Chapter, chapter, chapter.

Hopefully the Journey of St. Laurent Chapter 32 will be posted by the end of the weekend. I just had to crash last night before I could finish it. It’s been kind of a sleep-deprivation-alicious week.

Although, I must say, I’m finally getting close to the part I’m most excited to write. After all, what could be more awesome than alien zombies?

Maybe alien zombies with mystical demon-summoning powers. *Makes note for next book…*

And don’t forget to pimp Micro Flash Fiction to all your friends. And your dentists and car mechanics. It would be way better to have Micro Flash Fiction than the four year old issue of Time or the torn up “Fashion at the Oscars” issue of Us magazine in the waiting room.

Woot! Micro Flash Fiction featured on MagCloud

I went to check out MagCloud this morning to be sure everything was working right with the magazine, and low and behold Micro Flash Fiction was there on the front page as a featured magazine. How awesome is that? I didn’t even have to beg them, either, so I feel good about that.

Micro Flash Fiction is now available!

Ok, folks. I got my proof copy over the weekend and I am satisfied with the results. The print quality is great and they were speedy getting it to me.

So, if you are interested, you can check it out here: Micro Flash Fiction Issue 001

Inside you’ll find stories from:

• Alergnon Sydney
• Aphasia
• BajaB
• Benjamin Rogers – Kudos to him on the upcoming book published by Library of the Living Dead
• Brian Albright
• Bryce Beattie (me!)
• J. Dane Tyler
• J.E. Ignatius McNeil
• Jeremy Trylch
• Jim Bernheimer
• Rangar Terjeson Miljeteig

So I’d appreciate it if you check it out and tell me what you think.

And I’ll be contacting you authors within the next couple of days.

When I get a minute, I’m going to review the POD magazine service that I used (MagCloud).

The Journey of St. Laurent, Chapter 31

Author’s Note:

Hey, look at this, a chapter posted on Friday. See, it CAN happen.

As always, thanks for all comments and typo alerts.

For those of you who haven’t read any of the Journey Of St. Laurent before: 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. This serial is the sequel to my first novel, Oasis.

Chapter 31 – The Long Hard Road

The first hour or so wasn’t so bad. The day hadn’t really heated up yet, I still had some water, and my legs had no wobble. Every few minutes, a semi truck followed by an armored Humvee or two would cruise by. Other than that, traffic was light. Traffic going into the city, that is.

Traffic going away from the city was a different story. It was looking more and more like a morning commute over there.

But where are all of those people going? What possible good is running going to do?

A Volkswagen bus came up behind me. It had rusty rims and had been spray painted in some kind of camouflage pattern. The furry bearded driver honked at me as he raced by. The tailgate was decorated with multiple Confederate flags.

I stopped sticking out my thumb after that. If that guy won’t pick me up, nobody will.

The sun heated up the blacktop first, and then the air. It was gearing up to be another toasty summer day.

I wondered if any semblance of normality would ever return for me. Most of my personal information was lost back in Oasis. I was probably officially presumed dead by the government. All of my accounts, medical credentials, everything would take forever to get a hold of again. That is if things ever settled to the point where I could track them down. I pushed it from my mind and kept walking.

When I heard the whine of a dirt bike behind me, I didn’t even bother to look back. Until it started slowing down. Then I turned to see why.

Riding the little dirt bike was a vision in short red hair and goggles.

I’m pretty sure my jaw dropped to about my knees. No way.

London pulled up beside me atop the dirt bike I had last seen strapped to the back of her father’s RV. Her big smile made the goggles look all the more ridiculous.

“Need a lift, big boy?”

“What about your stepmom?”

“I think she’s got her ride taken care of, you know, in the RV. Besides that, I’m not sure three would fit on this little bike.”

“Works for me. Even that thing has got to beat walking.”

London reached for her shirt, pulled out a pair of sunglasses, and handed them to me. “You’ll want these.”

“No goggles for me?”

“Sorry, only the coolest person on the bike gets to wear them.”

The bike did have a little set of saddlebags. London took my empty water bottle and jammed it in one side.

I hopped on back, put one arm around London and held the cooler with my other. It wasn’t exactly comfortable riding back there, but I tried to focus on the half of me that was holding on to a good looking girl and not the half that was gripping the bulky plastic box and going numb.

It’s about two hundred miles from Birmingham to Lindon. The little dirt bike we were on had a 2.2 gallon tank, and under normal conditions got a hint over one hundred miles to the gallon. That could have meant that we got to Linden on one tank with a minimum of hassle.

You never know, we might just have done it, too. If the gas tank had been full when we started. Which it wasn’t.

We got off an exit in the middle of Birmingham proper to find fuel.

Four filling stations, and not a one still had gas.

There were more people walking around on the streets than we had seen back in Texas. They walked in groups of at least three or four, and all of them looked nervous. Everywhere we drove there seemed to be a feeling of tension in the air, like a storm about to break.

A crowd around the front of a corner convenience store caught our attention and we stopped across the street to see what was happening.

The crowd was maybe thirty or so strong, and they were shouting and banging on the door and windows.

“Come on, my kid’s gotta eat.”

“It ain’t right for you to keep all that food locked up.”

“We gotta right to buy that stuff.”

Above the store was a second level that appeared to serve as an apartment.

A gray haired woman stuck her head out one of the upper windows. “Y’all get out of here. We’ll open when we open. We ain’t going to let you steal what little we got left.”

The exchange just became more heated.

Some punk kid appeared from around the corner with a big rock in hand.

My heart sank.

Th kid threw the rock through one of the front display windows. Four or five burly rednecks from the mob kicked away the shards of standing glass and climbed into the store.

I feared the violence was going to get worse, and there was nothing that could be done about it. “London, let’s get out of here.”

London eyes teared up and she stared on.

I gave her a little squeeze. “There’s nothing we can do. If we stay we’ll just get caught up in it. We need to go.”

London swallowed hard and cranked the throttle.

The jerk forward nearly left me behind.

I turned back over my shoulder.

The door to the shop was open and an older man was being pulled away by the crowd. They weren’t being gentle.

It made me sick and angry all over.

We’re already to this? Two days and it’s crisis enough to violate an elderly couple’s livelihood, maybe even their lives? Where the hell is the leadership in this town, or anywhere? Where rallying cry to stick together, to fight the bastards that attacked us? Why do we have to tear ourselves apart? All we hear from Washington is ‘be calm’ and all we see on TV is destruction. Is this all we are, a nation built up of cowards? Scenes like that are probably going on in every big city right now. The whole mess could boil over any-

It struck me then and there, speeding down the road on that little motorcycle. Alan Jex and his ilk were right. We had to fight. And if we didn’t fight the aliens, we’d end up fighting ourselves. Even if the virus I was carrying didn’t deal a knockout blow to the aliens, it might give hope to those willing to fight on.

But was there a chance that the aliens were really just like the president had said? Peaceful? No, not a chance. They were just playing a game. Why else had they blown up the neighborhood after I had called Jex? Why else had they chased and tried to kill me? There was no other possible answer.

The extraterrestrials are the enemy.

London got us back on the freeway. We drove another ten minutes before she stopped at the site of one of the many car crashes that had been abandoned by the side of the road.

I paced back and forth, still fuming about the state of things.

London pulled a siphon hose from the non-water saddlebag and went to work.

I probably would have felt guilty about stealing the gas if I didn’t have so many other feelings spinning me around.

The rest of the ride was long, exhausting, and uneventful. We stopped a couple of times to get water and stretch our legs, and twice again to siphon gas from wrecks. I wanted to hop off and push as the little bike grunted its way up many of the canyons and hills. My arm muscles got painfully tired before noon, and by afternoon my butt was sore from all the bouncing on the not-exactly-luxury motorcycle seat.

It took all day and the night was getting downright chilly before we saw the sign that read “Linden 5 miles.” It had to be about eleven o’clock when we pulled up to the camp just outside town.

We weren’t the only ones who had heeded Jex’s call.

A small line of cars was entering a makeshift gate into a large field. Each one stopped and showed something to the guards before going in. The field was filling with RVs, pickup trucks, SUVs, diesel generators, lights, tents, and all sorts of people from emo-looking kids to shotgun-toting business men in suits with loosened collars. At one end of the field was a hill, and on top of the hill was an honest-to-goodness giant machine gun. I couldn’t see much other than the outline in the moonlight, but it had to be fifty caliber.

Two guards carrying AK47s and wearing black fatigues stopped us at the gate.

One of them raised a hand. “Hold up. Have you two been vetted and received your assignment?”

London shook her head.

I creaked off the back of the bike. “Not yet.”

“Then you’ll have to wait until tomorrow to get in here.”

“Do one of you have a way to get a hold of Mr. Jex?”

“In the morning I’m sure he’ll be happy to help you.”

London kicked down the stand and swung her leg over the top. “No, you need help us contact him now.”

“No we don’t.”

I saw London’s hand ball up into a fist. “Oh yes you do. I did not drive this piece of crap all day long to get turned away for the night. Where can we find him?”

The guard stepped closer and leaned in toward her face. “I’m not sure you understood me, miss. You’re not getting in here tonight, and I’m not sure I like your attitude.”

If the guard had ever seen London’s temper like I had, he might have not used that snotty tone of voice. He also might have known to dodge the oncoming fist.

---

Keep Reading! Chapter 32 is here.

Micro Flash Fiction is Finally On The Way

Ok, after a long and aggravating battle with various image editors, layout managers, upload systems, and file types, I have emerged victorious. Micro Flash Fiction is now officially put together and uploaded to the printer. The proof copy is speeding its way to my mailbox. They estimated I’ll receive it within a week. As soon as I get my proof copy, I’ll look it over and then go make the magazine available to everyone.

For those who care, here’s the cover:

The Journey of St. Laurent, Chapter 30

Author’s note:

I have a million valid excuses for this being so late, but you don’t want to hear them. I’ll just say I’m terribly sorry.

For those of you who haven’t read any of the Journey Of St. Laurent before: 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. This serial is the sequel to my first novel, Oasis.

Chapter 30 – Not Much of a Plan

The gear had all been tossed into a bin underneath the back bench. We fished out the radio and flipped it on.

I didn’t think it was time for Alan’s show yet, and I had no idea what station he’d be on out here anyway so I just crawled the AM, FM, and shortwave bands on the little emergency radio my dad had given me.

After two trips through the dials I found something promising. And by promising I mean “likely to point me in the right direction,” not promising as in “destined to become one of my favorite shows.”

Anyway, the host said something about the only way to stop the aliens is to follow Alan Jex’s lead right now. He then shamed the president for being such a weakling, made some rude remarks about the president’s mother, berated the police and military for following orders and imposing martial law in the bigger cities, then went to a commercial break.

London winked at me. “Well, that guy’s a lot of fun. Tell me what you find out, I’m going to shower.”

After a spot for a gold buying company and one for a dehydrated food packet seller, the host tiraded back onto the air. It took a full twenty minutes before he got to the part I wanted to hear.

“Now is your chance to stand up with Alan Jex, that great American, against these sons of bitches aliens. He has issued a call to arms, and the first rally point is a tiny town called Linden, Tennessee. If you don’t do your best to get there, and soon, then you might as well just go to Virginia and piss on the graves of the founding fathers, because…”

Linden, Tennessee? I clicked off the radio. I’ve never even heard of Linden, Tennessee.

I sat back and stared out the window.

Trees and signs and the occasional cars whizzed by. The RV bounced, shook, and rattled its way down the road.

Was finding Jex and his sure-to-be-motley army the right thing to do? I couldn’t be sure. I did know that going into hiding was the wrong thing. The government had apparently made it clear they weren’t going to do anything to stop the aliens.

Jex’s group was sure to be outclassed in every way by the green men, but they were sure to be survivalists and militiamen who would fight down to the last man.

And I had possession of the thing that could equalize the playing field. It sat in a very messy cooler taken from a burning car.

A man made virus. One that spreads itself by killing the host’s brain and seizing control of its body. The virus controlled body would then go to any length to bite other living beings. The virus controlled body didn’t feel pain and didn’t rest. It was a relentless virus propagation machine. And Major Glover had assured me it works just as well on the aliens as on humans.

The problem is: once you have a weapon of such magnitude, do you use it?

What if the virus got out in the open? It could destroy human life on this continent, just like it wiped out pretty much everybody back in Oasis. Would I be willing to risk that?

A nagging voice in my head said that doing nothing would be the greater risk.

And there was the cure. Or maybe you could call it a sort of vaccination. A bacteria anyway, engineered to envelop and digest the virus. I had been injected by the bacteria back in Oasis before being infected and it had saved my life.

The problem with this bacterial cure is that I had no idea where any of it was, or what had happened to it. All of it had been left with the military.

I wondered how long the bacteria would survive inside my body.

My mind jumped around between these and about a dozen other points.

I must have drifted off again, because the next thing I knew the sun was much higher, I was drooling with my head on the backrest of the bench, and London was mussing up my hair.

“Wake up sleepyhead.”

“Where are we?” At least, that’s I thought I said. It may have come out more in mumbles.

London plopped down next to me. “What?”

I sat up straight, rubbed my eyes, and tried again. “Where are we?”

“Almost to lunch. There’s a campground just off the freeway up ahead. Dad thinks we can fill up the RV’s water tanks and stuff.”

London was wearing a torn up loose fitting pair of jeans and a black Styx t-shirt that looked like it might have been purchased on their very first tour.

“What are you staring at?”

I shook my head and looked around. “Nothing. Don’t you get the stares after waking up?”

“Whatever, so what did the crazy guy on the radio say?”

“Oh, apparently Alan Jex is rounding up anybody he can get in some dinky town I’ve never heard of. Does your dad have a road atlas?”

“So you are going to try to meet up?” London bit her lip and I could tell she was making an effort to keep her voice down. “Is everybody there going to be nuts like the guy you were listening to? And wasn’t Alan Jex the jerk that drove you off his radio show?”

“Yeah, he is-”

“So what are you going to do when you get there? Explain to me why it’s a good idea for you to go.”

“Well, I told you about the cooler.”

She folded her arms. “And are they going to know how to use it safely?”

“Probably no- I mean, I’m not really sure.”

“So if you’re not even sure it’s going to help, why are you going?”

“I’m not really sure where else to go.”

She filled her lungs, widened her eyes and shrugged. “Stay with us.”

I looked up at the cabin, but I couldn’t see her dad. Just her stepmother in the passenger’s seat nursing a bottle of beer.

She looked back at me, belched, and waved.

I faced London again.

“I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think I’m going to fit in with your Dad and your stepmom.”

“And you are going to fit in with a pack of loner survivalist weirdos. Corbin, they’re a bunch of lunatics.”

“Okay, so that’s true, but still-”

“But still, what? You’d rather just be one of the first to go if the aliens attack again? I don’t see a reason why they wouldn’t.”

“I know things have gone off the deep end, but if they do keep going like this, it’s not going to be safe anywhere for long. And if I can do something to help, then-”

“Help? What are you going to help to do? Call down fire from a UFO like the last time you spoke with Alan?”

Ouch. That was below the belt. I gave myself a minute to respond.

“London, I don’t have a home to go home to anymore. I don’t have a job anymore. Pretty much everything I own has been stolen or destroyed. The only thing I really have right now is a way to hurt the aliens, and hurt them bad. That’s it. I don’t have anything else. What else-”

“You could have me.” A tear welled up and trickled down London’s face.

I didn’t have a response. Oh, great. What is she getting at? I was pretty sure she was just trying to play my emotions for the win. Knowing didn’t matter. It still took the fight out of most of my arguments. Even the good ones. “Really?”

London scrunched up her lips, turned her head, and shrugged.

I reached over and put my hand on hers. I had to play it carefully. If I was right and she was faking, I didn’t want to give her any more ammo to use against me by being too mushy. If I was wrong, though, and she really was opening herself up like that, well, if I wasn’t gentle she’d probably just throw me from the moving RV.

“London, of course I’d rather be with you. That isn’t even a question. It isn’t a matter of what I’d prefer to do. It’s a matter of doing what I believe is my duty.”

She pulled out her hand from under mine, spun, and slugged me in the arm. “Jackass. You really are that stubborn, aren’t you.”

“Pretty much.”

London looked up front and lowered her voice again. “Well, I can’t come with you. It’s too dangerous. Besides, Turleen’s already getting sloshed up there. Who knows where she even got the booze? Somebody has to trade off driving with my dad eventually.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to come and-”

“And why not? You don’t think I can be useful? I’ve already saved your butt-”

“No, that has nothing to do with- It’ because you’re with your- oh, forget it. Let’s just skip to the end and say you deserve to win the discussion, but I’m just too thick headed to see reason.”

She folded her arms again and bunched up her mouth. “Fine.”

We just stared at each other for a bit, unsure of what to do next.

She broke first. “I’ll see if dad’s got a road atlas.”

When we stopped to have our lunch of water and junk food snacks, I went over the map with Dan. He seemed relieved that he’d be dropping me off, rather than taking me for a longer time.

He’d drop me somewhere outside of Birmingham, which was as far out of his way as he was willing to go. I’d have to make my way North from there. If we pushed it, we’d be there by nightfall, and he’d stop to let everyone sleep before we parted ways.

And that’s exactly what we did. We found a rural gas station on the way that wouldn’t sell us any food, but they would sell us gas at reasonable ripoff prices. The further along we got, the more cars we started seeing. Sure enough, by the time the sun set, a sign read “Birmingham 20 Miles.”

We pulled over at the next rest stop to make camp. Across the freeway, we could see a full parking lot of people who were headed away from the city.

Once again, I got the floor as my bed. At least London gave me some rinsed out and dried clothes to use as a pillow this time.

Morning came too quickly, and like the day before, the old cowboy was up long before everybody else getting things ready.

I woke up, shaved with a borrowed razor, and brushed my teeth with my finger. Then I gathered up everything I was going to take with me, which included most of the money I had left, the cooler and a little bottle of water that London’s father gave me. I was going to be hitchhiking, and so I needed to be traveling light. I didn’t want to look like a scary vagrant. In that same vein, I couldn’t very well take the rifle with me. Who in their right mind would pick up a man that had a gun strapped to his back?

As soon as I had my things together, it was time to go. London was the only one to step outside and say goodbye.

We’d been through a lot in just a couple of days, and it felt like I was saying goodbye to a lifelong friend. I didn’t know what to say, so I just apologized for the hard things I dragged her into and said thanks for saving my life.

She looked for a moment like she would say something, but stopped. Instead, she threw her arms around my neck and kissed me full on the mouth.

Without another word and before I knew it, she was back inside and the rusty old RV was rattling down the road.

You get used to having people around. After a couple days of constant companionship, I was back to being alone. I didn’t like the thought.

It didn’t really matter that I didn’t like it. I had been through it in my head a hundred times by now. I had a job to do.

And so I walked alone by the freeway with a heavy heart and meager supplies. I wondered how long it was going to take me to get there.

---

Keep reading! Chapter 31 is here.

Updates, Updates, Updates

OK, I’m using this open source package (Scribus) to lay out Micro Flash Fiction, and I’ve given up on it, recommitted to using it, given up, rededicated to it, and so on and so forth. I have a love/hate relationship with learning new software. I suppose Scribus might be intuitive if you’ve done lots of real publishing before, but I’ve only used OpenOffice (yay!) and Word (ick), so there you go.

Anyway, I became distracted last week by some ideas for a couple of stories that have been bouncing around in my head. I had to write them down rather than work on Journey, so sorry about the lack of chapter. I should be good to go for Friday, though.