I just didn’t get it done. I’ll work twice as hard next week.

One of the problems is that I’m having a hard time focusing. I’ve got this great idea for a book kicking around in my head, and I’m also getting to the part of “Journey” that is the whole reason I wanted to write the book. The two creative worlds do regular battle for conscious processing time in my brain.

I need more time to write…

So, without further ado, here’s my interview with Joe Perrone Jr.

Ok, so tell me a little about yourself. Why did you decide to self publish?

After trying to find an agent for over two years, and coming very close twice, I decided that enough was enough. I’m nearly 64 years old, and felt it was now or never.

What is your newest book?

I published two novels this past winter. Escaping Innocence, which is a coming-of-age story set in the ’60s, and As the Twig is Bent, which is a mystery thriller set in New York City.

How long have your books been in print?

I published As the Twig is Bent with Lulu in September of 2008, I believe, and Escaping Innocence in October. Then, during December, I re-published them both with CreateSpace. I still maintain a storefront with Lulu, because they publish my books in hardcover.

How did you like the setup process with Lulu?

Considering that I didn’t know the first thing about self publishing, I would say it was very user friendly. The nice thing was that I could learn by experimenting; I think I did something like 17 revisions on As the Twig is Bent.

And with CreateSpace?

It’s hard to say, because I had gained so much knowledge from working with Lulu. One thing that CreateSpace prompted me to learn was how to make PDF files. I found several sites on the web where I could convert my files to PDF files. I will say that making a cover is a heck of a lot easier with Lulu.

Which of those two POD publishers do you like better?

I would have to say CreateSpace, so far, primarily because the cost to produce a book is so very much less than Lulu that I can offer my titles at a very competitive price, and that just might make the difference between someone buying it or not–especially since I am a relative unknown commodity. Another good thing about CreateSpace is that the books get up and running on Amazon in an amazingly fast time.

What have you done to promote your books?

I originally did some paid (and unpaid) press releases with PR.com, but truthfully I don’t really think they had much impact. I contacted my local library, and arranged for a book signing, and also did another book signing at a local community center. I did a mass emailing to all my friends and relatives. Recently, I submitted my two books to a prominent newspaper in Asheville, NC, about 25 miles from my home. I haven’t heard anything yet, but if they decide to review them I will probably sign on for a 13-week ad campaign. Also, since my book signing program went so well at my local branch, I have been invited to do another one at the main branch. I also placed some books on consignment in a shop on our town’s main street, and have already sold some copies there. I also am running sponsored search ads with Yahoo. It’s very tricky, and requires a lot of trial and error, but I think I’m finally getting the hang of it.

What do you do when you set up a book signing?

I made a three-sided sign using foam board, with images of the books and one of me, along with reviews, etc. I also custom-design bookmarks for each event. They have my contact information on them and are very popular. As far as the book signing itself, I have a very interesting program that I present. First of all, I speak about the process of creating a novel, including showing all the original hand-written notebooks and subsequent computer-generated drafts. People seem to be really impressed with all the work that goes into a book. Then, I take questions from the audience, and finally I read brief excerpts and sign books.

Have you had much success with those?

I believe so. Since I am not in a major market, it’s hard to know exactly, but I sold 15 books to a crowd of about 25 people at my first signing. I believe the next one will be much better, because it’s the main branch, and many more people should attend–I hope!

What advice do you have for other authors?

Don’t give up your dream. Don’t be discouraged by rejections from agents or publishers. But, remember that the ‘squeaky wheel gets the grease,’ so make a lot of noise. It’s very hard work promoting the books, but I think it’s worth it.

Is there anything else I should have asked you?

Well, you didn’t ask if I’m currently working on a new book. The answer is: Yes! I recently began work on a new literary novel, entitled Changes. It’s about a man struck by lightning. I expect to publish it in early 2010. Last but not least, I will be appearing at a Book Fair at the Blue Ridge Community College in East Flat Rock, NC, on May 8 & 9.

Where can folks learn more about you or buy your books?

I have a website on AuthorsDen.com, and folks can also find me on MySpace.com, and Facebook.com. Also, if one goes to Amazon.com, and searches ‘books, Joe Perrone Jr.’ one will see all of my books there. Lastly, if they go to: http://stores.lulu.com/catsklgd1 they will see all my titles, and there are links there to my CreateSpace E-stores. And, if anyone wants to contact me, please do at: catsklgd1″AT”yahoo.com.

Thanks for your time!

Thanks you for interviewing me. It’s been a pleasure.

Part 1

Rick Emerald tightened his death grip on the coffee mug handle. He hated it when dolls like that came in to hire him. They always worked him over worse than any thug.

And she wasn’t just a doll, either. She was a full barbecue with all the sauces. She wasn’t young anymore, but she was still far from old. Her landscape was still firm, her lips were pouty, and her manner, well, she was a kitten on the prowl. She wore a string of marbles around her thin neck and had on a dark blue dress that was just the right amount of too tight in just the right places.

There was a time a couple of years back when Rick would take any case attached to a woman like that. He had always been a sucker for weepy glims and curvy gams. He was a patsy for a pretty face, and he knew it.

That’s why he had gotten out of Hollywood. Too many times blond bombshells had cheated, betrayed, winked, kissed, and slapped their way out of a detective bill. That’s why he had packed up moved out here to Edison City.

Now his office had been open two whole days and it looked like his very first client would be one of those same bombshells. Of course, the one in front of him was better aged than most of the picture show chicks that darkened his doorstep back in Cali. Somehow that didn’t make her any less delectable, though.

Rick couldn’t take the case. He knew it. It would just mean trouble by the shovel full.

“So, will you help me find my husband’s will?”

Rick frowned. “No.”

She sauntered closer, leaned way over, and rested her hands on his desk. “Pretty please?”

The dress was in no way loose, but the motion exposed just enough more real estate to break Rick’s resolve. Who was he kidding, anyway? He might as well give in now.

“Fine.” Rick winced when he heard the word escape his lips.

“I’ll give you, say fifteen hundred dollars after you get the will back and make sure I get my inheritance.”

The promise of big money was a worse bet than anything they have in Vegas. Besides, Rick had never been much of a gambling man.

“Or how about you give me a fifty dollar retainer and then you can pay my standard daily rate for as long as you want to keep me on the case.”

“What’s wrong, shamus? You doubt your detective skills?”

“More like afraid of your skill in pulling the sheep over my peepers.”

The corners of her mouth raised up in a smile. “All right then, we’ll do it your way. But you’ll miss out on a lot of dough.”

“That’s just fine. I ain’t looking to gamble on a job, sister. I’m just looking to pay the rent in this fine dump.”

“When can you start? The lawyer said he’d be reading the will on Friday morning.”

“Remind me why your husband’s shyster won’t let you spy the will?”

“We’ll he wasn’t technically my husband when he died. We’d been divorced two months.”

Rick shook his head. He had a gut feeling that this was only the beginning of the whole shebang getting worse. “What are you trying to-”

“But he didn’t have time to change it, honest.”

“How can you be sure?”

“That’s why his lawyer won’t show it to me. The new floozy wife paid him off so’s she can get a new one made up.”

“He’s married again? And you think she’s got it now?”

She nodded.

It just kept getting better and better. Rick knew he had found himself smack dab in the middle of a rich man’s cat fight. There was no way he’d be wrapping things up all neat and tidy. It was certain to turn ugly like the stain on the wall that he hid with the empty filing cabinet.

“What makes you think she’s got it?”

“Well, he died about two hours ago an I don’t think she’s had time to track down that artist friend of hers she used to see before she stole my husband.”

Two hours?

“Alright Mz…” Rick cursed himelf for being so weak just because a pair of mighty fine legs were on the other side of the desk. He realized he’d been hired and paid by a hum dinger and he didn’t even know her name yet. “What was your name again?”

She stole a glance out the window. Her flirty smile dropped. She sucked in some wind and straightened up.

“Charolette Gray. My husband’s name was Joey. The lawyer is Michael Baetelli. The artist’s name is David something. That’s everything you should need to know, right?” She turned and started for the door. “Good bye, Mr. Emerald.”

Rick raised an eyebrow. Something outside must have spooked her. He looked out to see what the trouble was.

The door closed and Charolette was gone.

Rick watched her pass by, then looked around again for the cause of her swift flight. He couldn’t see anything.

Might as well check it out.

He sighed and put on his fedora and overcoat. Maybe he should even follow her a bit, see where she goes, see if she’s on the level.

Rick’s office was on the street level of a three story office building, right next to a dive called Nate’s Deli.

Rick stepped out side just in time to see Charolette turn the corner. He pulled out his keys and locked the door. Sure she was moving quick, be he’d still be able to catch her.

He hoofed it past the deli and turned the corner.

Charollete was gone, but two beefy thugs were there waiting.

Rick put on the brakes, but it was too late. They were too close.

The first thug pounded a jackhammer of a fist into Rick’s stomach.

Rick doubled over and gasped for breath. He looked up to get a glance at his attacker.

The second thug stepped forward and decked Rick right in the kisser. The blow crashed him down to one knee.

“Listen bud, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, but stay away from Mr. Gray’s affairs.”

Rick pushed out some breath and struggled back up to his feet. “Sure, sure. But who’s Mr. Gray?”

“Don’t get wise, flatfoot. I’ll knock you into next week.”

“Fine. Yeah. You got it.”

The second thug rapped the other on the shoulder. “Come on, Tony. We gotta do the thing.”

The two meatheads turn and made tracks in the direction Charollette was probably headed.

She had lied to get him on the job. Rick was angry about that. Two thugs had sent him a message. That just made him more curious. There was only one thing he could do at a moment like this…

Rick picked himself up, dusted himself off, and hauled back to the deli for a sandwich.

It has come to my attention that I have too many projects going on. I just had to scale back.

The biggest thing you may notice is that I won’t be posting new fiction on Fridays until I’m done with the line edits of Oasis. It’s been too long. I really need to get that sucker finished and published. The exception will be this Friday, as I post part one of a story that I intend to finish once I’m done with the edits. I already stopped posting to one or two of my other blogs.

The edits won’t take very long if I just focus for a minute.

Just so you know, here’s what to expect from me.

1. Part one of story this Friday.
2. Posts about editing and my progress in Oasis.
3. Oasis in softcover.
4. Finish short story from #1.
5. Oasis sequel time, baby. I’m tentatively calling this one “The Journey of St. Laurent.”

I am freaking excited to get started on the the sequel to Oasis. I’ve got some great stuff planned. We’ll get to meet Corbin’s estranged father. We’ll find out just what the heck aliens have to do with anything, and whether they’re really aliens at all. We’ll meet a bombastic conspiracy radio show host. And of course, we’ll witness the breakdown of society as we know it. It’ll be fun!

I am down to two three side projects that I’m still going to pursue.

1. A commercial project to help folks use a POD publisher to self publish their work, whether it be fiction or non-fiction. You’ll definitely hear more about this one soon.
2. Another project’s still in the planning stage, but it should excite all the zombie-loving lunatics out there. I’ve been working with an artist buddy of mine, and we’re putting together a Zombie-Smashing web comic! We’ll release it one page at a time (a la megatokyo or apple geeks). It will not be based off of the Oasis series of events. It’s a totally new setup. If we can get this thing to fly, it’ll be a kick.
3. I’ve got a great political thriller story brewing. I would like to write it as an hour to an hour and a half audio theater, and produce it, and bring about an audio theater renaissance in America. But then I’d also like to write it as a novel. Maybe I’ll do both. I just can’t decide which to do first. Or whether to do it before the Oasis sequel or after…

I really need to find a way to make a living doing this kind of stuff…

In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been cleaning up and reorganizing around here.  Especially with the Contents menu.

Now it should be easier to check out everything I’ve written.

It’s fun for me to see how far I’ve come as a writer in the past decade.

_______________________

He could see the delicatessen at the side of the store. A fairly large group of people were kneeling on the floor, cowering and waiting for what the madman would do next.

An average sort of fellow sat casually sipping his orange soda and pointing an antique colt revolver at the hostages. This perpitraitor had his attention focused on something at the other end of the aisle, though.

Darrien leaned a little more to see what it was. It was officer Drake, from Department 9. The criminal lowered his glass.

“Can I buy you a drink stranger?” Drake’s blood boiled, but only the color of his neck betrayed the fire in his bosom, his voice was low and his words deliberate. You could almost see them lining up single file on his tongue before passing his lips.

“I thought I told you not to show your face in this town again Johnson.” Drake always fancied himself a lawman of the ancient west. The man smirked, laying down the can he held in his right hand.

“Oh! Did you now lieutenant! Seems to me it was the other way around. I’m sorry, I must have forgotten.”

‘Johnson?’ Thought Darrien, ‘Blazer Johnson? Holy momma, this is a big one. Probably worth $8 mil to the prison council.’

“See if this helps you remember” said Drake as he started for his gun.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you” Johnson snapped the hammer back to prime the single action weapon. Drake stopped mid-draw, clearly beaten for the moment.

“What do you want?”

“I dunno.” paused Johnson “How’s about your gun for starters.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Someone dies.”

“All right, here it is” Drake started to slowly pull out his weapon.

If Darrien interfered now, Johnson would probably scare, and kill some innocents. So he retreated behind the isle and crouched in wait. No sooner had he done so than the crashing boom of the Colt 45 rang through the air.

“You weren’t as fast as you thought.” laughed Johnson.

‘Shoot. That fool. He thought he could out draw a bullet.’ He had to think quick.

“What’s everyone’s recent fascination with produce?” Darrien’s voice echoed in the quiet store.

“Who said that?” Snapped Johnson.

“This is the third call I’ve received this week that has to do with stolen turnips. it’s not just a local problem either.” Just keep him busy.

“Who ARE YOU!?” Johnson began to get frantic.

‘Good, he’s focusing on me, but with the echo, he can’t tell where I am.

“Across the nation turnips are disappearing from shelves like gold nuggets.” Another shot. Darrien saw a can of beans midway down the isle explode.

“SHUT UP!”

“It’s as if there is some kind of international plot to rid the world of turnips.”

“I SAID SHUT UP! !”

“You know, about a billion cops will be here in a few minuets.”

“Where are you, you lit1le…” another shot. That made four.

“Each and every cop will want the money from your capture to go to their department.”

“So?” I

“So I’m gonna get it.” The now all too familiar sound of the colt rang again. This time, a box right above his head burst. Five. He grabbed a can off the shelves, and threw it as high as he could without hitting the ceiling. Startled, Johnson fired at it. Darrien took a swift stride around the corner and aimed at Johnson. Blazer threw his gun at Darrien and scrambled for the gun of the dead policeman. He was stopped mid-flight by a laser shot to the back.

]]> http://www.storyhack.com/2008/08/22/unfinished-novel-chapter-1-part-b/feed/ 4 http://www.storyhack.com/2008/08/15/the-apocalpse-of-blythe-part-4/ http://www.storyhack.com/2008/08/15/the-apocalpse-of-blythe-part-4/#comments Fri, 15 Aug 2008 20:57:34 +0000 Bryce Beattie http://www.storyhack.com/?p=285 [Author's Note: Here is the conclusion to the story. Sorry it's up so late. Here's the first part in case you missed it.]

The Apocalpse of Blythe – Part 4

And then Blythe heard something. A voice, low but strong and coming from… It can’t be… it felt like it was coming from her own sword.

~I am vengeance.~

What?

~I will destroy the maggot that would harm you.~

What is going on? Who are you?

It spoke words of terrible vengeance, words of torture and pain. The words did not echo aloud in the dark alley. They spoke directly in her mind. The tip of her sword began to glow faintly as if it had been left in a fire.

And then she understood.

The sword had awoken. It had a mind and a will of its own. It had become the violent anger in Blythe’s heart.

~Kill him.~

She stood and cleared her throat.

Garron twisted back. “I thought I told you-”

“Not to run? Don’t worry. I won’t.”

~Kill him.~

Garron raised his sword again. “Perhaps you just need a stronger lesson.”

His braggadocio just infuriated her more. Blythe shook with anger.

“Perhaps you should just-”

~Up.~

Blythe felt the sword jerk upward in her hand. It clanged hard against Garron’s blade.

Her eyes widened. It had moved by itself. She hadn’t even consciously known Garron was making an attack.

But the sword knew.

Garron stepped back. He turned his head and stared at Blythe for a moment.

~Thrust.~

Blythe threw her weight forward. The sword aimed itself at his chest.

Garron dove backward and moved to parry.

The sword danced in Blythe’s hand, twisting and adjusting aim.

Garron’s sword missed and swung wide.

Blythe’s sword sunk itself into Garron’s thigh. It sizzled like meat in a hot pan.

Garron’s mouth opened wide and he made an obvious effort to scream, but no sound came out.

~Delicious. Just taste the fool’s pain and fear.~

The sword pulled itself free of his leg.

Very little blood seeped out the wound. The flesh had been seared, and it made a smell that was a cross between bacon and burning hair.

Garron attacked wide and hard like he would swing an ax.

The sword jerked again in Blythe’s hand and stopped his wild strike. The clash was loud, but she barely felt the contact at all.

~He will suffer.~

Garron came at her again and again in a wild frenzy.

It did him no good. The sword knew where every attack would land. It knew the perfect counter for every strike. And it loved the taste of his blood and his pain.

Garron tired quickly. His shoulders dropped, his mouth hung wide and he limped on his right leg.

Blythe’s beautiful hair twirled in the air as she danced around him. For the first time in her life, she was in total control. It felt good. No more being threatened or pushed around. Never again would she be simply the weak daughter of the tavern owner. Never again would any man dare to take advantage. She was strong, and she was angry, and now with her sword, she was lethal.

Blythe stopped and stared a moment into Garron’s eyes.

His eyes were wide and darted about like he was looking for a way out. Like he was terrified.

He had probably seen that same look in the eyes of his victims a dozen times, maybe more.

Blythe stood tall. “You are afraid. Perhaps you fear me like others have feared you.”

~Retribution.~

She reached up and ran the fingers of her left hand through her hair. “But it is not enough.”

~Retribution.~

A cold smile crossed her lips. She pointed the tip of her sword at his heart. “Justice demands more. “

~Retribution.~

Garron sucked in some air and swung again.

Blythe felt the sword lead her hand. It arced her parry downward and away.

The swords met.

Blythe’s wrist gave a subtle twist and Garron’s sword clattered to the ground.

Garron dropped to his knees and gasped. “Please.”

“How many times have others begged you?”

“I promise. I won’t-”

“Don’t lie to me.”

~Make him suffer.~

The sword pulled toward Garron’s face.

~Make him pay.~

Blythe took a step back. “No.”

She closed her eyes and shook her head. I can’t torture anyone, even him.

~He deserves this and more. Hurt him.~

But her burning anger was gone. She had won. She was in control.

Garron had lost, and he would always know it.

That’s enough. I don’t need to become a monster like-

~Kill him!~

Blythe lowered her sword and looked over at Mala huddled in the corner.

Mala’s breathing was shallow. Her clothes were ripped, and she shook uncontrollably. She hadn’t made a peep since the fighting began.

Blythe felt a ping of sorrow for the poor girl. She’s so weak. She’ll never be able to defend herself against… Maybe he does need to-

Garron let out a guttural yell.

Blythe spun.

He was diving through the air.

Blythe threw herself back. She wasn’t fast enough.

But her sword was.

The greasy villain fell headlong onto the tip. His weight pushed the searing blade clean through.

His yell transformed into a gasp of pain.

Blythe twisted and threw her left shoulder against his crashing body. He held all the stronger to the hilt with her right hand and pushed back.

His feet landed in an uneasy stance.

Their faces were inches apart.

Blythe could almost taste the ale Garron had drunk as a thin breath slipped from his lips.

Garron mouthed a couple of words. His legs wobbled. His cruel eyes widened even more in the dim light.

Blythe pushed hard with her left arm.

Garron’s weight tipped backwards. He made a feeble attempt to get his legs fully under him.

It was no use.

His torso leaned away, his body slid from the sword, and he collapsed in a heap onto the cold ground.

~Vengeance.~

Blythe stepped back.

Garron’s body shook as he took his final wheezing breath.

It was over. He was gone.

A wave of guilt washed over Blythe. She had killed a man. A disgusting pig of a man, but he lay lifeless in an alley, and it was her doing.

To make things worse, no one had dared openly believe her when she told what he had done. Would they believe her when she declared it was self defense?

And what if his father…

The thought sent a shudder up her spine. His father controlled a lot of people. Would they imprison her for defending her life and virtue, as well as Mala’s? Would they hang her? She hadn’t considered what his father’s response might be. And what would everyone else in town would do? Would they see her as a hero, or would they be furious that she upset the status quo?

~I have a solution, but you must act tonight, before they know. While his family sleeps, you just-~

A knot cinched up in her stomach and she dropped the sword.

The clank echoed in the silent alley.

That would be murder. I can’t…

Blythe looked up again at Mala.

Mala’s tiny frame continued to quiver, but she made no sound.

She’s so tiny. And still so frightened.

Blythe made up her mind. She walked over to Garron’s tossed-aside shirt, picked it up, and tossed it to Mala.

“Put this on. Go home and burn it. Then do your best to forget everything that’s happened tonight.”

Mala took a deep breath and nodded.

Blythe reached down and picked up her sword.

A stiff breeze whipped down the alley.

Mala fumbled with the stained shirt.

~Trust me.~

Blythe turned and ran off into the night.

The End

Underground

It’s just natural to just take something when someone else hands it out to you. Sales people use this tactic to get you holding a pen, thus making it more likely you’ll sign a contract.

I had just grabbed the stupid canister without thinking. The doctor had distracted me for one second, which was all the time he needed to pull the gun.

I scolded myself for not being more careful around a man that I knew couldn’t be trusted.

The doctor motioned down the hall. “Let’s go.”

I turned and walked.

His footsteps trailed several feet behind me. “You should be grateful. At least with me you have a chance.”

“What?”

“Well, what do you think the military is going to do when they see your friends, whom they think are infected, wandering across the desert?”

I knew the answer, but I didn’t want to think about it.

He doctor gave a disturbing chuckle. “They will remove the threat. They will be swift, and they will show no mercy. And why would they? They know what this virus can do.”

“But we have the cure.” I held up my canister. “That’s what we have in here, right?”

“They don’t know that.”

I thought of Beth, Kevin, Linda, and all the others who were now racing through the streets and heading for the desert. If the zombies didn’t get them before they got out, the military would get them soon after.

I glanced at the cannister.

Beth, Linda, Kevin, Dale, all of them only have one shot. The military has to know about what’s in this container.

The doctor put the gun down. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re trying to figure out a way to contact the military. That’s precisely why you’re going to cooperate with me. I know how, and that’s where we’re going.”

The building shook again. The bombs would keep dropping until Oasis had burned to the ground.

I motioned down the hall. “So let’s go.”

He put the gun in his pocket and we headed for a different staircase than the one everyone else had used.

I couldn’t hear anything going on downstairs, so hopefully that meant the other group had not run into any problems getting out of the building.

We walked down the stairs.

The door at the bottom had been barricaded with pieces of bed frame, IV stands, and a couch.

The short doctor just sat on the stairs and watched me clear the mess enough to open the door.

Once it was clear, he pulled out his gun and told me to throw open the door so he could get a good shot if there were any of the infected waiting on the other side.

I gave it a solid push and stepped away.

Nothing there.

We went out into the hall.

I listened for any signs of the group, or even any movement at all.

Nothing. The hospital was empty.

The deads were gone. I didn’t even know if they ever were down here.

A smashed picture window and smeared blood answered the question for me. They had been here, all right. And then they had left. Gone after the fires, the bombs, or maybe the other fleeing survivors.

Doesn’t matter.

The big glass front doors had been broken out.

I stepped through the shards onto the front walk.

The doctor was right behind me.

The grocery store across the way was burnt out. The trailers were in smoldering piles.

The doctor stepped by and grunted at the ashes.

Something half in a bush next to the building caught my eye. It was almost under the windows that had made my escape and sealed Samson’s fate. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but it looked like a big metal pipe.

The doctor pointed to the object. “Go pick that up. We’ll probably need it.”

I jogged over and my heart leaped. It was Samson’s big hunting gun.

But where’s Samson?

He might have hobbled off and flat lined while trying to escape. Or maybe he was turned into…

I didn’t want to think about it.

The thought that I might run into to an infected Samson made me physically ill. I couldn’t bear it.

“Come on, boy.” The doctor motioned back to me. “Or would you prefer to not try and save your friends.”

I grabbed the rifle and pulled it from the shrub.

There was dried blood on the stock.

I tried not to think about it as I pulled open the bolt.

The rifle was a single shot beast. The bullet inside was bigger around than my thumb. There was the one live round in the chamber and no more ammunition to be seen.

One shot.

The rifle had a strap, so I slung it over my shoulder. “What happens if you inject the bacteria after the virus has already taken command?”

“The virus is eventually overwhelmed, and the infected host merely collapses like a regular corpse.”

Another jet streaked by overhead. The ground shook and the giant columns of smoke widened. It wouldn’t take too long for the entire city of Oasis to be pounded into rubble.

As we walked the streets, we could see the occasional dead man or woman shuffling in the direction of the smoke.

After many blocks, we found ourselves near the edge of the city.

I could see the old fort wall that marked the edge of Oasis down at the end of the street.

The doctor stopped in front of a rather small warehouse. On the door was the hospital’s logo. A plaque next to the door read “Oasis Medical Center Research Annex Three.”

The doctor was sweating up a storm. He reached a hand into his pocket and pulled out a key.

He put it in the lock and looked up at me.

Something had changed during our walk. In his eyes I could see a growing fear. He was reaching his breaking point, and becoming desperate. His hands trembled as he twisted the key.

I couldn’t let his cowardice affect me. Someone had to stay strong if anybody was to survive this ordeal. If I was the only one who could keep it together, so be it. I was ready.

The warehouse was empty, except for a little office built into one corner and a forklift next to that.

The office had double doors, which looked odd for such a small room.

We entered the warehouse.

The door slammed shut and echoed in the empty space. It was sweltering inside.

The doctor took smaller steps now and crossed the room toward the little office.

I clenched my jaw and followed.

The doctor reached out to grab the office door handle. “We did the live tests downstairs. We had several test subjects… The holding cell doors were powered by electromagnetic locks. No power… no locks.”

I nodded. I couldn’t let it get to me. Just one more problem to deal with. I pictured Beth’s face then Linda’s. I wouldn’t let them down. They would only be seen as infected threats by the military. Threats that needed to be neutralized. I couldn’t let that happen.

The doctor pulled open the door. The room was mostly filled with a large freight elevator. It was kept closed only by a metal grate that folded itself to the side.

“This elevator was the general’s failsafe… back when this was a base. The actual lab is, you know, down.”

We opened the double doors as wide as they would go, hoping to let a little more light in.

The elevator car must be somewhere below.

I looked over the edge of the elevator shaft, and couldn’t quite tell how far down it went.

The doctor jittered the grate open and pointed to a recess in the side wall. “There’s a ladder.”

His nerves were hanging on a thread.

I knew it and for a moment I wondered if it would be possible to leave him at the top. The problem was I still didn’t know how this expedition was going to place us in touch with the military, or really where I would go once I got down. I still needed him.

I didn’t think he’d be able to work up the guts, so I would go first. I crammed the cannister into my pocket as far as it would go and reached out for a rung.

Down and down I climbed. With each rung my surroundings got darker and cooler. After I had climbed down what I thought was about two stories, I reached the elevator car.

The elevator car had an open top, but in the dim light it was still difficult to climb down onto the floor without falling.

Through the metal grate door, I could only see a few feet into the darkness.

Out in that darkness were test subjects. I didn’t know how many, but I could almost feel them just beyond the edge of my sight.

I helped the doctor down. He reached into one of his lab coat pockets and pulled out a lighter and a candle.

I almost smiled. “You thought of everything.”

The doctor started at my comment, his eyes widened, and he raised a finger to his lips.

I realized what I had done. I needed to be quiet as possible while we were down here. The echoes carried, and I didn’t want to get cornered.

I lowered my voice to a whisper. “How many are here?”

The doctor held up four fingers, and then lit the candle. He held it in one hand and his pistol in the other.

I eased the door open as quietly as I could.

The flickering light in the cement hall played tricks on my mind.

Every shadow hid a zombie. Every door was a trap. Around every corner was death.

My heart pounded.

Echoing down the hallway I was sure I heard noises. Movement. Deads.

I pulled the rifle off my shoulder.

The doctor caught my attention and mouthed the words “Not yet.”

We reached the room at the far end of the hall.

I opened the door and squinted at the darkness inside.

The doctor stepped in.

The little light of the candle was barely enough to make the room’s contents visible.

There was an open door on the right. On the wall opposite the doorway we used was a brushed metal door with a keypad on the wall.

In the room there was also a desk, several chairs, and a TV mounted to the wall.

The doctor’s breathing was shallow.

Somewhere in the distance I could have sworn I heard more movement.

The doctor approached the door.

“This is why I had you bring the gun.”

He was getting more and more excited, and as he did he was raising his voice.

“I knew this door was locked. We can’t unlock it without the keypad, but you can unlock it. It has a single bolt right here.”

The doctor pointed to a place on the wall. “Right here.”

“You sure?”

“You can see it. Just trust me.”

I checked the door and was pretty sure I could see the bolt, too.

The doctor stepped behind me.

I removed the strap from around my shoulder and raised the gun. I put the muzzle right up next to the crack between door and wall. Maybe two inches from the bolt. I couldn’t miss. I prepared for the kick this beast was sure to produce.

I put my finger on the trigger. “Ready?”

“Hurry.”

I took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

The thunderous sound tore at my eardrums. The gun kicked like a speeding Mack truck and it tore off my shoulder- at least that’s what it felt like. The rifle leaped from my hands. I fell back into the doctor and we both went sprawling to the floor.

The candle flew and snuffed out.

And then…

darkness.

The end is near. You’d better be here next Friday. That’s right. On Independence day, you’ll find out if Corbin and the rest of the crew survive. You’ll also learn the big, giant, why behind it all. Or maybe he’ll just die alone in the dark. You never know. That’s why you have to come back…

Read the last Chapter now!

Thanks for reading, everyone. This has been quite a ride. I hope you’ve enjoyed it as well. Don’t worry, though. When it is over, you can still tell a friend about Oasis or post a link somewhere. Really. I won’t mind.

As I walked through the streets, they became increasingly empty. The noise from the cars, radios and televisions was gone, and it was easy to hear the arguing, crying, and panic happening in the various homes and buildings.

I feared for what was to become of Oasis.

The situation was dire. There was a highly contagious and deadly viral breakout. Those affected appeared to have lost all sensation of pain, and had excessively modified personalities. The power was out, and no communication was possible to control or even slow the spread of the disease. And now, without transportation, the city would be held hostage by the desert. It was over 100 miles to the nearest city. Perhaps someone in good shape could make it on a bicycle, but to try the highway by foot would be suicide. It was all like a horrible, bizarre nightmare.

It took twenty or so minutes for me to make it back to my apartment. As I turned the corner on my block, I heard a familiar clank. It was the closing of the iron grate that locked the front entrance to my building.

I again broke into a run. I could see Tim struggling with the lock. He was so engrossed in the grate that he didn’t see me approach.

“Hey Tim, open it back up.”

His head snapped up and the lock slipped into place. “Oh, um, Corbin. I, uh, can’t.”

“Of course you can, just stick that key back into the lock, push the thing, and turn the handle.”

“I, I’m sorry. I just can’t. Andy said not anyone, especially, um, anyone…”

“Since when does Andy get to decide?”

“He specifically told me to…”

“Yeah, well now I’m specifically telling you let me in.” I took a step toward the grate.

Tim flinched and backed up. “Look, I’ll go ask if it’s…” He turned and scurried off.

What a pansy. I can’t believe he would actually lock me out. I could have have fumed there on the landing about Tim’s cowardice. I could have built up a pretty good anger. I would have done it, too, if I didn’t have a key. A coward and an idiot. I didn’t really want to be mad at Tim, anyway. It was Andy. I wondered why Andy would want to lock me out so bad.

After re-locking the gate, I headed for the stairs. As I reached the third floor I heard shouting. I stood still and listened for a moment. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were arguing about, but I could definitely recognize two voices: Andy and Linda.

Linda lived across the hall and worked two floors up from me at the hospital. We had been friends since the day I helped her move in. She was about fifteen years older than me, and looked great for her age.

“You’re nothing but a thief!” She was also a little feisty.

“I’ll go down and deal with him,you idiot. You finish here.” I guessed Andy was commanding Tim.

I opened the stairwell door and stepped into the hall.

My door was wide open. I could see the interior of my apartment. It had been ransacked. Andy was standing in my doorway.

I didn’t have the composure to add a tone of joking. “Don’t bother knocking. Just let yourself in.” I marched at Andy.

Startled, he turned his head toward me. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

I heard movement from inside my place. It just fueled my anger. “This is my apartment, you’re the one that’s not supposed to be here.”

As I reached Andy, he wheeled about and put a gorilla-like left hand on my chest. In his other hand, I could now see a gun. A very familiar-looking nine millimeter. My gun.

“Just calm down there, cowboy.” He gave me a shove. “We’ve got a situation here.”

I was stunned. Completely dumbfounded. They had stolen my guns and were now going to threaten me with them. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just clenched my jaw and glared.

“Corbin, I’m sorry, this is all my fault.” Linda had a bizarre look on her face and I couldn’t tell if she were going to burst out crying or screaming. “I just… These idiots…”

Andy stepped between us. “Someone’s gotta be willing to make the hard decisions, Core. We need to defend ourselves. She told us you had a gun locker. Only two others that we know of even have guns. You weren’t here, so I made the call.”

Tim and a man I didn’t recognize stepped through the door, each carrying a gun case and a large orange ammunition box.

The new man spoke. “I couldn’t find any more.”

“All right. Tell everyone to meet me down in the lobby.” He looked at me. “Except you. You wait here.”

“Since when can you order me around?”

“Since an hour ago, when the rest of the tenants voted me mayor of the Millers Crossing Apartments.”

Again I was shocked. I could speak this time, though. That has to be his idea. Why do people just do what he says? “Mayor? That’s got to be the single dumbest thing I have ever…”

“Every team needs a coach, Core. If you don’t do what the coach says, you get cut from the team, get it? Now wait here until we finish our meeting.” He looked back to Linda. “I’m going to forgive your little outburst this time. Since you’re all buddy-buddy with Core here, why don’t you keep him company and fill him in on the program?”

Andy lumbered for the stairs with his cronies close behind.

I was still pretty mad, but the stupidity of it all almost made me laugh. I looked at Linda.

“Mayor?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t even get me started.”

“Well, let’s go see how big of idiots they really are.” I motioned for her to follow, and we went in.

next – Chapter 6: Companionship Amidst Panic