Who is Rebbsie Taylor?

Today is my duel for the Dueling Bards. Please drop by and add in your two cents about the outcome of the situation.

Rebbsie Taylor, the character I entered in the duel, is the MC in my WIP THINKING OF YOU. (For more information on THINKING OF YOU, you can read the summary on the Projects page or browse previous posts.) She is a Controller, or Trol for short. These are people whose bodies can emit vibrations that change certain aspects of their surroundings. For Rebbsie, that aspect is other people's thoughts.

Because of her unique ability, Rebbsie was recruited for an elite government team of Controllers when she was only fifteen. Her team became her family, their leader her love. Then the Department of Wave Manipulation, the secret section of the government that dealt with the Controllers, started killing them off.

In THINKING OF YOU, Rebbsie is now twenty-two and working against the Department to save members of her species, primarily children. Her mind and memory are unreliable due to grief and an undiscovered repercussion caused by her waves.

Rebbsie is well-trained, but sometimes impatience and passion cloud her judgement. She is sarcastic and smart and portrays great confidence, but her mental illness causes her to second guess herself. She also has a flare for the dramatics.

But instead of me telling you everything, why don't I let her show you? The following excerpt is a flashback mixed with a dream.

Dark. Or maybe empty was a better word. I could see but there was nothing to see. No walls. No ceiling. No edges. No curves. I had no clue what I stood on. I wondered if I was dreaming or dead or if I had completely fallen off my rocker.

The quiet drenched me. I started to count my breaths and realized I couldn’t hear them, despite the up-and-down movement of my chest. Listening, I found I had no heartbeat. Dead then. Damn.

Before the thought could really sink in, the void space around me began to fill. The outline of a room appeared, familiar shapes fading into being.

The love-seat lounged in its spot, looking shriveled without Star splayed across it while Trent hovered on the edge. Tass’s mini trapeze dangled from the ceiling, for once not twisted into a pretzel-like state. In the front of the room was Clarence’s swivel chair—the pulpit from which he preached. Around and around he would spin, staring at the ceiling while he talked. I used to stare at it too, trying to figure out what he saw. The table Kyle and Treshie propped their feet on still stood in the back. A large rug dominated the center of the room. Without touching it, I could feel the fibers against my skin. That had been my place.

And this. This was our conference room. Where we had planned missions. Where we had been a family. It was a good place to spend eternity.

I closed my eyes, waiting for it to hit me, waiting for the knowledge of my death to take its toll. But the seconds went by and I felt nothing. I frowned. Death shouldn’t be this easy. I am dead. Nothing.

I opened my eyes, frustrated, and I was no longer alone. They occupied their respective spots, settled in as if they had been there the whole time. My team had arrived. Another me lay on the rug, eyes closed.

Sound rushed to my ears, the creak of Tass’s swing.

“It needs to be oiled again.” Tass said. Her voice had a weird tinge to it. Like it had been recorded.

She scooted off the seat and walked into the closet, coming out with a small oil can, a replica from The Wizard of Oz. Tass loved that thing. What had the Department done with it once they’d booted us out? What had they done with any of our things? She climbed back onto her perch and started dripping oil into the joints.

I watched her, confused at what was happening. A bittersweet deja vu swept over me.

“What is the first thing you do if you are ever captured?” Clarence asked, drawing my attention. He began his daily speech, as he often did, with a question. He faced the far wall, his back to us.

“Swear?” Kyle asked. He slapped Treshie a high five under the table.

I grinned. My replica did the same. Those two always made me smile. They used to make you smile. The grin slipped from my face.

If you want more of Rebbsie, I guess you'll just have to go check out the duel. ;)

Dueling Bards - Realms Faire

Today, as you may know, is the first day of the Realms Faire. The Faire is primarily hosted by M. Pax though many other bloggers have stepped up to host various activities. One such blogger is Cassandra Webb, who is hosting the Dueling Bards event. And guess who's one of those dueling bards? ME.

Well, I guess, technically, I'm not, BUT one of my characters is. Rebbsie will be going up against Bevan McGuiness’s character, Slave, on Cassandra's blog on Wednesday. The winner of the duel will be determined by commenters, so please take the time to stop by and tell us how you think the duel should turn out! You'll be entered into the contest for the day's prizes.

Also, in case you don't know who Rebbsie is, I'll be providing more information about her on my blog the day of my duel.

And while you're waiting for Wednesday to roll around, I suggest checking out today's duel. Prizes include copies of Ellie Garratt's TAKING TIME AND OTHER SCIENCE FICTION STORIES and having a character named after you in an upcoming series. You may also enter the Rafflecopter below for the chance to win even more prizes.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

If that's not enough excitement for you, here are the other Realms Faire events:

Joust - Drench-a-Wench/Soak-a-Bloke - Stockade Brigade - Phasers - Masquerade Parade - Collective Performance - Castle Jumble - Dragon Hunt

P.S. I promise I will post a NaNo update soon.

The Overcoming Adversity Bloghop - Flash Fiction Piece

Today I am participating in the Overcoming Adversity Bloghop to support a good cause. The host of this blogfest, Nick Wilford, is trying to raise money to send his disabled son to a higher education school that will fit his needs and help him have a successful and satisfying life. He will be compiling the flash fiction pieces posted during the blogfest into an anthology which he will then sell. The proceeds of this anthology will go into his son's college fund.

The two major requirements for this piece were:

1. The entry must be at or below 500 words.
2. The entry must be centered around the prompt "overcoming adversity."

---

Her name was Adversity and I guess that was appropriate because she had red hair. As red as the blood she coughed up on occasion into white tissues she kept in her pocket.

Her favorite class was English, a sort of dry humor considering she was a play on words herself.

Her favorite class was also mine because I sat right beside her every day. Every day she was there anyway. On none of those days did I say a word to her.

Until she wrote a word to me.

She leaned across the aisle, her yellow pencil clenched between her fingers. She only ever used wooden pencils. It scratched across the top of my desk, but her hand was in the way and I couldn’t see what she had written until she straightened once more.

The faint gray marks almost blended into the desk top: four lines, three dots, and a curve. The rest of the hour, though the teacher must have written and gone over a hundred sentences on the board, the only mistakes I saw were the slight waver of the “i” in “Hi” and how she ended it with a smilie face instead of a period. I wouldn’t have corrected them for the world.

We met at the door to the classroom when the bell rang. Everyone else had streamed ahead, eager to be home and out from behind the bars of school. I gazed down at her, trying to find the word in my throat. I had never realized how short she was, how narrow and frail. Her presence always outweighed mine.

She waited, smiling, and ran a hand through her hair, shaking off the few strands that clung to her fingers.

I watched them drift to the ground as I said, “Hi.” Not nearly as perfect as hers.

She laughed until she coughed, but even as her chest made horrible over-crowded noises, the grin never left her lips.

I glanced back into the empty classroom. The teacher cleaned the last errors off the board.

“You know, you would’ve gotten in trouble if you’d been caught,” I whispered close to her ear. Her heat made my skin itch.

“I know,” she said and this time when she laughed it was clear, “but I did it anyway.”

The teacher looked over at us then, her eyebrows close together.

“Guess we better go,” Adversity said.

I opened my mouth, but she put her finger over it. “I don’t believe in saying good-bye.” Then her skin was no longer touching my skin.

I stayed in the doorway as she walked down the hallway, stopping just inside the open outside door. Sunlight gave her entire body a halo. She pulled the tissues out of her pocket with two hands and threw them all away.

-465 words

A Picture Painted These Words

As part of last year's New Year's Resolution to become better at critiquing, I joined Unicorn Bell. I am fairly active there, submitting and critiquing pieces. Now, I am participating in their first blogfest.

The idea is to use a picture for inspiration. Go here to see the ten possible choices. The one I chose is below with my story.

SHOW ME YOUR FANGS

Perhaps disobeying her mother was a mistake, but she never regretted it. Especially not this time.

Never go to the park.

She swayed lazily in the swing, her foot scraping the ground. The playground was deserted. Not unusual. Neither was the sound of rusty chains creaking, the wind fancied itself a child, but it caused her to glance at the swing beside her anyway.

If you ever see him, run.

Resting in the arch of worn leather was a giant spider. Not the size-of-your-big-toe giant. Larger-than-your-head giant. Her foot came down flat, ceasing her endless motion. She blinked, slow, deliberate.

Spider coloring gone, he sat watching her. His black hair fell over a couple of his eight eyes, red ringing each pupil. He had an arm laced around the swing’s chain, eight fingers laced through it.

Don’t speak to strangers.

“Tell me, are your spidey senses tingling?” She started to swing again.

When he blinked, his eyelids moved in a wave of motion. “You aren’t frightened?”

“Well,” she leaned toward him, her swing bumping his, “show me your fangs.”

---to be continued

There Are Better Places for Hooks Than Fish Lips [Hook, Line, and Sinker Blogfest]

My Nana and Papa occasionally take my sister and I fishing. It's fun, but when I get a bite, I feel bad for jerking the hook through the fish's lip. However, as a writer I'll take all the bites I can get without a lick of guilt when I set the hook in my readers. At least, I really hope I set the hook in my readers! And that's what this blogfest is all about.

I want to know if my opening hooks you. You can answer with a simple yes or no, or you could answer any of the questions in the guidelines:

• Does the character have a personality I can fall into easily? This includes any dialogue exchanged.
• Is the world around them set up to compliment the character as they're introduced?
• Are there secondary characters to assist with the hook?
• Lastly, would I read more?

THINKING OF YOU

(502 words)

The Enclosure stood solitary and alone. Waving grass went on forever, broken only by the long road connecting the Enclosure to the rest of the world. A peaceful scene, but it left a nasty taste in my mouth.

"Rebbsie. Look." Tass’s voice broke through my concentration.

Her pointing finger indicated a delivery truck, the size of a small semi, puttering down the road. Most likely a food shipment. They were due for one.

My body reacted instantly, knowing the plan before I did. Ground flew under my feet as I ran. My legs stretched, the muscles pulling taut. It felt wonderful after squatting in the grass for so long. The wind felt cool and free against my skin. Strands of my dark hair flew in my face and I shook my head, trying to clear my field of vision. Without looking, I knew Tass was behind me just as, without me telling her, she knew what I was going to do. We were going to hitch a ride. And we couldn’t exactly ask for it.

The truck sped toward us. I could see the driver’s face, every detail down to the zit on his chin. He was nothing but another young hot shot who took the job to have a car. His eyes hooded, he bobbed his head to the music blaring from his speakers. He hadn’t noticed me yet, but when he did, it was going to be a problem. Might as well solve it sooner rather than later. I launched a wave at him, the pulse of it starting at the base of my skull. I couldn’t hide myself, I wasn't a senses Trol, but I could do the next best thing. [Check out that jogger. Man, she’s built. Must be from running around this huge ass field.] He peeled his eyes all the way open to stare at me. He was drooling too much to even notice Tass, the pig. My hand came up, fingers wiggling. With minds like his, it was easy to fit myself into a situation where I didn’t belong.

The old engine revved, the vibrations pounding against my skin. Before the vehicle passed me and his face disappeared from sight, I caught his smile. Oh, how impressive he thought he was. I didn’t mind. He had done exactly what I wanted him to.

The surface under my feet turned hard and inflexible when I touched concrete. Breath rasped through my throat as I raced across the asphalt after the truck, waiting for my chance. It was all about timing. The vehicle slowed. Perhaps the driver thought that would help him locate me. I leaped, my trained legs propelling me beyond normal human heights.

My knees collided with the top of the metal container and I resisted the urge to curse, biting my lip. The landing was already too much noise. My neck swiveled, searching. Tass crouched beside me, her eyes shining from the adrenaline. We were so in sync, we jumped at the same time.

*Check out the other participants here.

Favorite Book Challenge

I couldn't even imagine picking just five books as the rules state so, instead, I decided on four series.

At the end of a hallway rests a white door. Behind that white door is a purple room. In that purple room sits two bookshelves. On the top shelf of the right bookshelf rests these four series:


Harry Potter: A set of seven based around a boy wizard whose destiny it is to rescue the wizarding world from the Dark Lord Voldemort.

See this convenient link for (almost) everything I have to say on Harry Potter.

Pendragon: The journals of Bobby Pendragon chronicle his quest to save Halla (n. the entire universe) along with his fellow Travelers.

This series is just so creative; every little detail amazes me with the fact that someone (D. J. MacHale) actually thought of it. [Extra tidbit - I will be hosting a Wonderful Week for this series starting sometime in August or September]

The Hunger Games: Katniss Everdeen is launched into the Hunger Games, a tournament where twenty-four children are forced to fight to the death.

I love the concept and the emotional complexity; it makes you think.

The Mortal Instruments: Clary Fray unlocks a world of secrets when she stumbles upon the Shadowhunters, not the least of which is the truth about her father, Valentine.

This is just amusing to me; I love the dialogue and the characters (and I was rooting for Magnus and Alec to get together since the beginning).

Qurious Quirks - Entry

Go here to see the rules of this blogfest.

In a wood long ago abandoned by people, there sits a castle, a castle fit for hiding princesses. On the majestic door of the castle there lies a plague of white stone. Carved into it's smooth surface is this:

"He who can answer these four questions true
Shall be ruler of this castle as is his due"

How does your character fall asleep? Do they drink warm milk, lay on their side, their back? Pass out in drunken stupors?

Cassie doesn't allow herself to fall asleep until everyone else has. She lays on her back and listens until she hears four (now five) chests rising slowly with sleep, only then will she allow herself to drop off.

How does your character sit? Do they flip chairs around, have to prop their feet up, cross their legs?

It depends on where she is. If she's at home, she'll sit cross-legged on the floor or leaned forward on a bucket or with her back against a wall. If she's at a place where she's uncomfortable, she'll sit ridged and still.

What does your character do with their feet when standing? Do they tap 'em, cross 'em, scrape 'em against the ground?

Cassie is a runner and her feet are almost never still. She will methodically tap her toes in front, to the side, to the back. The only time they aren't bouncing about is when she's actually preparing to run.

Where does your character keep their hands when walking? Do they constantly touch their face, their hair? Do they cross their arms or simply leave them at their sides?

She swings her arms when she walks. She'll slap her thighs if she's in a good mood or strut around with fists if she isn't.


You can still join in! Just leave a link to your entry in the comments.

Aren't You Just a Little Qurious?

This is a reminder to sign up for my Qurious Quirks blogfest. There are only five days left to do so and then the fun will begin. You wouldn't want to miss out.

For all the details, go here.

Second Summer in the City

Summer is great. It's always hot (hence, never cold), I don't have to get up early, and even though Lizzie's gone (because she hates me!) my friends and I have plenty of fun. It's my favorite season.

Unfortunately, it's also my most unproductive one.

In the book No Plot? No Problem! by Chris Baty, he lists lessons he has learned through his many years of NaNoWriMo. Number Two on that list states: Being Busy is Good for Your Writing (pg. 16). I am woefully not busy during the summer and it flashes by before I can get anything done.

This summer, I pledge to get things done. I pledge that this summer will not be wasted. I pledge that the following goals; Will. Be. Met.

Writing Related

1. The Lullaby rewrite will be completed.  This is a big one because this was scheduled to happen last summer. Did I mention summers are very unproductive for me?
2. Thinking of You story line revisions will be completed. Previously, I had this put off until July but I may start work on it sooner.
3. Royally Burned and the untitled princess clone story will be plotted out accordingly. I attempted to start Royally Burned this month and it just wasn't grasping me. This happened with Forever, Frog as well. All due to lack of planning. I am not going to let this happen again.

Reading Related

1. All unread books will have their status reversed. I have over one hundred books that I have yet to read. Good thing I'm a fast reader.
2. I will host two more Wonderful Weeks. For sure I will be doing one on the Left Behind series. The other is undecided, though I have a few ideas.

Nerd Related (you so saw that coming)

1. Pokemon versions FireRed, Emerald, and Platinum will be completed so I can start HeartGold. Google is your friend.
2. The Wii Fit Plus will be used as a tool to gain muscle. Simply explained, because I have none. XD

Qurious Quirks Blogfest

Everyone has a different way of connecting with their characters, of making them lifelike and believable. Some use an interview technique that's almost like a conversation, some answer endless surveys, and some just write. But for any of these to work, we must ask ourselves: What breathes life into a character? What makes people believe they're real?

Of course, we all start with the basics: name, age (if only relatively), gender. Then we move on to deeper things, like family, backstory, likes, dislikes, personality, relationships. Now, you have what may resemble an inflated stick figure.

What more can there be? You ask.

The title of the blogfest says it all. Quirks, gestures, those little things that make people individuals, are what make characters come alive in the reader's mind. Think about a good book you've read recently, one where you really related to the characters. Now picture one of those characters doing something, say talking. Are they standing perfectly still while they speak?

I didn't think so.

And that's what this blogfest is all about. If you're a little qurious, instructions are provided below.

1. Sign up in the Linky. You do not have to be a follower to participate nor do you have to post the badge on your blog. However, both would be appreciated.
2. On June 15th, post questions or a small writing prompt relating to quirks on your blog and challenge others to answer in the comments. You must accept your own challenge. You can answer using one of your characters, someone you know in real life, or yourself.
3. Go to at least two other blogs and accept their challenges. I will repost the Linky at the end of my own blogfest entry on June 15th.

The Nature of Magic

Magic - n. the art which seemingly controls foresight of natural events and forces by means of supernatural agencies. (taken from Webster's Pocket Dictionary and Thesaurus of the English Language)

Webster was kind enough to share with me what magic meant to him but 'magic is different for everyone'. Which is what this blogfest is all about, showing what magic means to you (or in my case, your character).

My entry explains magic from my character, Cassie's, point of view. She is one of two MCs in The Lullaby. Currently, this segment is not in my manuscript but may be included later. It is 799 words according to Word. I managed to write all of this in one day (give or take for editing). This may not sound like much of an accomplishment but it made me happy because I have been in a bit of a slump lately. I am very grateful to Laura Diamond and Tessa Conte for hosting this blogfest.

          “What is this supposed to be anyway?” Richard leaned in, casually plucking the pendant from her absent-minded fingers.

     Cassie jerked out of her thoughts. She snatched the necklace back, holding it to her chest. The raindrop clanged against the rainbow circling it, the sound of metal-on-metal traveled across the rooftop. She looked at the small painted shapes in her hand, remembering, “It’s happiness.”

     “Okay, I’m confused,” Richard admitted, watching her face.

     “Big surprise there,” Cassie smiled.

     “Hey, play nice,” he shoved her shoulder.

     She laughed, echoes bouncing back from a hundred different buildings, and pushed him back. His eyes shone bright as he grinned at her, then they became serious.

     “Really, though, what does it mean?” He wasn’t letting her squirm away that easy.

     A sigh pressed up against her lips but she suppressed it. She took a second to line up the right words, “I was little when I decided I didn’t want my mother to be my mother. The word ‘mommy’ was forbidden. Her name was Maggie, she yelled every time I tried to use it, emphasized by a slap to the face.”

     Cassie’s breath came fast as the memories resurfaced. Richard remained silent, waiting for her to go on. Her eyes closed but her voice grew stronger.

     “At the age of five, I ran away. All I packed was a patched teddy bear and a candy bar already half-eaten. As you can imagine, it didn’t last long.” Her hand drifted down to her stomach, feeling the old hunger pains.

     “The walk seemed endless. I wanted to stop but even then I was smart enough to know I couldn’t. Maggie would find me, and then she’d scream and her hands, feet would lash out, and it would hurt. But when I sat on a bench to remove a rock lodged in my shoe, I couldn’t help it, I fell asleep.”

     Richard took her hand, his face stony. The expression looked strange on him. He gave a soft squeeze.

     “Rain woke me up. It, and all the hurrying people, confused me. Vision was limited. I scrambled to my feet, soaked. With no idea what to do but get out of the rain, I ran for cover and crouched in a doorway, leaning against the door. It felt nice and sturdy.”

     Cassie laid back against the roof, staring up at the stars, and a small smile seemed to almost appear on her lips, “The world was suddenly upside down when the door opened. He looked at me and I looked at him. He was small, young, younger than me. His mouth opened and I braced for the hurtful words that were sure to come. ‘Are you happy?’ That’s exactly what he said to me. My voice floated upwards before I could stop it, ‘No’.”

     The smile was now certain, stretching her skin in a way that was becoming, “He invited me inside. And I went, because what other choice did I have? At first, I was wary, especially when I met his mother. But she, she was everything a mother should be. She fussed over me like no one ever has. Fed me till I was fit to bursting, let me stay under her roof, found me dry clothes that actually fit.”

     “Sounds nice,” Richard joked, tugging at his baggy pants.

     “Hm, it was,” she sat back up, focused directly on Richard. “While I was there, I learned what happiness is, and that everyone has a right to it. Everyone,” her words were excited now, her face glowing, “me, you, all the people in this club, everyone. That knowledge changed my whole life. It was like I was Harry Potter and someone had just handed me a wand for the first time.”

     “What does the necklace have to do with all this?” Richard asked, feeling the buoyancy of her words.

     She looked down at it again, “He gave it to me, the little boy. His lisp was so cute when he told me what it meant,” her voice changed to imitate him. “To get to the rainbow, you must first go through the rain.” She switched to normal, “I gave him my teddy bear.”

     Her eyes glazed over, her focus shifting again. She drew Richard’s hand closer, playing with his fingers. When she realized what she was doing, she quickly released them. He wished she hadn’t. “I don’t know why I told you all that. It’s not your problem.”

     “I don’t mind. What’s one more?”

     Quiet.

     “Cassie.”

     “Hm?”

     “I need you to look at me.”

     She turned her head without thinking. He was close, so close she could feel his light breath on her face. She couldn’t pull away. His eyes reeled her in, promising summer, spring, warmth.

     “You are my rainbow.”

     His lips pressed down softly on hers.

Catch Me If You Can!

And why would you want to catch me? That's what I'm here to find out. Yes, me.

This blogfest is centered around whether or not your WIP catches people's attention and makes them want to read more. And why? Or why not?

And this is why you are here (I hope). To tell me what you think works, and what you think doesn't in my first 550 words.

Oh, one more thing before we start. I'll be posting the first 550 words to both of my WIPs (cause I'm a cheater). Feel perfectly free to read just one.

The Lullaby

Chapter One: Gone

“Are you sure you can handle them, Maggie?” Rieta hovered in the doorway, “We could always stay.” Her eyes flicked to the top of the stairs where her four-year-old son had stomped to his room, angered at the thought of a baby sitter.

Her husband rolled his eyes and placed his hand on her shoulder, “They’ll be fine, dear. We’re going to be late.”

Maggie smiled and hoisted Cassie higher on her hip, “Don’t worry, Rieta, I’ll take good care of them. Go have a good time.”

Rieta sighed and gave in, “Okay, but I’m going to call when we get there.”

“That’s fine, love. Now shoo!” Maggie made the motion with her free hand then laughed.

Rieta smiled weakly and let her husband guide her, his hand around her waist, to the car. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw Maggie whispering to Cassie, covering Cassie’s small hand with her big one and waving it in the air. “Bye-bye to you, too, sweetheart,” Rieta said softly as she waved back and stepped down into the car.

Rieta frowned and hit the re-dial button, pressing the phone to her ear. Her fingers drummed on the table and she turned her body away from the rest of the table. “Come on. Answer,” she whispered as the ringing stopped and became her own voice, “Hello, you’ve reached the Marks family. We’re not home-” Click. She hung up, hit re-dial again. Dial tone. “Hello, yo-”

“She’s not answering, Bill!” she whispered frantically to her husband.

Her husband dragged his eyes from the performance on stage, “Relax, I’m sure she’s just busy feeding the kids or putting Cassie down. Give her a minute to call back.”

Rieta took a deep breath. Everything was okay. Bill was right. Maggie was probably just upstairs and couldn’t hear the phone, when she saw the missed call she’d call right back.

She tried to concentrate on the stage, hoping it would distract her but the non-ringing phone clasped in her hand was a constant reminder that Maggie still hadn’t called. She gave in and hit re-dial again and this time there was no ringing, just her voice cheerfully repeating the same message over and over.

“Bill, the phone is off! We need to go home!” A cold, dreadful feeling was threatening to overwhelm her.

He sighed but flagged the waiter to ask for their check. Rieta felt awful doing this to him, she knew he’d been anticipating this night for weeks now. She almost told him never mind, that she was sure everything was fine. But she wasn’t, so she didn’t.

She tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for the valet to bring around their car. The car wasn’t even at a complete stop before she yanked open the door and jumped inside. She could hear Bill apologizing to the man who had been driving the car before he stepped in and took his sweet time buckling up and starting the car.

She stared out the window anxiously, the feeling of horror threatening to overtake her at any second. She consoled herself that when they got there everything would be fine and they would all laugh about it later.

The first thing she noticed when they pulled up was that Maggie’s car wasn’t parked in the (driveway anymore).

 Thinking of You

Chapter One: I'm In

The Enclosure stood solitary and alone. Waving grass went on forever, only broken by the long road connecting the Enclosure to the rest of the world. It was an almost peaceful scene but it left a nasty taste in my mouth. It was going to be extremely difficult to move across without being spotted. And they knew it. Not that I was worried about the sentries placed around the building; they were easy enough to fool. I grinned over at the watchmen closest to us. They smiled back from their Jeep. No, it was the sensors and cameras that I was worried about.

    My gaze drifted back toward the Enclosure. There had to be a way to get inside. I glanced back at the Jeep. [I wonder if…] “Look,” Tass’s voice broke through my concentration.

    My eyes followed her pointing finger. A delivery truck was coming down the road. About the size of a semi, and probably packed with food. The idiots running this place didn’t have the sense to grow their own food. [Or cover their tracks. I wonder if anyone else has ever found them by tracking their food shipments.]

    Ground flying under my feet, I started to run. My body reacted instantly, knowing the plan before I did. That truck was our way in. I needed on it. It was as simple as that.

    My legs stretched; the muscles pulling taunt. It felt wonderful after squatting in the grass for so long, trying to stay hidden. The wind felt cool and free. Dark hairs flew in my face and I shook my head, trying to clear them out of my field of vision.

    The truck sped closer. I could see the driver’s face, every detail down to the pulsing zit on his chin; he was nothing but another young hot shot who took the job to have a car. His eyes were closed as his head bobbed to the music blaring from his speakers. Even so I launched a wave at him. [Look at that jogger. Man, she’s hot.] He peeled his eyes open to stare at me. I waved. I knew exactly how minds like his worked.

    The old engine revved, the vibrations pounding through my feet, as he tried to impress me. His face disappeared from my line of sight as he zoomed down the asphalt. Which was fine by me. It was much simpler without having to deal with his greedy eyes.

    The surface under my feet turned hard as I made it to the road. My footsteps added to the clatter of the truck, making my ears pound. Breathe rasped through my throat as I ran and ran, waiting for my chance. The vehicle slowed, the driver probably craning his neck to find me, and I leaped, my legs propelling me beyond normal human heights.

    My knees fell against the metal container and I resisted the urge to curse, biting my lip. The huge boom was already too much noise. I waited for the second one, but it didn’t come. My neck swiveled, searching. Tass crouched right behind me, her eyes shining from the adrenaline.

    Reassured, I turned my attention to the cab. The music was so loud, I could hear every word, even out there. That meant nothing. The punk-ass kid in (in the front seat might have heard something).