feel a lot less crippled by it.

Walter stepped in. “You know Alan apologized, right?”

My head snapped up. “Do you still have all your guns?”

“He read what you delivered, and then he came back on and apologized. He wants to organize a-”

“I need a rifle.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got most of my guns out at the comp- out at the, uh, club.”

“Were you going to say compound? What, are you in some kind of militia?”

He shrugged. “Well, I lost my family. I needed something.”

I stood up. “How far is it?”

“About an hour and fifteen minutes.”

“Isn’t there a Walmart or something closer?”

“Yeah, but I don’t shop at Walmart. I, uh… don’t believe in it.”

“Well, today you do. You’re going to buy me a graduation present.”

“Graduation?”

“I got my nursing degree.”

“You’re a nurse?”

I walked past him. “Don’t you have a job? I’m surprised you’re home in the middle of the day.”

“I’m on call. I work for a home care division of- doesn’t matter. I deliver oxygen and CPAP machines, that kind of stuff.”

He followed me out. He was looking pretty confused, like he didn’t really know what to say to me. He seemed to stumble over his feet and his words.

I probably would have felt guilty for taking advantage of him like this if he hadn’t made my life a living hell after my mom died.

He said he needed to drive his delivery van in case he got a call.

That was fine with me, as I’d done a lot of driving over the past couple of days.

At the Walmart he bought me a Ruger Mini-14 with a sling, three extra five round clips (they didn’t have any twenty or thirty rounders) and a couple boxes of ammo. After suffering what he felt was the terrible indignity of shopping at Walmart, he offered to take me to dinner at the steakhouse across the parking lot. That way, if any of his friends saw the delivery van in the parking lot, he could say it was for the food, not the imported plastic goods.

The steakhouse was one of those noisy places with flat screen TVs plastered everywhere. Other than ordering, we didn’t talk much. We were almost finished when something strange started happening on television. The sporting event was cut off by a press conference at the white house.

I immediately assumed the worst. It can’t be. I thought I had a day or two at least.

A government lackey in a bad suit was speaking. Someone turned up the volume on all the TVs and the ambient noise of the restaurant died down. The bad suit guy introduced the President.

The president had sailed through the election with a cool, collected exterior, even when his opponent was yelling at him during a debate. He had always presented the appearance of extreme self control. This time he looked horrible. His eyes were sunken in and occasionally darted around. His voice was not as sure and steady.

He raised his hand to quiet the reporters and put on one of those politician smiles. After clearing his throat, he started to speak.

“My fellow Americans. Every generation in America has had its defining moment. From the day the Declaration of Independence was signed to the day Lincoln spoke at Gettysburg to the day mankind first sat on the moon. As a nation we have come together to overcome every crisis, to break every technological barrier, and to lead as a shining example of liberty and freedom through every dark hour. We have a glorious legacy of defining moments. Today can be yours. Years from now, you will remember exactly what you were doing when you heard what I am about to tell you.

“Today we are breaking new ground. It is a historic day for our nation and the world. We stand on the footings of a new era. A question which has puzzled even the most brilliant minds for ages has finally been conclusively answered. This event is sure to bring about changes in the lives of every man, woman and child- black or white, rich or poor.

“Now, I have debated long and hard how to tell you what I am about to disclose. I had hoped to wait until my staff and I had time to prepare a more complete presentation. However, earlier today several sources released a number of facts mingled with fictions. I realized that to wait would only complicate matters.

“I would urge every listening ear to take heed.

“Do not be alarmed, this is not a time for fear. This is a time for celebration. This will be a time of great uncovering of scientific mysteries.

“I would like to thank you for your patience. I believe I have beat around the bush long enough.

“Over the past several months, the American military and various members of the American government have had contact, and a dialog with extra-terrestrials. They have demonstrated their peaceful intentions at every opportunity. They have chosen to set up a small scientific community at a secret location here in the United States. It is an honor to have them. With their help, we can build a stronger nation, and a more peaceful world.

“I know this is a shock. I know this will be a major paradigm shift, but I believe in you America. Your tolerance of the new, your ability to accept and embrace change, and your inner strength will make this our generation’s defining moment.

“There is much more to tell, and information regarding these momentous events is being distributed as we speak to news agencies nationwide. These records contain a full disclosure of our contact with the extraterrestrials.

“My fellow Americans, again, I believe in you. Let us celebrate and embrace these new brothers and sisters from another world.

“God bless America.”

Before the cameras cut away, the President put back on his big plastic smile. He wasn’t fooling anybody. His speech didn’t have the power that he was famous for. He had looked weak and unsure. He was scared.

Holy crap. We’re in trouble.

__________________________

Keep Reading! Chapter 8 is here.