Merry Christmas all you readers! Here's a VERY raw preview of the first chapter. By the time this book is complete (and I don't know when that will be, unfortunately) it will look a lot different.
Dylan looked at the black smoke in the distance—the signal that all was clear. He turned around where Hunter stabled himself against a tree; his leg was bloody. A rag was tied around his calf.
“I can’t lose it Dylan—a one legged rebel is no good to them, and I would be hung a traitor if I tried to go home.”
Dylan offered no pity. He turned to Trista, and said, “Help me with him.”
“I screwed up,” Hunter softly cried, “I’m sorry.”
“Let me go ahead,” Trista offered, “I’ll get someone to drive out here and pick him up.”
Dylan nodded, “He can walk.”
“Are they going to have to cut it off?” Hunter asked sobbing more noticeably.
Trista smiled, “Relax, Hunter. The bullet barely touched the surface—you’ll be fine.”
Dylan grabbed Hunter’s arm, and began to pull at him, “Come on.”
“Stop being such a jerk, Dylan.” Trista said, pulling his hand off Hunter’s and standing protectively in front of him. “We all mess up. No one got too hurt—we all live to see another day--just let it go.”
“All of this,” Dylan said looking at his leg, “For a video game?”
“It’s been a long time sense I’ve played,” Hunter said, pausing and then adding defensively, “How was I supposed to know some old guy set it up as a trap?”
Dylan smiled, “Let’s see—empty house, door wide open, and a video game playing on the TV! That all sounds innocent enough, right? Couldn’t possibly be something meant to draw some dumb kid in, right? Who would ever think of something like that?!”
“Well when you put it that way.”
“Relax, Dylan.” Trista said putting her hand on Dylan’s.
“Relax? What if I wasn’t there to take care of the old guy? What if he was actually a good shot and did more than just nick his leg?”
“Well he didn’t—Hunter learned his lesson. Calm down.”
Dylan looked at Trista intensely, sighed, and finally admitted, “I can’t take anymore of these missions—this was supposed to be are chance to make it right.”
Before Trista could reply, a hand came over Dylan’s mouth muzzling him; instantly he saw men dressed in dark fatigues doing the same to Trista and Hunter.
The man whose hand was covering Dylan’s mouth said quietly, “I’m going to release my hand. Very quietly say the password—or prepare to die.”
Dylan nervously said, “Moonpie.”
“Ha! That was yesterdays. Cut their throats!”
“It is moonpie.” The one holding Hunter said, “Yesterdays was fartburger.”
He thought. “What’s today?”
“It’s not moonpie?”
“It is moonpie.”
“So what’s the problem, then?”
“Nothing, sir—they said the right word. They live.”
He starred at Dylan carefully, “what are you doing out here?”
“We are late. We were supposed to meet up with a special op team four hours ago.” He looked at hunter, “but we ran into trouble.”
“We’re your team--we figured you were dead when you didn’t come.” He paused, and stood in front of Dylan. “Hungry?”
Dylan nodded. He looked at the person who moments ago had muzzled. He was Hispanic had black, unkept hair; his eyes were wide and anxious.
“Let’s get some chow. We can go over everything while we eat.”
Dylan, Trista and Hunter followed the group to two beat jeeps in the distance.
“Names Charlie, by the way.” The man said.
“You don’t look like a Charlie.” Trista said.
“That’s not my real name.” He explained. “Charlie’s just what I tell people to call myself. Ever heard of Nam? Vietnam?”
“They were always looking for Charlie. So that’s where it comes from—people are always looking for me—trying to kill me. Get it?”
Before any of them replied, Charlie looked at Dylan and asked, “You drive?”
Charlie laughed. “Today you get your first lesson.” He tossed him the keys. “I might be a little drunk--I can’t remember if I drank at lunch today or yesterday. Either way you’re driving.”
Dylan looked at the keys confused.
“Don’t worry! I’m an excellent teacher! Get in!”
Everyone is in.
The other company gets in jeep.
Dylan starts jeep.
The other jeep was speeding away.
Charlie smacked him, “Catch up! They’re getting away!”
Each bump Hunter grunted. Charlie turned, “Quiet, already!”
“It hurts!” Hunter whined.
“What happened to him anyway?”
“Some old man...” Dylan started to say, but Charlie cut him off.
“Look at that! They’re way up there! Don’t you know how to drive?”
Dylan nodded no, “My foot is all the way down!”
“Just make it go faster already!”
It was getting dark. “How do I turn on the lights?”
“The car lights.”
Charlie laughed. “There’s no lights on this thing! It would make it too easy to spot.”
“So what happens at night?”
“That’s why you were supposed to keep up! We would have been there twenty minutes ago!”
Dylan turned away frustrated.
Completely black. Charlie lit a cigarette, which provided brief light.
“I can’t drive like this!” Dylan said.
“You wussing out on me?”
“I can’t see!”
“Dylan, you can’t drive either--but that hasn’t stopped you from driving?”
“Where were going, you don’t need to see.”
“Where are we going?” Hunter asked confused.
Before Charlie replied, the jeep crashed and everyone was tossed forward. Luckily Dylan had slowed down.
“I do believe we are here.” Charlie laughed. “Come on. There’s flash lights in the truck--I hope they put batteries in them this time.”
Charlie uses the flashlight to survey the damage. Dylan and ran straight into a dead tree. “Jeep had a good life, but this kind of thing is bound to happen when you drive in the dark.”
“So now what?”
“Wait til sun up, and then we’ll hike the rest of the way in.”
Beat...talk about this at night.
“There’s a war on three fronts now--the Rebels, the Cocos, and the Reformers.”
“So who are the good guys?”
“War isn’t about good and bad—right and wrong--just and unjust. All logic goes on the
way side the moment someone pulls the trigger. It’s a bitch, but when people can no
longer use words to come to a resolution, then all hell breaks loose--and that’s war. It’s
hell and this long into it, I think it’s safe to say we are in it’s deepest circle. No turning
“So what’s the point?”
“You are in hell’s deepest circle--you’re either an idiot or you have something your
“Can’t it be both?”